Right, Emma, I told myself, get a grip. I thought my floral maxi dress might be making me weepy, the way it was all floaty, so I went back to the room to change into my shorter, black wrap dress and applied some red lipstick and two coats of extra-curl mascara. Although I would never have a thigh gap, or wear size eight jeans, at least I’d won the genetic lottery of eyelashes: mine were super long and everyone always commented on how they framed my sea-green eyes. My friend Tansy had once said my eyes were so beautifully large that I must have been a cow in a previous life. I wasn’t sure how to take that, because really it sounded quite awful, but she assured me it was a very good thing and with her smaller, dark eyes she was incredibly jealous.
Back at the beach club, I marched straight up to the bar and ordered two whiskys. Neat and straight up. I downed the first one and it felt like fire in my mouth. I love that feeling. So, I downed the second one. Dutch courage. I didn’t know a soul here. Was I expected to just go up and start chatting to random couples with kids? And what do you say? Hello, how’s your tan line? Your hair in this humidity? Which one is your husband?
Husband. I’d almost had one of those, I thought. But then, I shook my head, and thought No, Emma, now is simply not the time to think about that.
Anyway, I didn’t want to focus on the past. I wanted to figure out my life. Plan for the future. As soon as I landed in Sydney, everyone would be asking me – what now? What next? And I wanted to tell them, I’m staying. I’m settling down. I’m doing what you’ve always wanted me to do. Tansy had always joked that I’d had wings for feet, because I’d been struck by the travel bug ever since my first trip at nineteen, to Lake Tekapo, a creamy spearmint glacial lake in the middle of New Zealand’s South Island. It had been a beautiful, picturesque small village, with snow-capped mountains dotted all around it, and the most wonderful spring lupines with cherry pink and smashed violet blossums. I still remember holding a warm coffee, and eating a freshly baked cheese scone, sitting in front of that lake just after dawn as the sky turned a firey red, the biggest grin on my face. It was so peaceful, and it made me feel like there was nowhere to be, and nothing to do – like I had all the time in the world.
From then on, I travelled whenever I got the chance – Fiji, New Zealand, Vanuatu, Japan. It was mountains that tempted me, or large sandy beaches, places I could enjoy the peace. I liked silence. Places I could get out my makeshift easel and paint, or just take a white pad and sketch the landscape in charcoal, or pencil, or pen – whatever I had with me. It was like my own little meditation and zen, just me and nature.
Who knows how I’d recently ended up in busy, bustling London. Sometimes, on the weekends, I’d take the train to France, to the countryside just for the day, so I didn’t have to hear the sounds of the tube, the midnight sirens wailing down the street. I wanted to stay every time, but London called me back – cities offered jobs, opportunities, they were the places you could earn as much money as possible, and ‘make it’. I’d move to a small country town in a second if I could. I’d tried before in Wales, but I didn’t have any skills or trades, and no one in a small town seemed to want to hire someone who wanted to work in marketing or public relations – there was just no need. So I’d moved back to London, and realised maybe I did belong in a city after all.
Sure, I’d never wanted to settle down before I’d left, but now I was older. I was in my thirties. My mid-thirties. Things were going to be different. Maybe I could be like Tansy and Maggie now too. With a husband and a few kids. Yes, me! Why couldn’t I? Hadn’t I spent the whole of last year telling myself it was time to stop living out of a suitcase? To get a job that didn’t revolve around refried beans. To finally settle down. Not to mention that I wanted to find someone that I really liked, to date, to live with. To marry.
Before I could chicken out, I asked the bartender for a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down my new future, aka The Plan:
Get a job
Get a house
Get a partner. Marry him.
There, simple. That was what I would do.
Chapter 2
I ordered another whisky to celebrate The Plan and was about to slide onto the bar stool, in case I got too tipsy downing another Scotch, when I dropped my room key on the sand. I stepped back to try and look for it, at the exact time someone was stepping forward, because I felt my body slam into something hard – like a wall of cement. I tried to right myself, but my shoe went one way, and my foot went another and, before I knew it, I was on the ground in a heap, my knee-length dress hiked around my upper thighs.
