A Wedding in the Sun

Chapter 14

She nudged his shoulder with hers. ‘Don’t you think the moment has gone?’

‘The moment for kissing is never gone.’

She gave him a withering smile. ‘Does that work with all the ladies?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve only tried it on one.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Why? Did it sound practised? I thought it was a bit corny,’ he said, brushing a finger over his chin. He plonked down onto the shingle and glanced expectantly up at Jo until she joined him, wiggling her toes as the surf burst bubbles over her skin.

The question flew out of her mouth before she could stop it. ‘Have you dated much? Since the divorce?’

‘Dated much? I haven’t dated at all,’ he said, glancing at her as though she’d lost her mind. ‘Did you think I was taking women out in my short lunch break? Or on the rare evenings when I don’t have Oscar and I’m not performing and the apartment is halfway clean and I’m not dozing off in the dark at seven o’clock?’ He eyed her. ‘Did you think I’d be in a rush to put myself on whatever app it is these days?’

‘I just thought…’ Oops, she probably shouldn’t go there.

‘Hmm?’ he seemed genuinely confused – an expression that was rather adorable.

She cleared her throat. ‘You give off these “handsome man” vibes and I just thought you used it to your advantage.’

‘Huh,’ was all he said to that at first.

‘Maybe I misjudged you,’ she admitted.

‘Did you think I was looking for someone else while I was still with Mónica?’ he asked softly.

‘No,’ she countered immediately, but paused. ‘Not specifically, although I might have projected some things about my divorce onto yours.’

‘That’s natural,’ he said – too evenly. ‘But Mónica left. I didn’t. And I wasn’t unfaithful, even in my thoughts.’

Jo wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. ‘You wanted to stay together?’

‘Probably not the way things were,’ he began. ‘But I thought we might have been able to work it out. We were both so busy and bad at the practical things – you know the hell of filling in forms, school dates, fixing the dishwasher and all that stuff – but then you need a family planner and a handyman, not a divorce. We just needed to spend time together again, remember why we got married in the first place.’

‘She wouldn’t get a planner?’ Jo prompted, trying to keep things light so he’d keep talking.

‘No, she… didn’t remember why we got married in the first place,’ he mumbled. ‘And maybe she had a point. We got together because she’s a beautiful dancer and I was a great guitar player, but… well, you know what happened to my career when we moved to London.’

She’d gathered a little, but she hadn’t realised how much it bothered him. She also didn’t miss that he’d used the past tense when describing himself as a great guitar player.

‘Sometimes I wonder how Ben and Mónica function,’ Jo said, going still when she realised the can of worms she’d just opened. ‘Not that— I didn’t want to upset?—’

‘They’re getting married. If I get upset at the mention of their relationship, I’m going to have trouble on Friday when they say “I do”,’ he pointed out. She detected enough false bravado in his tone to make her uneasy. ‘If you ask me if I’m still in love with her, I’ll toss you into the sea,’ he said, mimicking her words from two nights ago with a dry smile.

‘This is a bit of a mess, isn’t it – us, them, the wedding… the kiss,’ Jo said, but covered her uncertainty with a chuckle.

‘Kisses,’ he pointed out without looking at her. ‘You think it was a mistake to kiss, right? That we’re just muddying the water?’

‘The water is already muddy,’ she pointed out, although the kiss hadn’t felt that way at all. Locking lips with Adrián had felt like the clear water in this isolated bay lapping into the chaos of her life. It was the times when they weren’t kissing that she got confused about what she wanted, what she could and couldn’t have. ‘The wedding isn’t going to be easy. I’m glad we’ve become friends. I’m actually looking forward to something at the wedding now: downing a glass of wine with you in a quiet corner,’ she said with a smile.

‘But we should only be friends,’ he completed for her. ‘Anything else right now would never end well, would it?’ he mused with a hint of disappointment that Jo felt in her toes. ‘And I’ve had enough doom.’

‘The ultimate doom is still to come on Friday,’ Jo pointed out, ‘or maybe on Monday when we arrive in Pe?íscola.’

‘If we ever arrive,’ Adrián joked. ‘There could be a strike, or an accident, or the roads could melt. We haven’t had any flooding yet. Or a lightning strike!’

