Love Overboard

Chapter One

Chapter One

Sofia hadn’t been abroad in so long that she could not help but feel startled every time someone spoke to her in Italian. This particular someone was the receptionist at the maroon-carpeted, three-star hotel she was going to be spending the night in.

She looked up from her phone where she had been staring at the internet search results for ‘bars and restaurants near me’. She was standing in the hotel lobby, brow furrowed and feeling out of her depth. Ironic really – her life was food, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had gone out to eat or drink. ‘Um sorry, I’m English,’ she said apologetically.

The receptionist seemed to understand what she was apologising for. ‘Did you need any recommendations? There are a lot of nice places nearby, maybe for food or a drink?’ Her English was perfect, and Sofia felt oddly flattered that she had not immediately been identified as a ‘Brit abroad’.

‘Oh yes, I was actually trying to look up somewhere to...’ Sofia fumbled with her phone as she walked to the reception desk and held the screen up for her to see. ‘This place is quite near here. Is it any good?’

‘Lovely for a glass of Aperol Spritz – I know that that is very popular with our British guests. It’s right on the beach, so there is also a lovely view.’ The woman looked younger up close and Sofia could see what looked like a love bite peeking above the collar of her white shirt. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to grow up in a place like this, a stone’s throw from miles of beautiful beaches, days bathed in sun, evenings spent at beach bars, balmy late-night walks, kissing in the moonlight. It had been a while since Sofia had thought about anything resembling ‘romance’, and here she was lusting after the imagined life of this stranger in front of her, who looked like she was barely out of her teens. She reminded herself that she was not here for pleasure; she was here to work. Moonlit strolls along the beach were not for people like her. She didn’t have the time for stuff like that.

‘Perfect, I’m only looking for somewhere pretty to sit and enjoy the sunset. Thanks for your help.’ The receptionist smiled, absent-mindedly rearranging her collar, and then started typing something. Sofia wandered out into the evening, down the road and towards the beach.

She found a small table in the corner with a beautiful view. A rugged coastline, terraces of white and terracotta villas, and beyond that swathes of marbled green and grey hills. Sofia wanted to just enjoy the view, but she couldn’t shake that niggling feeling of anxiety that had been born in the pit of her stomach since she landed this new job. She knew that Mary had taken a chance on her, and she didn’t want to let anyone down. More than that, she didn’t want to have to return to London with her tail between her legs and admit that her big adventure had been the ‘foolish’ career move her friends and old colleagues had warned her it would be.

She pulled out the recipe cards from her bag and began flipping through them. This was her chance to finally cook her own menu. She was excited and nervous as hell. She had planned the whole first three weeks – breakfast, lunch and dinner – each day with its own set of flavours. To try and be as efficient and seasonal as possible she was going to borrow an idea from her old restaurant: that some of the same ingredients would feature throughout the day. She might make pancakes with a pineapple compote for breakfast, and then lunch would be a poke bowl with pineapple instead of mango, and then dinner would be topped off with pineapple and rum pudding. This would make the meals feel thematic, but she hoped it wasn’t too gimmicky. A culinary journey from sunrise to sunset – that’s what she had pitched to Mary.

She was messing around with Wednesday’s ingredients list. Would she be able to source blueberries when they stopped off in Capri? Berries in the Mediterranean in early summer? What was she thinking? She began flipping through her dog-eared notebook. She was sure she had done something similar with apricots instead.

She heard them before she saw them. As you often can with Americans, she thought, stealing a glance in their direction as they made it very clear to the waitress that they were only there ‘for drinks’.

‘How about that little table overlooking the beach?’ The voice was distinctly low, and manly, she found herself noting.

He was the sort of man who was almost obnoxiously good-looking, and as is often the way with men like that, he seemed to be fully aware of it. His dark hair with just the right amount of curl, and the kind of lustre that only generational wealth can buy. Broad shoulders, a light stubble and deep tan. She thought that he looked like the leader of the pack, the chief Chad. The waitress blushed slightly as she walked the four men to the table near the window.

