Two lonely, wounded people, Amanda Summers and Brian Steele need to get away from it all in an attempt to heal wounds from broken promises and discarded vows. Each came to Orient Bay in St. Martin, for different reasons. Amanda came because she could stay with a flight attendant friend who had an apartment there. Brian came because he had such fond memories of Orient Bay as it reminded him of better days and happier times. Orient Bay is a clothing optional beach that caters more to family oriented guests and couples with strict rules of decorum. It is definitely not a place for singles to hook up. Therefore it was the last place that either of them thought they would meet someone which neither was particularly interested in. Arriving at the beach late, on the first day, after his flight, customs and check in, Brian had to settle for a lounge on the outer edge of the beach service area. One ice cold beer and he was out, totally relaxed and sound asleep. When he awoke he had no idea that there had been a new lounge placed fairly close to his. Call the reason for what they experienced what you will, chemistry, pheromones or subliminal desire. Whatever the reasons, it could mean a new beginning for two deserving people after a rather rocky start.
I began walking down the main street, Boulevard de Grand Case, which is about a mile long, looking at the menus posted out in front of each restaurant as I went. The whole area has a light hearted atmosphere with lots of happy tourists and pleasant local people. I had been there for about fifteen or twenty minutes, trying to narrow down my choices. I was carefully studying a menu hanging in front of one of the quainter establishments, when someone behind me cleared their throat. I said excuse me and moved a little to the side so they could see the menu as well.
“Are you following me Brian?” said Amanda.
“Why no, I had no idea you were going to be here Mandy. So much for the, ‘I think that I will fix something light at home for dinner tonight’ thing,” I laughed.
“I guess I’m busted,” she smiled. “What kind of food are you looking for?” “I like everything, that’s my problem, there’s nothing I won’t put in my mouth.”
She looked at me demurely over her reading glasses with the faintest of smiles. “I know, a poor choice of words, I’m sorry.” She laughed and asked, “Are you married?” “No” “Are you engaged?” “No” “Do you have a steady girlfriend that would be heartbroken if she knew you were having dinner with someone else?” “No again,” I replied.
“Then what’s wrong with you?”