‘Sorry, are you OK?’ A hand appeared in front of my face. It was a rather nice hand, square and large and quite like you’d imagine a tradie’s hand to be, but without the rough bits or anything covered in grime or paint.
When I looked up, a very good-looking man with his good-looking hands was standing above me. ‘I’m Nick,’ he said in a broad Australian accent. He had kind chocolate brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He was admittedly gorgeous, with blond hair, a dark sandy colour, and tanned olive skin. He was about six foot, with broad shoulders. He was wearing dark blue shorts, a fitted blue plaid shirt and white slip-on sneakers. The cool kind.
‘And I’m better when I’m dressed,’ I said, grabbing on to Nick’s hand and letting him pull me up. He looked away like a gentleman whilst I straightened my dress and brushed the sand off. I could feel the heat of the blood, still in my cheeks. Had I shown my bum to the world? To Mr Gorgeous? My knickers?
‘That was some tumble.’ Nick stared at me.
‘Yes, I’m training for the Worlds. Floor is my best. I was about to do a back flip, but you got in my way.’
‘Funny that, I thought you were looking for something in the sand. A room key perhaps?’ He opened his palm and there was my white room key.
‘How did you—?’ My heart was beating so loudly, as if it were trying to escape my chest. At any moment, this gorgeous guy would make an excuse to leave. To go back to his girlfriend. Or wife. I bet he had a lovely, pretty woman, beautiful and slim with blonde hair, who went to the gym more than three times a week. She was probably an Instagram influencer or model, because they mostly were nowadays.
‘Stealth.’ He smiled. ‘Is that whisky?’ He pointed to my glass.
‘Single malt.’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘Are you?’ I could feel him staring at me.
‘A girl that drinks whisky? Absolutely.’ I tried to hide my smile. Was this gorgeous man flirting with me? Stuff like this didn’t ever happen to me. Broiled chicken cheaters happened to me. Vanilla guys who were into computers happened to me. Hot men on islands did not happen to me.
Nick smiled at me, and his eyes crinkled in the most adorable way. I opened my mouth to say, Well, have a good night, expecting he was just being pleasant because he was on holidays, and his wife was probably eyeing me up and wondering why her wonderful husband was talking to the awkward girl at the bar who’d just fallen in the sand. But then I stopped myself. There are times in your life when there is a moment. A moment that presents itself as a possibility. The universe had conspired to plant this man right in front of me. Bumping into me. Literally. And it had to be for a reason.
Ask him to have a drink with you.
This was one of those moments when the man in front of you is gorgeous, and maybe he’s not living in a granny flat with his parents, or a workaholic with a heart problem, and it’s not a weird blind date, and he might be taken, or not, but still, you think – just go for it.
Ask him to have a drink with you, I thought again. I mean, it’s just a drink. Why not? Why the bloody hell not!?
I took a deep breath, smiled and said, ‘Well, I was about to have a shot too. Are you up for it?’ I held my breath and waited for him to respond.
‘I am,’ Nick said, laughing. ‘But none of that girly shit.’
My heart did a little cha-cha. ‘You mean, no Cocksucking Cowboy?’
‘Slippery Nip
ple,’ he chimed in.
‘Jam Donut?’ I teased.
Nick held up his hand. ‘OK, that’s the only one I’ll let you consider. Because it tastes like—’
‘Gummy snakes!’ I interrupted.
‘Exactly!’ He laughed and nodded at the bartender. ‘Two Jam Donuts, please,’ Nick ordered. The bartender had no idea what that was, so in the end we got two shots of Baileys with a dash of chambord. We cheers-ed and tossed them back quickly.
‘Ugh, that was sweet.’ I shuddered.
Nick ordered two whisky chasers, and paid for both rounds. A true gentleman.
‘So, what are you up to tonight?’ he asked. ‘Did you watch the game?’
‘Game? No.’ I almost snorted. ‘I hate sports.’ I thought it best to be honest, and not pretend I was really into cricket or rugby, and then have to listen to him prattle on about his team for the next thirty minutes.
