by Ella Hayes
Being busy doing the job she loved, being challenged, was her normal—her catnip—and even though she hadn’t consciously been thinking about Tom over the past three weeks, somehow, she had found perspective, had started seeing things about the past she hadn’t been able to see before. Maybe Joel was beginning to see that avoiding normal wasn’t the way out of the maze. ‘So, you stayed away and now you’ve changed your mind... Now you want normal?’
‘Yes!’ His eyes filled with warm, soft light. ‘But I also want a friend...and, more importantly, I want to be a friend, if you’ll let me?’
She felt her heart tilting towards him, opening. Being friends with Joel was what she’d hoped for, but what if he stepped back again? It would hurt so much more next time, unless...unless she could harden herself, like her little conch. It would mean reining in that pathetic, needy side of herself that flowed out and wrapped itself around others so easily.
The problem was that something in Joel’s eyes was already tugging at the soft, pink heart of her. He was a good man caught in a bad headspace, that was all, and if he’d had to retreat for a while, then it didn’t make him a bad person. It made him a person who deserved a second chance, a person who deserved a friend...
‘I have, haven’t I?’ He was shaking his head. ‘You think I’ll freeze on you again.’
‘I don’t...’ I don’t know. ‘I’m just...’
She jammed her tongue against her teeth. Just that morning she’d had the idea for Café Hygge and for the first time in ages she’d felt happy and motivated. She’d made her little chocolate rum cakes, having wrestled with decisions about stem ginger and ground almonds, and then Joel had arrived. Now there were different, harder decisions to make, but thinking straight was impossible when his eyes were taking her apart, when just looking at him was making her pulse race. Friendship wasn’t meant to do that. She bit her lip. If only she knew how to be friends with Joel.
He pressed his palms to the worktop. ‘Emilie, if you’ll let me, I can show you that you can trust me...’ His eyes swept the kitchen, then fastened on hers again. ‘But we’ll need a change of scene. What do you say to getting out of here?’
She held his gaze. He was trying so hard to win her over. Hope in his eyes, but behind its light she could see his shadows. She recognised them because they were her shadows too. They’d both been knocked sideways; they’d both come to Buck Island to make sense of their pain and find hope for the future. Maybe that was enough of a seed from which to grow a friendship. If she made sure that the ties on her side were loose, then maybe it could work. She arched an eyebrow. ‘To go where?’
‘The beach!’ A smile lit his eyes. ‘It’ll be fun—I promise.’
His smile was sunshine, irresistible. She felt its warmth surrounding her, burning off her lingering doubts like mist. ‘Okay...but first, I need to finish what I’m doing.’ She picked up the bowl of glaze, felt a smile coming as an idea popped into her head. ‘I’ll see you outside in ten minutes.’
* * *
‘You’re going to jump out of the way at the last minute.’ She was twisting round, eyeing him suspiciously over one smooth, tanned shoulder. ‘I can see it all over your face!’
He rolled his eyes, feigning impatience. ‘Why would I do that? It would defeat the purpose. This is about trust, remember.’ He steadied his feet in the soft sand, gesturing for her to turn her back to him.
‘But that’s the problem...’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got this mischievous glint going on—’ her hands spun the air around ‘—and it’s not exactly inspiring confidence.’
‘There’s no glint of any kind; you’re imagining it.’ Except she wasn’t. She was misinterpreting it, that was all. He knew that his eyes must have been shining like Christmas because inside he felt fit to burst. After four days of sailing solo and roaming Tortola by himself, being with Emilie, enjoying her company—just being normal—was giving him an abnormal high. Containing it was hard, but he’d have to try, or he’d scare her away, and since she’d taken some persuading to give him another chance, the last thing he wanted to do was blow it. He gave her a mock-stern look. ‘Emilie, please, just turn around so we can do this...’
‘Okay. Fine!’ She turned her back on him, shaking out her ponytail, squaring her lovely shoulders. ‘I’ll do it, but if you drop me, you’ll be sorry.’
