Chapter 13
‘You’re sunburnt.’
‘I’m a lot more than just that.’ She was sitting back in her chair, eyes closed, body limp. ‘I hurt in places where I didn’t even know I had muscles. You didn’t tell me windsurfing was a workout.’
‘You didn’t stop when I suggested you might want to.’
After the first two hours, where he’d coached her on holding the foil upwind or downwind and moving her feet around the mast, she hadn’t needed him any more.
They’d rented an extra board and he’d spent the afternoon asking himself if he was simply enjoying cutting through the air on his board – one of his favourite activities since moving to the island – or whether he was trying to impress her.
If the latter, it hadn’t worked. She’d been focused on her own skills, her wide grin whenever they shared a look the result of her progress.
‘We decided to keep busy, so I kept busy,’ she said with a shrug that became a wince. Learning to windsurf hit the core muscles as well as the arms and shoulders and he could imagine how she was feeling. ‘But now I’d like a drink.’
He signalled to a waiter and spoke to him in quick Italian.
Cracking an eye open, she asked, ‘Did you just order for me? I’ve had enough surprises.’
‘There’s only one drink you’ll want right now.’
The other eye opened. ‘That’s presumptuous.’ There was no heat behind the words. ‘I don’t think someone has ever ordered a drink for me without checking first.’
‘Do you… Have you had a boyfriend since…?’ He choked on the question. Bad idea.
Perhaps he was lucky she was so tired. She just leaned on her elbows and gave him a withering smile. ‘Not really. I went on a few dates when I thought I should.’
‘Not because you wanted to?’
‘Who wants to date?’ she said with a grimace. ‘A first, even a second date is fraught with messy motivations and assumptions. Most people aren’t emotionally intelligent enough for a first date.’
She leaned closer with a conspiratorial smile, the contented lines of her face compelling.
He grinned back, joining her with his elbows on the table. ‘You’re right about that.’
The waiter brought their drinks and he held his breath as she studied hers, turning the squat glass around slowly with one hand. The ice cubes in the pale gold liquid caught the slanted rays of the sun. The sprig of mint looked shop-bought; what a waste when the stuff grew like a weed.
‘Hmm?’ he prompted when he couldn’t handle the suspense.
‘It looks exactly like what I would have ordered,’ she answered. ‘Limoncello Spritz?’ She took a sip through the glass straw and sighed from her diaphragm. ‘God, that’s good.’
Holding up his beer, he waited until she tapped her glass against it. ‘Cin cin.’
‘Cheers.’ Taking a long sip, she stared out at the calm sea. ‘I should take a picture,’ she said suddenly, rummaging in her rucksack for her phone. ‘This is exactly what my mum told me I should do on my week off.’
Something about what she said brought more colour to her cheeks, although she seemed to blush so often in his presence, perhaps it didn’t mean as much as he thought. She lined up the shot with the drink in the foreground and a few taps later, it was sent. Her phone rang a few seconds later.
‘Oh, I’m so—’
He gave her a quelling hand gesture and stood. ‘I’ll just visit the restroom. Take your call.’
Trying not to overhear – or to feel too curious – he dawdled to the back of the kiosk, taking his time to wash his hands and splash some water on his face.
When he rounded the corner again, he almost collided with someone – a person he hadn’t run into for a while and that had probably been for the best.
‘Gabri!’
He kissed her cheeks by rote, accepting the gesture when she wrapped her arms around him for a hug.
‘Ciao, Cristina.’
‘Where have you been hiding?’
‘The usual place – at home or in my shop. You look well.’
She gave him a pat on the arm, finishing with a fond squeeze. She was a lovely woman, funny – and uncomplicated. They’d had a good time together last year – two or three times, actually.
Glancing around Cristina, he noticed Toni had finished her call already and was sipping her drink, thankfully not looking this way. Then Cristina noticed where his gaze had gone and she snatched her hand back.
‘Ooh, I’m sorry,’ she said with a wink. ‘You finally settled down?’
‘No, I—’
Toni had seen him. It shouldn’t matter, but his throat itched and that damned blush flared over his skin. He couldn’t stop blushing when Toni – his friend – was nearby.
‘She’s a friend, but I should—’ He gestured awkwardly over Cristina’s shoulder.
‘Get back to your friend?’
‘Scusami, sì.’
When he rushed back to the table, Toni regarded him with an amused smile. ‘Someone you know well?’
He wasn’t sure whether to laugh of bury his face in his hands. ‘You could say that.’
When she spoke again, her words took him entirely by surprise. ‘Do you think she’d do me a favour?’
Now that Gabri had called his friend to their table, Toni was beginning to appreciate the ridiculousness of her spur-of-the-moment idea.
‘It’s, um… nice to meet you.’
It wasn’t really. Cristina was effortlessly friendly – and effortlessly pretty – and the familiarity between her and Gabri was obvious. Intimate familiarity, she guessed; he didn’t need to bribe a little person with ice cream and organise a babysitter to go out with a woman.
Cristina gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. ‘Gabri said I can help you with something.’
Right, yes. Back to the spur-of-the-moment ridiculousness. ‘It’s a long story, but could I take a selfie with you? Pretend we’re friends having a drink together.’ It sounded more unhinged when she said it out loud.
It was getting more difficult to deflect Daphne’s demands for a photo of Gabri, especially since she appeared to be glued to her phone for updates, ready to reply instantly with an inappropriate emoji – this time the tongue, which she assumed her mum had meant to signify, Yum.
Cristina blinked at her. ‘For your jealous husband?’
‘Noooooo! Oh God, you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not married, but never mind. It’s my mother who—’ She cut herself off with a grimace. She sounded sixteen, not thirty-nine.
