by Ash Harlow
I looked at Ginger to see she had turned beet red, mumbling something in reply.
Oliver touched my shoulder. “Don’t believe a word these two tell you. They’re full of it.” He left me feeling much the same way Ginger looked.
Ginger patted her cheeks. “Pass me an icepack. The way Cole drags out my name with that southern accent makes it sound filthy. And I wish he wouldn’t call me Hot Spice as if I’m the leftover member of a girl band?”
“And you want us to believe that’s the reason you’ve changed color?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing to do with the way Luther—”
“Completely ignored me.”
“He didn’t.”
“You’re right. He scowled at me, then he ignored me.” Ginger did a quick sweep around the bar. “Look at the women, they’re all high on the testosterone that just flooded the room. Each one of them has probably released a dozen eggs, all jostling for pole position, ready for fertilization.”
I snorted and choked on the sip of wine I’d just taken.
Ginger was on a roll. “I swear those men cause spontaneous ovulation wherever they go. I don’t know how you girls work for them. Why don’t they affect you, Maraea?”
“Easy. I’m immune to their man-fumes because I receive a testosterone booster shot every morning when one of them wanders through reception at the Lodge, half-dressed from a swim. Damp, tousled hair, Ginger. Water running in rivulets across the corrugations of their sculptured abs. Board shorts clinging, slung low on their hips.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You should see their Vs.”
Ginger covered her ears. “Stop already before I lose more eggs.”
“Fair enough. Let’s interrogate Darcy.” Maraea nudged me. “Pretty lady like you. Single. In a strange town to start a new life. What’s your story?”
This moment was always going to come. I planned to give them just enough to satisfy their curiosity without letting too much away. “My story’s pretty dull, really. Born and raised in Auckland, two older brothers, middle-class parents who are still married, moved to Sydney a couple of years ago with my boyfriend. It never worked out for us and we busted up, so here I am. Back in Godzone. I didn’t want to go back to Auckland and the rut I’d left that’s probably still there, so I decided, what the heck, hang out on the Coromandel Peninsula for summer. Go me!” I gave them a broad grin and took a large gulp of wine.
“What happened in Australia? The people I know who’ve gone over are having a great time and earning good money.”
“It was a relationship thing. Didn’t work out for us after all. He stayed, I left.”
“Sorry,” Ginger said, “none of our business. I thought about moving to Australia but then I decided I would end up wading through the same old shit but with different scenery. I’ve decided I’m going to start a business here in town. I’m doing a small business course online, part time, but I struggle a bit.”
I was relieved they’d backed off so easily. “I’m happy to help where I can. I did a few business papers at varsity before I switched to marketing. What sort of business do you want to open?”
Ginger’s eyes lit up. “I want to open an old-fashioned dairy, you know, milk bar, soda fountain, gelato kind of thing. I make all these old-fashioned syrups for the sodas. People really like them. And I want to make my own gelato, I’m pretty good at that. There’s a place just along the road that’s empty right now which is the perfect location. The lease is pretty expensive, and it’s run-down. Money’s my problem. The bank turned me down as too high risk—”
“Get that application in to Luther’s lot,” said Maraea, before she went on to explain to me. “The Lairds are eager to help Waitapu grow rather than die like many New Zealand small towns. They put a lot of investment back into this area and they run the Anahera Trust, an angel fund which invests in small businesses. Except ol’ Chicken Ginge won’t apply.”
“It’s not my fault I become a wobbly mess around Luther. If it was anybody else, I’d have that business plan together and my application on the table.”
“Well, stop crushing on him and get un-wobbly.”
Ginger took another sip of wine. “I’ve been trying, you know, I really have. I’ve avoided him and I had a few dates with other guys, but I saw Luther the other week and suddenly other guys just don’t measure up.”
“Where did you see him?”
“At the mountain bike park. I’d gone for a ride and it had been raining. I arrived back at the parking lot, covered in muck, and discovered Luther about to set off. I did my best to get past without him seeing me, but our eyes met across the gravel parking lot.”
“Ginger’s a crazy romantic,” Maraea explained.
Ginger continued. “When he smiled at me, I melted. Honestly, usually he scowls. It was such a shock I almost forgot to unclip from the pedals before dismounting, and that made the bike all off-balance and as I tried to get my leg over the seat my pants caught and Luther had to grab me to keep me upright.”
“You fell into his sinful arms and you expect us to believe it was an accident?”
“I swear that is exactly how it happened.”
Ginger made me laugh. “And then you kissed, right?”
“He went to grab my arms and I got such a surprise I sort of jerked. One of his hands took hold of my upper arm, but the other hand missed my other arm, and he finished up grabbing my boob.”
We were still laughing when the bar owner, Henry, arrived at our table. “Courtesy of the Lairds,” he said, placing a plate of food and three flutes of champagne in front of us. “Oliver mentioned something about keeping your mouths too busy to talk. Luther suggested using gags. I suggested champagne, so you can thank me, first.”
“Thank you, darling Henry,” Ginger said, aiming what must be a trademark wrap-around grin at him. “Though I’m sure you were only thinking of your profits when you suggested the champagne. This is our friend, Darcy, she’s new in town.” Ginger lowered her voice, “Works for those terrible men over there.”
