Love Is Overdue Read online

  Love Is Overdue

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Love Is Overdue

  Copyright 2013 by Natalie Myrie

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise),without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Smashwords Edition

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  About the Author

  Natalie Myrie is a single mother of one and has been writing for over two decades. She is an avid reader and in her spare time enjoys music, art and cooking. Love Is Overdue is her first novel. She lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.

  This book is dedicated to the ones who suffered through my OCD writing frenzies and never once smashed me over the head with my lap top.

  Thank you S & J

  Love Is Overdue

  “Now who’s gonna hold and squeeze me tight

  Now that she’s gone out of my life

  Who’s gonna make me feel the way she used to do

  Now that my love is overdue

  I’m all alone in the wilderness

  Searching to find some peace and rest

  Although she wasn’t the best girl

  But she brought happiness into my world

  And now I’m a prisoner of loneliness

  I said I’m a prisoner of loneliness.

  (That’s what I am)

  Now who’s voice is gonna say goodnight

  Now that she’s gone out of my sight

  Who’s gonna tell me lies and make me think they’re true

  Now that my love is overdue.

  Can you see right now

  That I don’t know just what to do

  Now who’s voice is gonna say goodnight

  Now that she’s gone out of my sight

  Who’s gonna tell me lies and let me think they’re true

  Now that my love is overdue.

  Now that my love is overdue.”

  -“The Cool Ruler” Mr. Gregory Isaacs

  Prologue

  “You drown not by falling into a river, but by staying submerged in it.”

  When I was a child, it was my mother’s way of telling me there is always light at the end of the tunnel – you just have to make sure you look for it, if you are to have any hope of finding it. They were her famous two-minute pep talks. If I was wallowing in self-pity over any number of things – mean girls who were teasing me on the playground, a failing grade, a boy I liked that refused to acknowledge my existence – my mother’s stolen quote by one of the most famous Brazilian authors of all time, Paul Coelho, was her way of snapping me back into reality and out of my depressive funk.

  Thinking back, I don’t think she even owned any of his novels. It was only after I got older, when I spent my evenings and weekends tending to her increasingly failing health, that my lack of a social life convinced me to pick up The Alchemist and I read it front to back in one weekend. As the core theme and message of Mr. Coelho’s book states, “If you want something bad enough, the entire universe conspires to help you achieve it.”

  I remember setting the book down on my night stand at 2:30 am, just as a loud crash rings out from down the hall. Dishes. Shards of dinner plates scattered all over the kitchen floor? Tea cups? Ahhh, yes. The kettle had sounded. For some reason I refuse to acknowledge the fact that my mother is up in the middle of the night attempting to brew a cup of tea, an act that under any other normal circumstance would have me intervene upon it immediately. But I had really been into that book.

  I sigh, rub my eyes, and get out of bed, padding down the hall in my bare feet and night shirt to go help my mother back into bed and clean up whatever mess is waiting for me. I can’t think of anything in the world I want more than to have a healthy, able-bodied mother, whom I can visit on the weekends, like any other twenty-something-year-old woman can do, without the fear of finding her sprawled out dead on the kitchen floor among a pile of broken dishes. There is nothing in this universe that I hate more than cleaning up broken fucking dishes. Unfortunately, I also know the universe isn’t planning to do a damn thing about it.

  Chapter One

  I remember the first time I saw him like it was yesterday. I’d been working for Commercial Travel for about a week and the delicious aromas and soft island music floating out of the Caribbean restaurant next door had finally had its effect on me. The temptation was just too much. I decided to take my lunch break a little early.

  The Rock, as it was simply named, was also simply but sleekly decorated, as well as furnished. It wasn’t over-the-top and busting with red, gold and green paraphernalia like most Caribbean restaurants in the city. The tables and banquets along the walls were made of wood, with matching chairs. The pictures on the walls were all black and white photographs – the Jamaican countryside, bustling outdoor markets, children playing soccer... They were all candid shots but somehow all together they had a haunting feel, like they were much more than just random snap-shots displayed by some interior decorator to occupy wall-space.

  As I had learned from my new co-workers, this place had a reputation for amazing Fusion-Island food. The menu had all the traditional favourites – jerk chicken, oxtail, red snapper, rice and peas – but it also steered away from the traditional, adding some Latin favourites – chilli, fish tacos...curry-chicken tamales and Jamaican enchiladas?

  I was intrigued. I had beaten the lunch rush. It was only a quarter past eleven.

