23. Without Expectation
Summer
On Sunday, I managed to get up first and make breakfast, but only by setting my alarm for five-thirty. I was used to being the most disciplined person around. That must be why Roman threw me so off-balance. Well, I had to try harder, that was all. His house was too comfortable, and I couldn’t afford to slip into self-indulgence.
Of course, when he was sitting at the table working his way through the tiny lemon-ricotta pancakes with blackberries and bacon, he did it again.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, not looking at me.
“Uh …” I said. “Those rugs?”
He set down his fork. “Have I grabbed you yet?”
“Well … last night?”
He sighed. “It was a cuddle. I took care to keep it that way. Also, I went swimming with you, and it was bloody cold. My turn to choose the activity.”
“You’re right,” I said. “We can do the rugs afterwards. Let me just leave a note for Delilah.”
“Yes to ice packs and Panadol,” Roman said, “ and no to day drinking?”
“You’re right,” I said, “because there’s also the stool softener. Delilah drunk, on two days with the stool softener … that could be a bridge too far.”
“Nah, I’m not squeamish. I could tell you stories about four adventure racers in the house after they’ve been eating freeze-dried food for days. Now, that’s foul. I’ll take my chances.”
The start of the “walk”—usually Kiwispeak for “this hike will kick your butt until you’re shaking”—was nothing but a wide spot in the road. There weren’t any other cars parked there, either, which made me wonder how scenic it was going to be. It wasn’t even on the coast! We set out through generic Kiwi bush, lush and green, listened to some melodic tui and bellbird song, and I tried not to be self-conscious about Roman walking behind me, looking at my backside and legs in my shorts. He hadn’t seemed overwhelmed by lust so far, though, and I really didn’t have that great a body. Doing that show and being a football WAG tended to put your looks into perspective, and I was nothing like the tall, curvy, sultry siren so many men fantasized about, with her wide mouth and almond eyes, not to mention the breasts and hips that asked him to drown himself in her body. Jessica Rabbit I was not. In the movies, the guy only comes back to the girl next door once he’s sampled the delights of the big city, and I was definitely the girl next door.
Then we started climbing, and I forgot to think about how I looked in my shorts. The track was steep and muddy, with rough-and-ready steps made of something I recognized. Ponga, the trunks of fern trees, their scaly texture just rough enough not to be entirely slippery. I was sweating and breathing hard within a hundred meters, and glad Roman wasn’t the chatty type, but I was also … well, enthralled.
Because there wasn’t just a canopy overhead now. Yes, there were big trees that I should know the names of—Rimu was one, and … Well, rimu. Lower to the ground, the ferns, vines, and mosses grew in wild abandon, lush as the Olympic rainforest back home, and then there were all those palms and fern trees. So many shades, from palest green to emerald to the deep green of the … rimu, or whatever. That was the one with drooping needles like cedar, so that was the one I knew. That and the fern trees, because they were ferns, and they were trees. There you were.
Green, I decided, was the most calming color, all but seeping through your body. What would it be like to live here, with the sea to swim in and walk beside, and hikes like this on your doorstep?
Doing what? my practical mind decided to ask, which, yes, was the rub. You could only camp for so long.
We stopped at one point to look at the rushing stream below us, and I took a swig of water, shoved the hair back from my sweaty forehead, and said, “This is so good. Do you do this often?”
“Not this walk,” Roman said. “Heaps of walks like this around the Catlins, though. Calming, eh.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You run them.”
He smiled. “Not as fast as that ex of mine, so there’s that.” And we started up again. The pitch of the trail getting steeper, the footing getting rougher, my breath coming harder, the birds singing louder, and the rush of water increasing until we turned a corner and … there it was. An enormous waterfall cascading down above us over a rocky cliff, splashing into a plunge pool surrounded by boulders, sending up a cloud of mist. Twisted trees clustered around it, their limbs covered by moss, and I could see a sort of pathway across, if I dared leap from rock to slippery rock.
It was one of those moments that descend on you sometimes, catching you by surprise. Like diving under the waves last week, the shock and the smell and the taste of it, when you feel yourself here with every one of your senses and realize how lucky you are, still, no matter what, to be alive.
I said, “I’m going in.” Recklessly, the way I never was anymore, unless you counted diving under those waves. Of course, I’d had Roman with me for that.
He said, right on cue, “Don’t get swept downstream. There’s another waterfall down there at the turning in the track. Could break your tailbone, eh.”