Henry winked, then took my hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Darcy, you have made my humble bar even more beautiful.”
“Keep your hands where we can see them, Henry, and your lusty Italian thoughts inside your head.” Maraea laughed and flicked her chin with the back of her fingers in a dismissive gesture. “Italian men, all crazy.”
After blowing an elaborate kiss, Henry returned barside.
I raised my glass. “Cheers, girls.” We touched glasses, then turned to the guys and raised our glasses at them, mouthing thank yous. “If this is how you people live, a girl could easily be tempted to stick around this town.”
Maraea launched into a pep talk aimed at encouraging Ginger to get her business plan together and apply for trust funding. I cast what must have been my tenth glance over at the table where the men sat. Most times I’d caught Oliver’s eye and my stomach quivered so that I quickly dropped my gaze. You’d have to be dead not to be affected by him and I thought about what lay ahead over the next few months with a mixture of dread and excitement.
We talked about the weekend and I told them I had plans for Saturday. Oliver was taking me out in a boat to show me around the area. Ginger suggested I join her for a mountain bike ride on Sunday, while Maraea offered to take me for a hike. Like a lot of small New Zealand towns relying to some extent on the visitor dollar for survival, Waitapu was like an enormous outdoor pursuit center.
I drained my glass and said goodbye.
“Any Thursday, Darcy, there’s a bunch of us here. You’re always welcome.”
I liked them and I felt blessed that some luck had appeared for me at last. On my way out I stopped by the bar to pay Henry the tab.
The simple act of paying my way gave me an even bigger boost. Energized this way made the fifteen-minute walk home seemed shorter because of the spring in my step.
Back in the cottage I opened an old email account; a privileged address known to very few people. An
address that was part of another life. I hadn’t been near it for months, my curiosity only piqued because of the wine I’d had and the fact that despite the nice, friendly people in this town, I was alone.
The most recent message was from Rob, received yesterday.
He shouldn’t have had the address. I hovered the cursor over his email, zipping back and forth to the trash icon. I was curious to know what he wanted, but Rob had probably put some stupid bug in the email that would tell him if I opened and deleted the message. He used to boast about his hacking skills and how most people left themselves wide open for attack. He was a software engineer and had been a highly sought-after banking systems analyst. I had no idea what he did now, and his was a can of worms best left unopened.
Eight
Darcy
Saturday morning Oliver picked me up right on time. He seemed to have that time-and-tide mentality that I’d noticed among others I knew who were involved with boats. In spring the weather could be changeable, the equinox winds inclined to roar in a couple of hours after sunrise so I packed a small bag with every type of garment I’d need for a day out on the water. Realizing I looked as though I’d packed for a weekend getaway, I ditched most of it and left with a sweater, hat and sunscreen. I was wearing my bikini under my clothes, because one can always hope the weather might turn unseasonably hot.
The boat we used was like something out of a James Bond movie. I’m not kidding, the craft was amphibious. We climbed onboard while the boat was still inside the boatshed, motored across the sand and straight into the sea. Once we were afloat, the wheels tucked up like the undercarriage of a plane and we were away.
I was sent to take the seat up in the bow until we cleared the breaking surf. I considered bracing my feet and spreading my arms in the full Winslet Titanic stance when we approached the third wave of the set. It’s the one which always appears to be the largest, the swell building like the onset of an orgasm. As we rode then thumped over the crest the sea crashed across the bow completely drenching me. The shock of the cold dousing drew an expletive from my lips at high decibels.
It might have been a stunning clear day but it was still spring and the water was freezing.
Oliver’s apology was laced with laughter. “It can be a bit wet up the front,” he said, his comment redundant. “Come, sit here with me.”
“So you can what…pitch me over the back?” The front of my shirt was soaked, my nipples trying to drill their way out of the wet cotton clinging to my skin.
“So I can keep you warm.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Now you’re hurting my feelings. Trust me.” He reached behind him, lifting a seat cushion and tugging a towel out from the storage locker beneath. He shook it open then gestured at me with it. I took hold of the edge and in one move he pulled me toward him, wrapping me in the cotton.
“Come here and keep warm.” He made some space in front of him, his steering hand still steady on the wheel.
He bent his head close to me so that I could hear him over the noise of the engine and the crashing sounds as the boat thumped over the heavy swell. Five minutes into the trip and his breath warmed the back of my neck, a place where every nerve in my body subsequently rushed to gather and party. I was already beyond thinking about anything but him.
I honestly tried to keep my body away from Oliver but pressing against the console meant I was at risk of interfering with the controls and anyway, the rough ride we were having was throwing me off balance so that every so often I was forced against his body. He was immovable, feet braced, a solid wall.
We carried on in silence. Behind us Waitapu Bay became a curved sliver of gold sand fringed by a tiny town. We followed the coastline, heading north, and Oliver scarcely spoke beyond pointing toward various landmarks.
I was surprised that he eased off the throttle when we seemed to be in the middle of the ocean. The boat slowed, the bow lowering, and the hollow sound of pounding against the swell became a settled, easy slap of the sea against the hull.