  I stopped in front of the counter, deciding to take my first meal to go. I didn’t feel like eating alone in an empty restaurant. I heard some sizzling and clanging of pots and pans through the window to the kitchen in the back. It had a semi-open concept running between the restaurant and the kitchen and I caught a glimpse of some heads.

  A pretty girl with a light brown complexion, deep black eyes and a thick Afro tied back with a purple scarf, emerged from behind the swinging doors.

  “Hi... Didn’t hear you come in, sorry.” She smiled. She was quite attractive, with a wide bright smile. “We not quite set for lunch yet – we open at eleven-thirty.”

  “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know...” I should have checked the hours, I thought, realizing for the first time that the place was basically an abandoned ghost town. Completely empty.

  “It’s cool,” she said then. “I’ll check with the chef.” She turned and held open one of the swinging doors. “Hey Ben – how we doing?” she called.

  That’s when I caught a glimpse of the back of his head
through the window. A thick head of black dreadlocks tied back in a messy knot.

  “We good...” I heard him call back with a slight Jamaican accent.

  She turned back to me. “It’s all good then. Eat in or take out?”

  “Ahhh...to go.”

  “Do you need a minute?” She gestured to the menu done in chalk on the blackboard behind the counter.

  I did. She told me she’d be right back and then slipped back though the swinging doors. I turned my attention to my choices on the menu above me, but I didn’t have much time, though, because a moment later the doors swung open again and the chef emerged carrying a piping hot tray of Jamaican patties.

  Our eyes locked for a moment and then he gave me a quick up and down glance and smiled. “Hey whassup...”

  My heart was suddenly in my throat. He was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, athletic, dark chocolate complexion, goatee, piercing brown eyes and the nicest, fullest, sexiest lips I had ever seen on a man. He was dressed simply in a navy blue t-shirt that showed off his strong, toned arms and a pair of old, faded jeans – not too loose, not too tight – resting low on his hips, exactly the way a man with that kind of body was made to wear them.

  I recovered myself as quickly as I could. “Hi – sorry, I should have checked your hours before busting in here...” My face was on fire.

  He smiled again. “It’s all good...” He opened the doors to the hot-cart counter and slid the tray of patties onto the top shelf. “Ya first time here?”

  I nodded. “I work next door – just started actually, so...”

  “Oh yeah? Where at?”

  I nodded toward our adjoining wall. “Travel agency.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Fuck, he was so sexy. “Nice...so maybe I got myself a new regular.” That smile again. He grabbed the dish towel that was draped over his shoulder and wiped his hands. “I’m Ben.” He extended his hand.

  “Gabriela.” I reached out and shook his hand, hoping mine wasn’t shaking enough for him to notice, but of course, knowing me, it was most definitely trembling.

  “Well, make yaself at home...” He nodded toward the empty room of tables. “Lena be right back out – ya want a drink while you wait?”

  “Uh...sure.” I recovered myself yet again. What was wrong with me? “Water is good.”

  “All right, cool...” Again that smile. I was going to pass out soon if he kept smiling at me like that. “Might have to give me a few minutes though – dependin’ on what ya want.”

  “Oh...right.” I glanced up again briefly, remembering I was supposed to be ordering lunch.

  And with that, Lena reappeared and Ben disappeared back through the swinging doors.

  I ended up ordering the Jamaican enchiladas and a tossed salad to go and sat on one of the benches sipping on an ice-water with lemon while I waited for my order. I didn’t see him again, but even long after I’d paid for my food and got back to my desk at the office - savouring every last delicious bite of his food - my heart did not stop racing.

  Ω

  I had to physically stop myself from getting take-out from The Rock every single day after that. And although the food was absolutely delicious, it was the chef that prepared it that made my mouth water even more. I managed to limit myself to three times a week, four at the the most. But after that first day, I adhered to their regular business hours so I was never the only customer in the joint again.

  The restaurant was actually an incredibly popular lunch spot on the Drive and the atmosphere was always warm and welcoming. I didn’t see Ben very often since he was always in the kitchen cooking, but the few times I did he always acknowledged me with a smile, a hello, or a lingering stare that made my heart race a mile a minute without fail every time. One time he even touched my arm as he moved past me in the line at the front counter.

  “How you doing...?” It was a brief passing comment, accompanied by his death-wish of a smile, but it was all for me and my heart sank to the pit of my belly.

  I eventually learned through Jeannine, my co-worker, that not only was he head chef but he was actually the owner of the restaurant, so I knew his smiles and his friendly hellos were most likely just good business practices on his part, but I secretly couldn’t help hoping that maybe it was more than that.

  Our second actual conversation happened a couple weeks later, but it was so unexpected and caught me completely off-guard, so once again I found myself stumbling over my words.