But Cristina seemed to relate to what she’d said. ‘Ahh, I understand. Mothers want to know everything before we are ready to talk about it. I’m happy to help you keep your secret.’ She mimed locking her lips.
‘No, really, we’re not—’ She looked to Gabri for help, but he just shrugged.
Perhaps it was easier to let Cristina think they were on a date, rather than explaining that she’d thought he was a woman and they were now having a girls’ holiday together even though she’d seen him shirtless in his underwear; the close quarters of his little house were making her hot under the collar and she kept thinking about kissing him.
Cristina took Gabri’s seat and dragged it close, producing a smile that must have been fake but still looked as good as the make-up tutorials Toni had started watching when she’d realised she still did smokey eyes straight out of 2012.
Fumbling for her phone, she managed to open the camera app and raise it for a selfie.
‘Hold up the drinks,’ Gabri suggested, crossing his arms and watching with an amused smile.
‘Urgh, your beer,’ Cristina said, flashing him a glance, but she held it up for the photo, which Toni snapped as quickly as possible. ‘Now you two.’
Toni stilled at Cristina’s words, staring into her spritz. ‘We don’t… have to—’
‘Va bene,’ Gabri contradicted her with a tight smile that was definitely false.
He handed over his phone and dropped into the seat Cristina had just vacated.
While she stepped back, experimenting with angles and catching the coastline in the background, Gabri draped his arm along the back of Toni’s seat, raising the hairs on her skin.
‘Così, belli,’ Cristina said, pressing her index finger to her thumb. ‘Stay like that. No, maybe a little closer?’
Toni risked a look at him, but he was staring resolutely at the phone, a smile frozen on his face.
Forty-eight hours ago was the first time she’d seen this face, but so many details were familiar: the thick stubble that shadowed his face even though she’d accidentally glimpsed him shaving this morning; the faint scar on his chin; dark lashes over blue eyes.
He must have felt her looking, because he glanced at her, his brow lifting in something like an apology.
His hand brushed her bare shoulder. He was probably just touchy-feely, but after their intense conversations about life and love over the past two days, she imagined they both appreciated the novelty of affection.
She was lonely, despite the people taking up all the corners of her heart. She was a different kind of lonely – the kind that missed casual touches. The kind that had enjoyed falling off the windsurfing board and into his arms this morning.
He might be a commitment-phobe who seemed a little set in his ways, but right now, the stroke of his fingers was enough to steal her breath and fuzzy her thoughts.
It didn’t matter if he didn’t like kids and wanted to escape from the difficult parts of life if they were only spending a few days together.
Her thoughts felt dangerous as she turned back to the camera and smiled, leaning into him.
‘Ecco,’ Cristina said, handing the phone back. After a few more pleasantries in Italian that Toni didn’t understand, Gabri waved her off.
As soon as she’d disappeared around the corner, Toni blew out an enormous breath and fell back against her seat. ‘That was awkward.’
He peered at her over the rim of his beer glass as she quickly sent the photo. ‘Your mother doesn’t know about me, then?’ He had the audacity to look amused.
‘No,’ Toni answered flatly. ‘And she won’t find out. Would you have preferred I told her everything and she started imagining our wedding?’
Daphne probably wouldn’t go quite that far, not after everything Toni had been through, but Gabri’s sharp grimace suggested her words had had the desired effect.
Her thoughts went to the pack of condoms in the pocket of her suitcase, to what Daphne would encourage her to do in this situation, but she didn’t want to know how he would react to that information.
She’d just seen Cristina and although Toni knew that comparing herself to others was a recipe for resentment, it was a fact that Cristina had a much nicer tan.
‘Didn’t you say your mum was coming here next week?’
It was her turn to choke. ‘I’m sure there won’t be cause for you to meet her. She’ll be looking after Cillian while I’m working.’ She forced in a breath and tried to believe her own words. ‘Are you going to tell your mother that your visiting friend is a woman?’
‘Touché,’ he mumbled, taking a long sip. ‘She would be sewing clothing for our children.’
‘We agree it’s best to keep this… whatever it is, between ourselves.’
She was a little sick of the embarrassment, the subtext in every conversation.
Thinking back to the day they’d met, when Gabri had come right out with it and admitted he was attracted to her, she wondered if more of that openness was necessary, now they’d spent more time together and the magnetism wasn’t going away.
‘You don’t mind that Cristina obviously thinks this is something other than friendship?’
He straightened, sending her a pained look. ‘No.’
‘Have you dated much since your divorce? Or just “windsurfing lessons” that ended in the bedroom?’
He spluttered, coughing as he set down his beer. ‘That was one time!’
‘Did you give her flowers?’
‘Who? Cristina or the windsurfing woman?’
‘Either. Both?’
‘When I taught the woman to windsurf, it was autumn. I didn’t have many in my garden and you know how I feel about imported flowers.’
‘You’re a divorced wedding florist who doesn’t like roses.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed with a wince. ‘And I’m certainly not emotionally intelligent enough to date. Cristina can probably tell you that – not that she was looking for anything more than I was.’
‘You just… meet women and they fall into your bed? Is that the power of the moustache?’
‘You don’t know the power of the moustache,’ he quipped, rubbing a finger over the bristles and flashing her a smile. ‘But you make it sound like it happens often. Trust me, it doesn’t.’
Trust me… They were big words he was throwing around. She couldn’t trust him; that much was clear. He’d told her that himself.
Even so, she took a deep breath and blurted out the words that had been creeping up her throat since he’d touched her that morning: ‘Gabri, do you think we should kiss?’