Her playful tone was a dead giveaway! She was enjoying herself as much as he was.
‘I’ll catch you; I promise.’ He settled his feet again, smiling.’ On the count of three, just fall backwards.’
‘Should I hold my arms out, like Kate in Titanic?’
It was impossible not to smile. ‘If you want.’ Out her arms went, smooth and toned. There was the sweetest whisper of a bicep. He felt an urge to trail kisses along her arms, then shook himself, clearing his throat. ‘Okay, are you ready?’
She was giggling. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
‘Okay! One... Two... Thr—’ And then, in the next moment, she was in his arms, upside down, head tipped back, laughing, her eyes sparkling.
‘You caught me!’
‘Of course I did...’ She smelt of spring flowers and spun sugar. Her bare arms felt warm through the fabric of his shirt. If he’d been wearing a tee shirt, they’d have been skin to skin. Just thinking about it made his breath catch.
‘So...’ her voice was a near gasp ‘...is this prolonged hold part of the exercise, or do you just enjoy looking up my nose?’
He smiled into her upside-down face. ‘I was just making sure that you believe me now, that you know you can trust me.’ He’d also been lost in the view, eyes, lips, and nose, but he couldn’t tell her that. He gathered himself, then launched her upright, steadying her as she found her balance. ‘You did well!’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘I did well to trust you?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. She was running circles around him, teasing, but he didn’t mind. It felt nice, normal. ‘You know I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was that you’re brave...’
‘Bravery has nothing to do with it.’ She tidied her ponytail, fingers raking at the loose strands falling around her face. ‘I knew you’d catch me because I’m the chef and no doubt you’ll be wanting dinner tonight?’
Another round of tiny, delicious, complicated morsels. Not his idea of dinner, but he’d sworn himself to secrecy. ‘You make a good point, although, honestly—’ he clapped his hand to his heart ‘—it was the last thing on my mind.’
‘Well, if we’re being honest, then you should know that I don’t really need trust-building exercises...’ A scrawl of pain surfaced in her eyes. ‘My problem is that I tend to trust people too easily, attach myself—’ Her lips pinched together and then she swallowed. ‘But I’m working on changing that...’
‘Don’t!’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What...?’
His throat went tight. He must have said it out loud. It was supposed to have stayed in his head, gagged, and bound... Emilie, please don’t change. You’re perfect just the way you are. He couldn’t tell her that, but he had to say something because she was looking at him, waiting for an answer. And then a loud buzz filled his ear as an insect winged past.
Insect! He lifted his hands slowly and took a small step towards her. ‘Don’t move...’ Another step. ‘Stay very still.’ Bemused eyes held his as he extended one hand towards her shoulder and swatted away an imaginary insect, and then he stepped back, pouring everything he had into looking deadly serious. ‘Woolly wall bee...it’s got a sting... You can’t be too careful.’ He swallowed, thanking his lucky stars for the local wildlife guide he’d been perusing just that morning.
‘Woolly wall bee...?’ Her eyebrows flickered faintly. ‘Okay...well, thanks for saving me.’
Was she on to him? Maybe? Probably! He reached a hand to the back of his neck to hide a smile. Eyes full of sparkles and frowns,
a smile as warm as sunshine. How could she think of changing? From the moment he’d spied her through the kitchen door, singing into a wooden spoon, snaking her hips around the larder unit, he’d known that abandoning his hike to Apple Bay had been the right thing to do. Dancing around the kitchen, she’d seemed so full of light and life that he hadn’t been able to move. He’d watched her drizzling liquid over her little cakes...
And then he’d remembered that he’d come back to talk to her—to be a friend to her, not to spy on her—so he’d opened the door, calling out her name, but the music had drowned him out, so he’d turned it down. And instantly he’d been faced with the myriad shades of her confusion—the openness and then the wariness in her smile; the warmth and then the hesitation and then the hurt in her eyes—and he’d realised just what he’d done.
For days he hadn’t allowed himself to take in the details of her face because he’d been scared that if he looked into her eyes for too long he’d lose himself inside them, that all the things he’d been trying not to feel...that ache of the soul, that raw yearning...would blaze a trail through his veins and undo him completely.
