Anguilla Angel
"Beach resort manager Faith has seen every type of guest, but widower Christopher arrives seeking peace and leaves finding love in her warm, healing embrace."
Christopher came to Anguilla to scatter ashes. His wife's last request—Caribbean sand, Caribbean sea.
Faith met him at check-in and saw the grief immediately.
"Mi handle everything," she said softly. "Yuh just breathe."
She was thick and maternal, dark skin and kind eyes, the resort running like clockwork under her care. For the first time in months, he exhaled.
She checked on him daily. Made sure he ate. Arranged the ceremony on a private beach.
"Yuh wife was lucky," Faith said after. "To be loved like that."
"She'd want me to live. I just forgot how."
"Then remember." She took his hand. "Start now."
Starting meant dinners together. Walks on empty beaches. Her laughter teaching his face to smile again.
"Yuh different from the guests," she said one night.
"How?"
"Yuh see mi as a person. Not just service." She moved closer. "I appreciate that."
"I appreciate you. More than you know."
Their first kiss tasted like healing.
Their first night together felt like resurrection.
"Yes! Christopher! There!"
That thick body brought him back to life, pleasure replacing pain, her warmth thawing what grief had frozen.
"Feel everything! It's okay to feel!"
He felt. Cried. Came. Cried more. She held him through all of it.
"Stay," she said at dawn.
"I was going to ask the same."
Christopher moved into Faith's cottage. Helps manage the resort now. Scatters no more ashes.
But he plants flowers on her beach. For his wife. For Faith. For the life he almost lost.
Anguilla's angel.
His salvation.
Love after loss.