Oliver nudged me. “Look,” he whispered.
I turned to the direction he was pointing and saw below the surface were a number of large dark shapes moving through the water.
“Dolphins,” he said, his face beaming with pleasure.
I’m sure my face was the same. “Wow! Did you just dial these up?” The only place I’d ever seen dolphins was on television. I loathed theme parks where animals were held captive so I’d never entertained the idea that I would see them up close. We watched from the boat for a few minutes as we idled along slowly. The dolphins came to the surface and when the first one breached I couldn't contain a squeal of delight.
Oliver cut the engine and we drifted. “Do you want to swim with them?” he asked.
I did, but when I looked over the side of the boat the ocean appeared to be a bottomless depth, the water looked ominous. “Is it safe for us to do that?”
“Can you swim?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll motor into this bay and see if they follow us. Then I can anchor and we’ll have a swim.”
I didn’t need further encouragement. I’d worn my bikini beneath my clothes and I wasn't waiting for this opportunity to vanish while I prevaricated. Oliver started the engine and headed toward the small beach while I hung over the side of the boat, watching the dolphins keep pace with us. They seemed to take turns, surfacing in pairs.
Once we were anchored I pulled off my T-shirt and dropped it on the seat and began unbuttoning the fly on my shorts. I felt Oliver’s stillness and glanced at him, my fingers about to slip the bottom button free. He was watching me, intense heat in his eyes that almost made me change my mind and stay with him on the boat. Then two dolphins cleared the surface of the water in a graceful arc that seemed choreographed and looked perfect.
“Wow…am I going to stop saying wow today?”
Oliver grinned. “Not if I can help it.”
He was composed again and he ducked behind me to lower the ladder.
I stepped out of my shorts as Oliver threw off his T-shirt, then we both paused. Good grief. I was pleased to have the distraction of the dolphins because it was hard to take my eyes off Oliver’s broad chest, trim waist, narrow hips. I stopped myself before I looked any further. When I finally glanced up I discovered him taking an equal drink of the view of me.
“I don’t have a snorkel—”
I snorted, throwing a glance at his board shorts.
He grinned. “…or a mask.”
He was right about that. He wasn’t concealing much in the way he devoured me with his eyes.
“But I can offer you a lifejacket.”
I was fit, and a competent swimmer. “I’ll be fine. I won’t go too far from the boat.”
“Good. It would be a shame to cover up that pretty bikini.”
Again I silently thanked the dolphins for their presence. “After you,” I suggested, gesturing to the sea.
With grace, he stood on the side of the boat and dove deep into the water, scarcely creating a splash. He surfaced, blowing out water and shaking his head.
“What's the water like?” I called.
“Refreshing.”
“Freezing, then?”
“Pretty much.”
Diving straight into the ocean was a whole different scenario to lurking knee-deep in the shallows at the beach until your body adjusted to the cold, but when a dolphin surfaced beside Oliver my decision was made. I climbed onto the side of the boat, counted to three and dove. As I hit the water the cold temperature sucked the air from me, the shock causing a shot of pain through my chest making it feel as though it had caved in. I surfaced, and gasped, loud. “I’m dying.”
I could hear Oliver laughing.
With that, a dolphin approached me, rolling to its side as it came beside, making eye contact, maintaining the connection in a manner I’d never experienced before. It felt deep and spiritual and quietened something inside me. It rolle
d away and left as the next one approached. Within minutes, all eight of them had greeted me in this manner.
“They like you,” Oliver said.
“I like them too,” I replied.
We swam around with them until the cold got the better of me. “I’m going back to the boat,” I said.
Oliver started swimming and was at the boat to help me up before I’d reached it. He gripped my arm and boosted me up the ladder before quickly following. On board he pulled a couple more towels from the locker, wrapping one tightly around me.
I was still exhilarated and unable to wipe the huge grin off my face. When I caught my breath I discovered my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.
“You’re cold. Come here.” Oliver pulled me against his warmth, briskly rubbing me, his hands working quickly over the top of the towel.
I wanted to lean into him and absorb his warmth. My body tingled wherever he touched but my teeth continued to sound like castanets.
“You know there’s a very good method to fix hypothermia?”
“You mean you have one of those foil blankets?”
“No, but fortunately I’ve warmed up.”
I was warming up, too, and I wondered how long I could stay pressed against him before it became indecent.
“You should really remove that wet bikini. It’ll be keeping your temperature down.”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered. He was right. Reluctantly I pulled from the shelter of his arms and undid the tie at my neck and back. Still wrapped in the enormous towel, my top slid to the floor of the boat.
Getting my bikini bottoms off would be a less graceful move. What’s more, I had no underwear to replace them with. “I’ll be okay in my bikini bottoms; they’re quite dry.” Since he’d been holding me, a heavy warmth had blossomed between my legs. It’s likely my bottoms were anything but dry.
He passed me a sweatshirt from the locker that appeared to hold an unending supply of things I needed. It swamped me and certainly did a great job of concealing my curves and my starkly pointing nipples.
“Arms out.”