‘All of them?’ Nick asked.
‘Well, except that Japanese show of people falling into the water whilst trying to balance on slippery apparatus.’
‘Oh, Kamikaze! I love that too.’ Nick grinned.
‘Were you here watching …’ I put down my whisky to use air quotes ‘… the game?’
‘No.’ Nick leaned in. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda don’t like sports either.’
‘What?’ I feigned shock and horror. ‘How un-Australian!’
‘It’s true. I think I was dropped on my head as a child.’
‘Your head does look a little lopsided.’ I grinned.
Nick laughed. ‘So, what brings you to Fiji’s top sports bar, then?’
‘This is a sports bar? I thought it was welcome drinks.’
‘It’s both.’ Nick smiled. ‘But mostly a place where guys get to hang out all day, every day.’
I nodded. ‘Ahh, a man-cave. A male den. A place to grunt away from the ladies.’
‘Yes, we’re on our best behaviour right now,’ Nick teased. ‘How’s our English sound to you? Can you understand us? I’ve been really practising losing my grunt accent.’
‘Hmmm.’ I squinted at him, feeling my heart beat faster. He was cute and funny, and had great banter, and he didn’t seem to have anywhere to go. He was staying longer than a man who was here with his girlfriend or wife would stay. And in an instant, I knew – I kinda liked him. There was something so likeable about him, something so easy, something I felt I could trust.
‘Better keep trying,’ I teased.
‘So, what brings you to Fiji, to the land of snorkelling and sun? Kids? Husband?’ Nick asked casually.
‘None of the above. I’m just here for the weekend and I thought I’d try my luck at winning big on the turtle races. Mumma needs some new shoes.’
Nick looked down at my black Havaiana thongs on my feet and said, ‘Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything, but—’
‘Hey!’ I slapped him playfully on the arm. ‘Don’t get me started on your shirt.’
‘My shirt? What’s wrong with my shirt?’
‘Um, I could lay it out and have a picnic on it.’
‘Wow. Are you asking me to take my shirt off? You move fast. I don’t even know your name.’
I laughed and blushed. ‘Emma.’
‘So, Emma, besides trying to update your wardrobe at the local ocean bar, what brings you to this island?’
‘Just a few days in the sunshine.’
‘Same as us,’ Nick said.
‘Us?’ I looked around. ‘Seeing imaginary friends now, are you?’
He chuckled. ‘The boys, Brett and Mark, headed back to the villa. I’ve got a timeshare unit down by the beach so we fly over from Sydney as much as we can, especially since the summer is almost over.’
‘And Fiji is so warm, thank goodness, warm enough to swim.’
‘You going swimming later, then?’ Nick asked.
‘Maybe.’ I laughed. My head was saying yes, yes, YES, but I was trying to play it cool.
‘Well, this bar closes soon,’ Nick said. ‘Did you aim to be so fashionably late?’
‘Are you saying I’m fashionable now?’ I teased.
Nick laughed. ‘Not quite. We can talk more about your clothing choices later, as it may take some time.’
Just then the lights flicked on and off. Welcome drinks were over.
‘Shall we?’ Nick said, pulling out my chair for me.
I followed him down a side pathway through a row of huts and bures. Down at the beach the entire place was quiet, except for the small whoosh of waves lapping at the shore. Everyone else was tucked in their beds. The moon was full and round. A white streak of moonlight flashed across the water. The tide had gone out, and the waves were soft and round, gliding without any mermaid froth.
Nick grabbed my hand and pulled me until my feet hit sand. Soft, cold sand. He seemed to hold my hand for a beat, but then let me go.
‘How good a swimmer are you?’ He looked at me.
‘I’d beat you in an eggbeater contest.’ I could feel the warmth of the whisky flushing through my veins. It made me feel like being reckless on my last few nights of freedom.
‘You’re on!’ Nick said, unbuttoning his shirt.
‘I’ll have you know,’ I said, pulling my hair from its bun, ‘I’m an avid aqua aerobics-er. Is that a word?’