  It was mid-afternoon on a Tuesday and I was busy at my desk working on a booking for a couple that was planning a six-week country hop through most of Eastern Europe when I heard the door chime and glanced up to see Ben walking through the door. He wasn’t wearing his apron, just a pair of faded jeans and an Exodus t-shirt – one of Bob’s best albums, I noted to myself. I was alone in the office since Jeannine and Tammy, my boss, had made a run for office supplies.

  He smiled when he saw me. “Hey Gabriela...”

  “Hey how are you?” My heart was suddenly in my throat. He’d remembered my name. “What you doing here? Planning a vacation?” Was that supposed to be a joke? I felt like kicking myself.

  But he smiled again. “I should be...they shut my water off.”

  “Where? In the restaurant?” I stood up, quickly smoothing down the front of my blouse and smacking my lips together, wishing I had reapplied my lip gloss sooner. My mouth was as dry as a desert.

  “Yeah, there’s a water-main break on the corner, I just figure I come check and see if you all affected or not...”

  “Let me check.” I turned and headed to the ladies room and turned on the faucet. “It’s working!” I called out to him.

  “Really? Lucky me...” He looked relieved as I made my way back over to him. “Mind if we come fill some pots?” He raised his eyebrows at me.

  I laughed. “Of course...help yourself. Did they say how long it would be?”

  “I don’t know, they hopin’ not more than a few hours but ya neva know...we’ll see how it goes – right now I just worried ‘bout cooking water...”

  I couldn’t handle the way he was looking at me, it was making me so weak in the knees.

  “Wow...that’s crazy...well take as much as you want, I’m not using it...” I stopped talking immediately. I was such an idiot.

  But he just gave me that smile again. “That’s cute,” he teased me, raising an eyebrow. “We’ll be right over.”

  Ω

  When I left work at five o’clock I noticed the city workers still working on the sewers across from the restaurant. Ben was standing on the sidewalk in front of The Rock talking to a guy I recognized from the neighbourhood who worked at the cheque-cashing place across the street.

  “Still out?” I slowed my pace as I passed them.

  “Yup. They thinkin’ it might take all night – worse than expected,” Ben told me. He had come by a few more times that afternoon to fill up jugs of water. “I sent everyone home – close early.” He hesitated, giving me that intense look again. “Thanks for ya help today.” He turned to his friend and nodded his chin at me. “This my water-girl here...”

  I laughed at that. “No problem, it was nothing...”

  His friend pointed at Commercial Travel. “Travel shop?” he wondered, his voice coming out in a deep Caribbean accent that I could not place. He looked puzzled. “I’m surprise it noh take out da whole block...” He turned back to Ben. “Long night mi friend – good luck.”

  “Yeah, man...take it easy.” Ben and him knocked fists and then the guy nodded at me briefly and was gone.

  I, of course, was still standing there awkwardly, but Ben’s eyes were all over me again in a second. “Well, that’s that...” He sighed, leaning up against the side of the building. “You done for the day?”

  “Yup.” I was suddenly stuck for words again, standing on the street alone with him.

  But Ben just smiled. Those lips were so irresistible...

  “I owe you,” he said then. “Y’have time for a quic
k drink? Come inside, I’ll buy you a ginger beer – or a Red Stripe, since you off the clock...”

  My face flushed a thousand different shades of red – or so I assumed.

  “Ahhh…” I couldn’t speak.

  Ben was still watching me with those piercing eyes of his. When I still wasn’t responding he raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Yes? No? Raincheck?”

  “No!” I shot back quickly. “I mean yes…I mean…a drink sounds good...” I stammered my way through.

  Ben smiled at that, looking somewhat amused at my extreme awkwardness, but then just nodded casually at the door. “Let’s go…”

  Ω

  The restaurant was not entirely empty. Lena, the manager, was there going through some paperwork at the front counter, and there was some noise coming from the kitchen.

  Ben joined me at one of the empty tables with two bottles of Red Stripe. “So how the travel business treating you over there? I know Tammy a bit from the Neighbourhood Association – how you like workin’ for her?”

  I decided to choose my words as carefully as I could. Tammy Richard. My boss. Owner of Commercial Travel. The loudest, meanest, crankiest old lady I had ever had the pleasure of working for.

  “For some reason she really likes me,” I said without thinking.

  Ben smiled. He had really nice teeth – white and straight – such a turn on. “Does that surprise you?”

  I thought. “To be honest...yes. She has a very selective tolerance level...of people.”

  He gave me that intense look again. “You are very diplomatic.” That hint of a Jamaican accent was also such a turn on.