So he’d shut her out, because allowing himself to feel so alive when he was supposed to be aching for Astrid had felt so wrong, disrespectful somehow to the long past they’d shared. But his way of respecting the past had disrespected Emilie in the present and he had to put that right, even if being her friend was going to be a sweet torment.
‘Hey...’ Her voice was pulling him back gently. She was looking at him mischievously, arms wrapped around the canvas bag she’d brought with her. ‘It’s my turn now...quid pro quo...remember?’
He wanted her to say it again, in slow motion so he could watch her mouth, but that definitely wasn’t something you could ask a friend to do. ‘You want a turn?’
‘Yes!’ Her lips quirked. ‘As it happens, I’ve got a little trust test of my own lined up for you.’ Her eyes held his as she walked back a few paces, then dropped down on to the sand. ‘Come! Sit with me.’
It was a relief to see her eyes sparkling again. Hurting her was the last thing he’d meant to do and he would never do it again. Not for the world. He stepped forward and dropped down beside her.
‘Now, I want you to stare at the sea while I get things ready.’
‘Things?’ He arched his eyebrow. ‘I’m intrigued...’
‘Good!’ Her eyes widened a little. ‘But you need to be intrigued facing the sea, okay. Don’t look round.’
‘Whatever you say.’ He turned, looking out over the vast expanse of blue to the hazy green islands on the horizon. The sun felt warm on his skin. The breeze felt soft in his hair. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the waves, and to the restless, shuffling leaves of the palm trees and then he focused his attention on the curious rustlings happening beside him.
Her face had been a picture as she’d lured him to her side, not that he’d needed luring, because being by her side was exactly where he wanted to be. For good or bad, whether it was right or wrong to feel what he was feeling, at that moment he wouldn’t have traded places with anyone in the world.
The rustling stopped, then he felt her warm hand on his shoulder. ‘Still watching the sea?’
‘Yes.’
He sensed her rising up on to her knees and then the pressure of her hand intensified. She was leaning in, her breath warming his ear. ‘I want to blindfold you...if you’re okay with that.’
His stomach clenched. Did she know what she was doing to him? ‘Whatever it takes...’ Keeping his voice level was an effort. ‘This is about trust, after all, and I trust you.’
‘But is that wise, I wonder?’
Her giggle filled his ears and then a smooth stretchy fabric—a buff, he guessed—was sliding over his head. He held his breath as she adjusted the fabric around his eyes because her fingertips were brushing his cheeks and his forehead, sending red hot darts into his belly and his crotch. And then her warmth retreated and her flowery, spun sugar smell was carried off on the breeze. He swallowed hard, listening, trying not to feel aroused by the pressure of the blindfold and by the tingling uncertainty of what was coming next.
Suddenly the sand jolted and her lovely scent was teasing his nostrils again. Her voice was coming from the front now. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Of course.’ It didn’t come out as boldly as he’d hoped.
‘So now...’ her voice dipped lower ‘...you need to open your mouth.’
Instinctively he pressed his lips together.
‘You seem to have trrrust issues, Meester Larsson...’
Her sing-song fake Russian accent was salaciously threatening, like a Bond girl, and suddenly the irony had him chuckling hard. ‘It was involuntary! I’m sorry! It won’t happen again, see—?’ He opened his mouth wide, pointing at it with little jabs of his fingers. ‘Hyee!’
‘I can’t tell what you’re saying—’ her Russian accent was dissolving into a giggle ‘—but never mind. I’m sure your power of speech will return after this...’
And then, suddenly, his mouth was full of soft, velvety chocolate cake and he was getting a hit of sweet, syrupy rum...tasting a hint of something that might have been ginger... It was the cake she’d been test baking in the kitchen. He felt laughter vibrating in his belly. He’d offered to taste them all, hadn’t he? And she’d set it up...set him up by adding a cheeky dollop of intrigue. He couldn’t stop laughing... She’d reeled him in, got him going in more ways than one and it was pure genius.
