He met her on an island where he had no business anyway. She intended to be there on a missions trip; he was there on Christian business. He was a Fortune 500 mogul; she was an eclectic hobbyist. He spent his days moving and investing other people’s money; she spent hers figuring out ways to make the most from what she had.
They had nothing in common.
Except Costa Rica.
It was a love story; albeit an unlikely one, straight out of nature books that refer to Acts of God. Although wealthy, he wasn’t full of himself as you’d expect him to be. He came to Costa Rica as a favor to someone he cared about, someone he worked with. He did things like that often. He was asked, so he went.
She lived her life outside-the-box; totally devoid of order and strategizing of anything other than hobbies and church. It was a life she loved, although missing something at times. She was in search of new hobbies, so she went.
Costa Rica was good to them.
Snorkeling in crystal-blue waters, plenty of fishing, seashells for days, and powdery white sand like you’ve never seen. He went out one morning to take on the world and conquer many; she started her day quietly and decided to stroll the beach for a shell she hadn’t quite seen yet. Totally unaware that the other even existed, they had no idea that his dinner that good night would be her whole life, and she had no clue that tonight would be spent unraveling the mystery that she’d soon be the only one to understand.
She made herself uncomfortable in the sand intentionally; atmospheric discomfort allowed her creative thoughts to flow freely. Out of the uncomfortable. Close by, he planted himself on a bar stool and focused on his computer. He could think there.
They both had heard there was a storm coming, and were maximizing the day, trying to get as much done within the shortest period of time possible. As a wind began to build up, she packed up her shells and other knick-knacks and headed for the place where she was staying. He gathered his things and turned about to head back to his car. Flustered from all the commotion on the beach mixed with her own disorganization, she ran right into him. He caught her. And didn’t laugh.
So she stood there. Wondering why he hadn’t let go yet, she asked if he was running from the storm also. He replied no, and that he wasn’t afraid for the storm that was approaching. He was hoping the storm would go the other way. (Eventually it would, but not before attaching them at the hip.)
He offered to take her and her belongings to her destination, and she agreed. He told her what he did for a living, which she thought was incredibly boring; likewise, he couldn’t understand how someone could be so frivolous as to spend their days in nothingness, wandering from shore to shore, observing life and nothing more.
While driving, she looked at everything they passed by, and asked questions. He tried focusing on the road, laughing to himself at how whimsical she was. With soft red curls blowing in the wind, she leaned her head toward the window and fell silent.
Approaching her destination, she turned and asked him a question he never saw coming. She inquired what he was going to do with what he caught for dinner. He was taken aback, surprised that he hadn’t thought of that earlier, and more so because she had asked it. He’d caught trout and bought conch, and planned to cook them with vegetables. “Yes, I’m free,” was her response to her own question in her mind. Despite him not knowing her very well, he asked her if she would have supper with him.
She insisted on cooking the meal: Love, with conch fritters, callaloo and local veggies. He amused himself watching the sun set on her shoulders while she sat at the table across from him. He blessed the food and they ate.
Gingerly, he approached the issue of her status on the beach and how she came to be there. She also delicately approached the same issues. Simple questions, for the sake of conversation. He asked how long she’d stay on the island; she asked if he was an avid fisherman. He inquired as to whether or not she liked the beach and the food; she asked about his work and his clients. He asked if he’d be able to marry her and whether she’d stay with him forever; she asked him if he was crazy and what forever was like. He told her he didn’t know, but he was willing to find out with her. She agreed, and encouraged him to finish his supper. She was anxious to start forever. He wiped up, cleaned off the place where they ate, and took her by the hand.
Together, they strolled down the beach at dusk, away from the storm that seemed to hover over where they left. It was nowhere near where they were going.
Love on Costa Rica