‘Grazie mille,’ said Chief Chad, in what sounded like disarmingly fluent Italian. As he looked up Sofia caught his gaze, and it was only then that she realised she’d been staring. His eyes were green. She felt embarrassed and looked away. She was just another blushing woman to him, and she couldn’t bear to give him the satisfaction. There was something about the way he smirked at her that made her irrationally angry. It was something that was always there in men like him, the ones who waltzed through the world like they owned it. She was determined not to reinforce that belief, if she could help it.

This was her last night of freedom, and she wasn’t about to let this random jock distract her from her recipe cards and the delicious Crodino she was drinking. She looked around the terrace and took a moment to think about where she was. It looked like somewhere straight out of a wanderlust Instagram story. The light was turning golden, a warm breeze drifting in from the sea. She looked out across the horizon. Soon she would be out there herself. Well, she would probably be holed up in a tiny, windowless kitchen for most of the day, but she would be at sea. It was all she could remember having wanted. She set down the jumble of cards on the table.

She had grown up by the sea, albeit the English coast, which was not really in the same league as the Amalfi variety, but still, the smell of salt in the air was comforting. When she had got her spot at Lochland Fleet’s culinary school, she couldn’t have known it would take her seven years to get back to the ocean. Three years in the Yorkshire Dales for school, another two in Oxford first as a commis chef and then as a chef de partie. London next, where she’d landed what she thought was her dream job, at Nakachwa, the trendiest Michelin-starred spot in the city. She was promoted to sous after just six months. It was unheard of and she suspected everyone had hated her for it.

For a second, she let her mind wander to those last few weeks at the restaurant, how tired, sad and pale she had been. How much she had dreaded setting foot in that pristine, beautiful kitchen, how hard she had had to work to never meet his eyes over the countertop.

Amid the blood and sweat and tears of the last eighteen months she had lost sight of what she really wanted. On those lonely night buses home, through the blinking lights of the dozing city, she would fantasise about the sea. The flat expanse of blue, the calmness and the chaos of waves meeting the shoreline. She shook her head, and away with it the memories of drizzly London. She was here now. She could feel the colours seeping back into her body, chasing out the sepia tones of a past life. Her skin turning browner, her curls catching the bronze of the sunshine. She drank in the last rays of mauve sunlight, letting out a deep sigh. She was ready.

Over at the table overlooking the beach, the Chads were laughing, far too loudly, thought Sofia.

‘Well, I guess we won’t see you until Thanksgiving?’ one of them was saying.

‘Aww, you going to miss me?’ joked Chief Chad, smacking his friend on the back so hard that he began to splutter on his beer.

‘He’s only asking for his sister. He can’t stand another six months of her asking after you,’ interjected another.

Chief Chad threw back his head, laughing and revealing a pearly row of very American teeth. ‘Listen, the girl is sweet. Honest to God, I think she’s great, but I think I made myself quite clear.’

‘Did you give her the “lone wolf” line?’

‘Hell no, that’s so ten years ago. I told her I was “emotionally unavailable”.’

At this, all the men laughed raucously, whilst many of the other drinkers, who had up until now been enjoying a more subdued evening drink, volleyed disapproving glances in their direction.

Internally, Sofia raged. Why did men like him have to say things like that? Once upon a time ‘emotionally unavailable’ had been something that she and her friends had said, rallied around and shielded themselves with. It was the reason she was single – ‘it’s not you, babe, it’s him!’ That and her complete disregard for a work-life balance. Now here was Chief Chad using the line to cast off some poor girl he probably never had any interest in in the first place. What had been a balm turned into the hot poker of rejection.

More laughing, more drinking and then the shrill clatter of smashed glass. ‘Oh shit, Connor. Watch out, man, these shoes have got to last me.’ But Chief Chad was chuckling, dabbing at his wet shirt with a napkin. His eyes sparkled with good humour and Sofia found herself, once again, thinking about how green they were. Time for another drink. Sofia wandered over to the bar, elbows on the counter, trying to catch the eye of the waitress, who seemed to be the only person working that evening.

‘Scusi,’ she mumbled weakly.

‘Mi scusi, potrei avere altre due birre? E penso che potremmo aver bisogno di aiuto per le pulizie.’ That perfect Italian, still somehow American-sounding and too loud in her ear. She could feel him right behind her, standing too close. The waitress looked up, blushing again.