He ripped off the blindfold, blinking into the light, blinking back tears of laughter. ‘Emilie!’ She was kneeling right in front of him, so close, smiling such a smile. It was all he could do not to throw his arms around her. ‘You got me good! As for that cake, it’s out of this world!’
Her cheeks coloured just a touch. ‘You think so?’
‘I know so!’
She smiled again, then her gaze fell to the canvas bag spread out on the sand. There were five small boxes laid out on it, their lids loosened and resting on top. ‘Well...’ her eyes flicked up ‘...that’s a good start, but there are five more.’
* * *
‘So, you think the one with the ground almonds is the best?’ She was handing him a bottle of water, her eyes wide and serious.
‘Probably...’ He twisted off the cap, weighing it in his hand. ‘The texture of that one was great...but then again, they were all great.’
She nodded, a blush touching her cheeks. ‘But that one is the best, I agree.’ She smiled. ‘Thanks for being my guinea pig.’
‘Any time.’ He took a long pull from the water bottle, watching as she boxed up the remnants and packed them into her bag. The tasting had been fun, but there was no doubt that Emilie took her profession seriously. She’d watched him so intently as he’d tried each cake, measuring his reactions to every mouthful so carefully that once or twice he’d felt a rush that had had nothing to do with the sugar he was ingesting. She hadn’t even explained why she’d made six different versions of the same cake. By his calculation, he was in credit on the quid pro quo front. He screwed the cap back on the bottle. ‘So what’s the story with the different cakes anyway?’
‘It’s just an idea...’ She seemed to falter, then her eyes were on his, narrowing slightly. ‘I will tell you, but not today.’
She might as well have written it in the sand. If he wanted answers, he’d have to stay close, stay friendly. His heart caved. So she wasn’t trusting him so easily, after all... He sighed. It was exactly what he deserved after the way he’d behaved. He gathered himself and got to his feet, holding out a hand to help her up. ‘Another day then...?’
Her eyes held his for a long second, then her hand slipped into his. He felt his pulse jump. No wonder! The air between them had felt charged from the moment she’d fallen backwards into his arms. It wasn’t his imagination! He stepped back, tugging her
up, but he must have tugged too hard, or maybe she slipped because suddenly, somehow, she was up against him, soft, and warm, and close, and he was drowning in her eyes, and the heavenly scent of flowers and spun sugar. A loose strand of her hair blew against his cheek and for a moment he lost himself in a fantasy of taking her mouth with his, tasting her lips, her skin...
‘Oops!’ She was pushing herself back and away, head down, breathless. ‘Sorry...my foot...it got caught...’
He looked down. Sure enough, her foot was tangled in the strap of her bag. He stepped back, heart racing. ‘Nothing to be sorry for. Are you okay?’
Her voice sounded husky. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ She was picking up the bag, looping the offending strap over her head. ‘I should go.’ Her eyes darted to his. ‘Erris brought a nice big crab this morning. I need to...do something...with it.’
He could tell that she didn’t want a ride-along, but that was fine. He felt it too, the need to take a moment.
She started along the beach and then she spun on her heel, calling back, ‘Joel, I’m sorry about what just happened...’ She threw him a little shrug, then she was off again, walking quickly towards the treeline.
I’m not sorry.
The sound of his own voice startled him. Tingling, he watched her walking away. Long brown legs, curvy hips, ponytail swinging. A knot hitched tight in his belly. Had he ever burned for Astrid the way he was burning now? When they were kids, maybe, when it had all been new, but lately... No!
He raked his teeth over his lip. A year ago—no!—two years ago, Astrid had stopped coming to the island. He’d felt disappointed because they’d always shared a love of sailing, but he hadn’t pressed her, because pressuring people wasn’t his way...it was his father’s. He swallowed hard, searching the treeline. But if he’d never pressed Astrid to go, then equally, she’d never pressed him to stay. He’d thought that they were just being comfortably independent, but maybe that was when things had started to slide.