He looked at me curiously. ‘Aren’t you a bit young for that?’
‘Ageist.’ I threw my sandal at him.
He laughed and ducked. ‘Oh, man, do you wear one of those cap things?’
‘Those caps are kinda cool, I’ll have you know. Possibly ironic. Maybe even hipster?’
‘Yes, possibly cool for the mid-seventies age range. Thankfully you are cap-free tonight. Just so you know, I bet you look better without it.’ He winked.
He took his shirt off, revealing a taut chest, tanned and smooth with not an inch of hair. Yikes! He looked even hotter than I imagined. There were curves of muscle around everything. His shoulders were like boulders. His chest broad and smooth, and his stomach muscles, without an inch of fat, were etched deep. He had the defined diagonal hip muscles of swimmers and runners. I could see every pair of muscles that made him up. I tried not to look, but kept stealing glances.
‘Emma, are you OK?’
‘Huh? Yes, yes, I’m good.’ I’d stopped undressing, and was standing there, my mouth open. My eyes wandered all over him as I took off my other sandal.
Nick was now taking off his shorts and his boxers. Wait. What? His BOXERS?
‘Wait, what is happening here?’ I said, trying to suppress my laughter.
Suddenly Nick was standing in front of me and, oh, my God. He was naked.
I burst out laughing. ‘Why are you naked?’
‘Why not? Aren’t we swimming?’ Nick said, not making a move to cover himself up. This guy had confidence.
‘I want to tell you something,’ he said.
‘That we’re naked?’ I laughed.
‘Yes, Emma.’ He smiled.
‘Are you a nudist?’ I couldn’t stop laughing.
‘No, Emma. Actually, I want to tell you something else,’ he started.
‘I’m sorry’. I could hardly breathe I was laughing so much. ‘Can we have a serious conversation while you’re naked?’
‘Can we?’
‘I’m really not sure.’ I tried to stop laughing and compose myself. ‘Wait, is this the way you get girls back to your villa?’ I said, trying not to look there. His package.
‘It’s not about sex, Emma,’ Nick said.
Oops. It wasn’t? Because I was still sneaking mini-glances at his nether regions.
‘It’s about just being comfortable with who you are.’
Clearly this boy was very comfortable.
‘You can go in with your underwear on,’ he offered.
‘Now where’s the fun in that?’ I laughed. I would never see this guy again, it was Fiji, why the hell not. I took my dress off. And stood in my black lace bra and lacy bottoms. At least s
omeone was seeing my French lingerie! Hurrah! I hadn’t bought them for nothing. I shimmied off my pants. And unclasped my bra.
Naked. I was bloody naked! I gave a quick glance around to make sure no millennial was hiding in the bushes, filming us – I’d be on YouTube in no time, going viral. Doing it for size fourteen women everywhere.
I felt totally exposed. But surprisingly good. Also, I wanted to sneak a little glance at him down there. But that felt wrong. And weird. And he was looking at my eyes. And not at any other places on me.
He was staring at me intently. I held my breath. I thought he was about to lean in and kiss me. I started to close my eyes, thinking, yes, please kiss me, but he said, ‘I want to tell you …’ he paused ‘… first one in is the winner!’ and started sprinting towards the ocean.
‘Not fair!’ I gave it all my might, running as hard as I could. Running made my boobs jiggle, and then I wondered how my stomach looked so I snuck a glance to see. It looked OK. A bit soft. And white. But OK.
Nick was athletic as well as muscular, and he got there yards ahead of me, diving into the cool ocean. I splashed into the sea after him. The water was warm and soothing, and felt amazing. I waded out to my thighs and dived in. I closed my eyes, and felt the water rush over me. It felt strange to be in the salty sea, without any clothes. And rather great too.
When I emerged, Nick was a few metres away, gliding over the small waves.
‘So what do you win?’ I asked, swimming closer to him.
‘That’s up to you. Loser gets to decide.’
I splashed him with a huge wave of water. He was surprised and made a few choking noises. ‘OK, nice, death by drowning to the winner.’
Just As You Are Page 2