‘Shut up, Adrián! We’re not that doomed!’

‘Just a little doomed,’ he added under his breath and she elbowed him hard enough to make him add, ‘oof.’

‘Come on, the sun’s gone down. Let me tie your shoes and we should head back before it gets dark.’

She was well aware that friends didn’t hold hands, but she figured they needed each other for balance as they negotiated the rocky path in the fading light. Instead of obsessing about Ben, the wedding, the stresses of life, she only thought about the feel of his rough fingers over the back of her hand and let him tug her up the steep parts while she grumbled loudly about her tiredness.

‘I’m the injured one. Why are you complaining?’ he said, but his lips were curled at the corners.

‘I don’t have your magical ability to sleep like a rock on a train,’ she shot back.

They dropped hands when they reached the gate in the whitewashed wall around Carles’s house. The quiet lilt of a guitar sounded from one end of the house, gently plucked strings in smooth, flowing arpeggios.

Jo followed Adrián wordlessly to the hallway at the other end – the guest bedrooms – and her mind raced with things to say, each more terrible than the last: Thanks for… um… making out on the beach; good night, friend; I hope you sleep better than I will; maybe we should just kiss one more time for luck.

But it was Adrián who spoke first, with an awkward, ‘Um.’ His gaze flew to hers. ‘Could you… help me with my shirt?’

‘Of course,’ Jo said, shaking off the effects of moonlight on the rocks and holding hands with someone she liked. It was only when she approached and lifted her arms that she realised undressing Adrián right now might pose a slight problem.

Now the air had cooled, she felt the residual warmth of his skin as she came close to undo the sling, pulling the strap through the loop.

‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.

‘When I move it,’ he said with a nod. ‘But it’s already so much better than it was.’

Keeping his left arm limp at his side, he lifted the hem of his T-shirt with his good hand. ‘Now you’ve shown me the technique, maybe I can do this mys—’ He paused, his last words muffled with a mouthful of T-shirt. He’d managed to lift the shirt over his face, his good arm up in the air, but now he was stuck, his bare chest all Jo could see of him. She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. He had a lovely chest – not model muscular, as he didn’t have time for that, but strong and healthy, with just enough dark hair to look cosy.

It was a much nicer torso than Ben’s and that thought was exactly why she shouldn’t be standing there thinking about touching him.

‘Eh, Jo? I might need help after all.’

With a chuckle, she grasped the T-shirt and helped him pull his good arm free, before working the material gently over his head and down his bad arm, trying not to ghost her fingers over his skin and failing occasionally.

His breath tickled her forehead as his chest rose and fell. Her mouth was dry, but licking her lips only made her think about that kiss and she couldn’t go there right now if she was going to resist another. He gave her a lingering look, a gaze so clear and aching that she knew he was thinking about the same thing. She wanted to. She didn’t want to leave the clear water of the Costa Brava. They had tomorrow, they could?—

She stepped away from him, swallowing regret. If the whole trip was a little doomed, then this, whatever it was between them, was doubly doomed. She had to focus on getting through the wedding and that was all.

At least one of the many mishaps of the past few days had definitely worked out for the best, Jo thought the following morning as she wandered uphill in the direction of the next town. She could never suggest to Adrián that it was a good thing his guitar had missed the flight, but she couldn’t imagine missing this place, these views.

Taking the coast roads on foot from Carles’s house tucked in the hills, she’d passed the little beach at Port Lligat with its fishing boats moored on the still bay. Gazing up at the white mansion on the hillside that Salvador Dalí had embellished with two enormous eggs on the roof, she marvelled that they didn’t look as out of place as she would have expected among the silver olive trees and brown earth.

She glimpsed water ahead of her; there was water behind her – and the sky overhead was endless, without a single cloud. Yes, she missed Liss and Dec like a part of herself, but she’d spoken to them just that morning and Ben was capable of looking after them just as well as she was. Tomorrow was soon enough to arrive back in the real world.

For today, she was in an alternate reality where ancient stone walls lined the narrow roads and prickly pears dotted the dry hillside. She wanted to walk all day, soaking up the sun and exploring the stony headlands and secret coves – like the one Adrián had shown her the night before.

