Bahamas Bliss
"Private island caretaker Serena has seen wealthy guests come and go, but when burned-out doctor Nathan arrives seeking solitude, she shows him the islands hold medicine no pharmacy can provide."
The private island was supposed to be empty. Nathan had paid specifically for solitude.
Then he saw her.
Serena stood on the dock, thick and dark and radiant in a flowing dress. "Welcome to Paradise Cay. I'm yuh caretaker."
"I asked for no staff."
"Somebody has to cook. Clean. Take care of yuh." Her eyes swept over him. "Yuh look like yuh need taking care of."
She wasn't wrong. Eighteen months of residency had broken something in him. Sleepless nights, empty days, a soul running on fumes.
Serena fed him conch fritters and rum. Listened without judgment. Let silence be comfortable.
"What yuh running from?" she asked on night three.
"Myself, mostly."
"That's what everyone says." She moved closer. "Yuh know what helps?"
"What?"
"Connection."
She kissed him under Bahamian stars, that thick body pressing against his like medicine for wounds he didn't know he had.
"Is this part of the caretaking?" he murmured.
"This is part of healing. Let mi take care of yuh, Nathan. All of yuh."
Her cottage at the island's edge, sheets tangled, bodies intertwined. She moved over him like the tide—inevitable, relentless, life-giving.
"Yes. Just like that. Feel everything."
He felt everything. For the first time in years, he felt alive.
Days blurred into weeks. Swimming, eating, loving. Serena's thick body became his compass point, her arms his harbor.
"I should go back," he said one sunset.
"Should yuh?"
He thought about the hospital, the stress, the emptiness waiting.
"No."
"Good." She kissed him. "The island been waiting fi yuh."
Nathan sold his practice. Bought into Paradise Cay. Now he runs the medical clinic on Nassau three days a week.
The other four, he belongs to Serena. To the island. To the healing.
Bahamas bliss.
The only prescription he ever really needed.