‘Il tuo italiano è impeccabile,’ she gushed. ‘Naturalmente, farò venire qualcuno al vostro tavolo.’

‘Grazie.’ The waitress scuttled off into a back room. Sofia sighed loudly. Apparently, she was doomed to have to witness the obnoxiousness of Chief Chad up close, and wait indefinitely for a drink.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to push in. I’ll get you a drink to make up for it,’ he intoned over her shoulder. She looked up, annoyed by his sudden faux chivalry.

‘I’m fine, thanks, I can wait until you guys have wrapped up your little flirtation.’ It came out sounding more bitter than she’d intended. He laughed and her rage resurfaced with a vengeance.

‘British?’ he asked. She hoped he wouldn’t follow with an inane comment on how cute her accent was.

‘Yes,’ was all she said.

‘Well, my experience with Brits has generally been that you guys need to learn how to take it easy sometimes. Look around, we’re in one of the most beautiful places in the world, and you won’t let a nice guy like me buy you a drink?’ He was leaning even closer now, looking at her in a way that she assumed he thought was alluring, but was actually incredibly off-putting.

Sofia was not about to be beguiled by those green eyes. ‘You think quite highly of yourself, I see.’

‘Well when faced with a beautiful woman such as yourself, a guy has got to psych himself up.’

Sofia rolled her eyes. ‘How many women have you called beautiful this evening?’

He laughed again, and despite herself Sofia cracked a smile.

‘And she smiles, too! Only you, sweet cheeks, oh and that lovely little waitress who is having trouble finding the mop.’ He ran his hand through his hair and held Sofia’s gaze. She felt like the one-woman audience for a one-man show.

‘Is that your signature move?’ she asked.

‘Buying a beautiful woman a drink?’ He smirked. ‘Kinda, yeah.’

‘No the whole hand through the hair, intense eye contact thing, and enough with the “beautiful woman” schtick.’ She thought she caught a glimpse of him looking something akin to wounded and it thrilled her. He quickly composed himself.

‘Even the wet shirt isn’t doing it for you?’

‘Ahh yes, nothing gets the girls going like a beer-soaked polo.’

Right then the waitress came back, much to Sofia’s relief. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep up the witty comebacks; she hadn’t flirted with a man for months. She wasn’t even sure that’s what she was doing, but wasn’t that what strangers did at bars?

The waitress pulled two draught beers, and placed them on the counter, quickly lowering her eyes when she caught that sparkle of green.

‘So what are you drinking?’ He wasn’t looking at her; he was still smiling at the waitress.

‘Um, I think it’s called a Crodino.’

The waitress finally seemed to notice Sofia.

‘Si, Aperol senza alcool?’ she said as she busied herself with an orange and a tall glass.

‘Yes, the Aperol one, thank you.’ Before she could get her card out, Chief Chad swiped his.

‘I could have got that myself, thank you.’

‘Well, I mean it’s not like you need to worry about me trying to get you drunk and take advantage. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as alcohol-free Aperol.’ That smirk again. ‘You’re really not out to have a good time, are you?’

Any feelings of warming to him rapidly evaporated. Sofia was angry. What did this guy know about her life? She was getting ready to quite literally embark on a new, terrifying, and exhilarating chapter in her life, she didn’t need a hangover right now.

‘I’d really like to enjoy my drink in peace if you don’t mind, so I am going to go back to my table now and if you and your boys could keep it down I think everyone else in this bar would really appreciate that too.’

For a moment he looked stunned. He turned to pick up his beers and gave her a slow once-over. ‘Such a waste when a beautiful woman like you turns out to be so uptight. You need to learn to live a little.’

She didn’t really even think about it. It all happened so quickly she could hardly believe she had pulled it off. As the Chad was speaking the waitress had gingerly put the bright orange drink on the counter. Next thing Sofia knew, it had made its way into her hand and then promptly all over the once cream polo standing in front of her. For a second she felt embarrassed, and then newly empowered. She put the glass firmly back onto the counter and turned to walk away, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

‘I knew you had a thing for the wet shirt!’ he called after her. She ignored him, gathering her things from the table.

‘Jack, bro, what the hell happened up there?’ She could hear the boys laughing even more loudly than before.

As she walked out the bar she made sure not to look over at his table.