Goosebumps tingled over her skin when she thought about last night, wondering if she’d made the right decision to keep her distance, whether this alternate reality might have made it okay to be intimate with someone so wrong for her in the usual reality – whether part of her reluctance was just nerves, knowing her body wasn’t as cooperative as it had been twenty years ago.

In this alternate universe, perhaps Adrián wouldn’t care if she needed to pee at the wrong moment. He’d seen her without make-up, with puffy morning eyes, in her reading glasses – in her comfy undies! That he’d still wanted to kiss her was definitely down to this alternate reality thing because she was supposed to be the jaded ex-PTA mum, not a desirable sexual partner.

Yes, her decision last night had definitely been sensible, as well as her decision that morning to leave him to his coffee – and Carles’s friendly niece – while she rambled to the next town to hopefully find some more clothes and perhaps a pair of sandals.

Continuing past a chapel with textured whitewash and a little bell in an arch on the roof, the more frequent houses, shops and restaurants suggested she’d reached the outskirts of Cadaqués, the only settlement of any size on this lonely peninsula.

The town was a maze of narrow streets, tiny, walled gardens with washing strung up between the white buildings and continual glimpses of the bay. She mentally added a sangria on the beach to her schedule for later – or perhaps a coffee if it was still morning.

She found a small boutique and left with a frivolous summer dress patterned in green and blue – very much not her usual style – as well as a straw hat that made her feel like an actress in a film and a pair of shoes that Liss would probably have called ‘Jesus sandals’. The saleswoman hadn’t blinked an eye when Jo had asked to keep the dress on and pack away her (rather whiffy) shirt and shorts in the shopping bag.

After another half-hour of meandering – along the busy waterfront and out towards the headland – she caught herself wondering what Adrián was doing and couldn’t shake off the thought that he could have come with her after all.

Then her phone rang with an unknown British number, providing a welcome distraction. ‘Hello, this is Jo Watters,’ she answered.

‘I didn’t have your number!’

She paused, perching on a low wall by the water and swallowing a smile. ‘How did you manage to call me, then?’

‘I texted Mónica,’ Adrián answered grimly. ‘Where are you? Mercedes dropped me off in Cadaqués on her way to church. Did you find some more clothes?’ She secretly loved the way he’d taken it for granted that they would meet up now.

‘Yep,’ was all she said in reply, fingering the soft crepe of her dress and wondering what he’d say when he saw it. She expected something trite like: ‘Beautiful dress, beautiful woman,’ that he would mean earnestly but would only make Jo self-conscious about the times he’d seen her at her worst.

‘Good, me too. I’ll text you a place where we can meet for lunch. I’ll be there in about ten minutes, but don’t worry if it takes you longer.’ He hung up without saying goodbye or waiting for her to say anything else.

She blinked at the phone, uncertain whether to be annoyed or flattered, and the message dropped in as she watched, listing a beachside café not far from where she stood. Taking a chance that he would be coming from the centre of Cadaqués, she waited a few minutes and then saw him striding along the footpath in her direction, a shopping bag in his good hand. She tried not to feel anything – she tried very hard.

He was wearing a billowing short-sleeved shirt with one too many buttons undone, stonewashed denim shorts with a drawstring and a pair of flip-flops. He smiled when he saw her, hurrying to catch her and pressing a kiss to her cheek when he did. Jo was well past the age of girlish blushes, but one bloomed up her chest anyway.

‘You look like you belong here,’ was all he said after taking note of her dress. Damn him, it was a perfect compliment and she hoped it was just the sunshine melting her insides. ‘Come on, it’s time for fried baby octopus, paella, croquetes and crema catalana for dessert!’

‘Is that supposed to be breakfast, lunch and dinner today?’

He shrugged – a good sign because it wasn’t accompanied by a grimace of pain. ‘No, you are sharing with me!’

‘Is that why you wanted to meet for lunch?’

‘One of the reasons,’ he replied, giving her a wink. But he took off before she could bluster an annoyed reply that she wouldn’t mean.

When they arrived at the little café on the water, with wicker chairs, a faded sunshade and lush, low trees providing relief from the heavy heat, she forgot everything except the creak of her stomach, the scent of seafood and garlic and the slight tang of olive oil.

The kids would just have to forgive her for enjoying herself.