“Oh.” I paused in the act of untying my shoes. “I’m not that great a swimmer, as you know. Maybe I shouldn’t.” And felt all the disappointment of it. The day was warm, and humid, too, here by the water, those birds were singing, the water was rushing, and I wanted to feel the cold slipping over my heated body.
He said, “No worries. Stay away from the edge, that’s all. Tell you what, I’ll come in with you and keep you from it.”
“You will?” I had my shoes and socks off, because whatever I said, I wanted to do this. I needed it. I was the last thing from adventurous these days, but I was doing it anyway.
“Yeh,” Roman said. “I will.”
I said, “Good. Act without expectation. That’s Lao Tzu, and I’m doing it. Also, I’m taking off my clothes. Too uncomfortable doing the rest of this hike afterwards otherwise. Don’t misinterpret.”
Roman
She wasn’t lying. She stripped off her T-shirt and shorts and stood there in her blue sports bra and undies. They weren’t anything special, but that body sure as hell was. She looked made of marble, except that she was turning a laughing gaze to me, all heart-shaped face and big gray eyes, and saying, “What? It’s no more than I’d show in a swimsuit, and I need to remember how to be spontaneous.” Sounding brave, but there was something unsure in her expression, too. Maybe wondering if she could trust me. Anybody would have told her the answer was no.
“No worries,” I said. “Go for it.” I got my own kit off pretty bloody quickly, down to my boxer briefs, then looked for the best spot, said, “Here,” and eased my way down the bank and into the clear water, cold against my skin.
“Wait,” Summer said, hesitating above me. “Should I be more careful?”
“Nah,” I said. “Slide on in here. I’ve got you.”
I got a smile for that, and she slid straight in and shrieked a little as she hit the water, for once not seeming burdened by the cares of the world.
“I’ll stay between you and the dropoff,” I said. “You can probably stand, in fact.”
She tried it. The water came to my chest, but to her neck. “Barely,” she said, and started treading water again. “This is great. I think I could learn to swim better in New Zealand, if I had time. I never really had the chance before. No money for lessons when I was a kid, and later—well, you know. I worked a lot, and I never really needed to swim until my survival show, when it was a little late to learn, so …”
“Mm,” I said. I couldn’t see her body well under the water, so why was I so aware of it? She drifted closer to the edge, and I put out a hand and grabbed her upper arm. “Getting close there.”
She said, “You really are a protective man.” Not sounding like that was a bad thing, not today. Big gray eyes looking into mine, white shoulders rising out of the water, and no smile on her lips.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My other hand was on her shoulder now, the force of the water pulling her against me.
I could have remembered those trust issues and resisted kissing her. If I’d been a different man, I could have. My hand was on her face, though, her breasts were against my bare chest, and my lips were on hers. And the hunger was right there, flaring like a wildfire. I couldn’t have let her go if I’d tried, and I wasn’t trying. Because she was kissing me back, and she tasted of lemon and raspberries and bourbon-infused maple syrup, sweet and heady. The feel of her swirling through my brain, my hands tightening on her body.
Cold everywhere, except where we weren’t. Where her body was touching mine, there was nothing but heat. I was kissing her more deeply now, my hands tightening around her, wanting to touch so much more. Her mouth was opening under mine, her hands were on my shoulders, and I was pulling her closer, wanting my mouth at her neck, my hands on …
Voices from above us. Laughter. I barely heard them, but Summer pulled back, and I turned my head.
A dad. A mum. And three kids, one of them a boy of thirteen or fourteen with sticking-out ears and his eyes practically starting from his head. Fantasies realized, possibly.
“Hi,” I said, and for some reason, grinned.
The mum said something to the dad that I couldn’t hear over the noise of the water, and he gave a wave and a grin of his own before they all headed down the track again.
“Ah,” I said. “Going to the lower waterfall first. Good plan.”
I looked at Summer, she looked at me, and then she started laughing, and so did I. How could you help it? “I can’t believe it,” she moaned, then put her head against my chest for a moment, which felt pretty bloody good. “The one time I’m spontaneous. The one time. There were no other cars down there! We’ve seen zero people!”
“Yeh,” I said. “Bugger.” Not that I cared. Her legs were brushing against mine and I still had my arms around her, and all of that worked for me.
“We should go,” she said.
“Or not,” I said.
“I’m cold,” she said. “Since you’re protective.” And smiled some more. And I thought, Bloody hell. Bloody hell. But couldn’t think of a single other thing to say.
Until a couple of hours later, when I thought of it.