Chapter Thirteen
We’re hoping to find somewhere tucked away so Gus can maintain his cover while we eat and drink and beg whoever owns the place to let me charge my phone some more. Luckily, we find a wine bar off the main street and manage to grab a table in the back.
Gus orders half the menu before cringing and glancing at me. “I keep forgetting I’m spending your money. I’ll chase my sister. She hasn’t replied yet.”
“It’s all good, I’ve already told you!”
“Yeah, yeah, but soon as I’m back on the ship I’ll transfer you what I owe plus the seven hundred per cent interest.”
I groan. “No interest.”
“Fine, Sara,” he says, smirking. “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll pay you—”
“Stoooop!”
“—one thousand per cent.”
“You’re really annoying. Has anyone ever told you that?”
He adds two bottles of red wine to the order before glancing back at me, swallowing. “Yeah. I’ve heard that before,” he says lightly, but it doesn’t diminish the shadow of something deeper in his words.
I almost press him on it but then our drinks arrive and he raises a glass.
“To freedom,” he says coyly.
I roll my eyes. “To getting back to our ship,” I counter.
“Ok, so,” I start, pulling up the map and zooming out.
“We need to get to Kotor tomorrow by midday. According to the itinerary, the ship is only in the harbour for a few hours. It’s the only stop where the ship actively recommends you join a tour. ”
“It’s like they don’t trust their guests not to miss the cruise.”
“Can you imagine why?”
“Not a clue.”
“We could drive tonight?” I suggest. “At least then we’d get there in time. I’m sure there’s a car hire nearby.”
“Oh good, just what this trip is missing, reckless endangerment.”
I eye him. Fair point. “Fine. Also I’d hate to waste those bottles of wine you just ordered.
” He nods, agreeing as I check the travel time between Dubrovnik and Kotor and sigh.
It’s only a couple of hours but there are border crossings which cause delays.
“We’ll need to leave early in the morning to be safe, I’m not taking any chances. ”
“How early?”
“First thing,” I say, giving the bottles of wine a weary glance.
He laughs at me. “Going by this morning, I fear waking you up early and getting you out the door before dawn might be a challenge in itself.”
I don’t even look at him for fear of giving him the satisfaction of being correct. “You’ve known me for twenty-four hours, Popstar. You don’t get to pretend you know me.”
He just smiles as if to say – but am I wrong? Which is not the point. Not the point at all. Is there some truth to it? Maybe. Does he get to be the one to point it out? No. He does not.
“Hiring a car seems like a lot of work. Why don’t we book a coach—”
“No,” I interrupt him. “No. I am not doing another coach.”
“Ok, ok,” he throws his hands up in surrender. “We can hire a car. Assuming you drive?”
I shake my head. “I do but…” my voice trails off. Damn. “I don’t have my driving licence on me.”
“Huh, too bad,” he says, shrugging.
“Wait. Do you not drive?”
He twists his lips. “Of course I drive! I did my test years ago – passed first time, by the way – I just haven’t actually used it in a while. And I also don’t have my licence.”
“Ooh. You’re defensive. Ha! Did wittle popstar always have a driver?”
He points a finger at me. “Stop it. I’m trying to grow here. Can’t you tell? Be kind to me. I’m a novice at all this. Just because you’ve been an adult since you were born.”
I have to laugh at this. Despite everything, I hear myself properly cackle. I hold onto the table for balance.
“You have no idea how on the money you are. My dad has always said that about me. Says I was parenting him before I was three.”
Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes as he fights a full-blown grin. “See. I told you. I have a good grasp of who you are, Sara. It’s one of my superpowers.”
“You have more than one?”
He shrugs. “I do but,” he leans across the table towards me and whispers, “the other one is top secret.”
“Hmm, sure.” I’ve dealt with my fair share of men like him. In my experience a witty man, the type that can laugh your knickers right off, often comes with trauma and commitment issues.
I would delve deeper, but at that moment, the waitress returns with bowls of Croatian-style tapas. I immediately grab my fork, stab some patatas bravas and close my eyes as the first delicious, garlicky bite oozes over my tongue. “Ohmyfuckinggawd.”
He smiles, a spark in his eyes like I’ve just done something very funny.
Again.
“So, what do I have to do to get security clearance and find out your top-secret superpower?”
He’s mid bite. “Nope. That’s also classified.” He takes another sip of wine and changes the subject. “Let’s plan. So, we’re not getting a coach. We can’t get our own car. What do you suggest?”
“Well,” I say, “Search results suggest either a ferry from Dubrovnik to Kotor, which takes two hours and leaves at six a.m., or a taxi.”
“Six a.m. ferry sounds torturous. Let’s take a taxi. Can we get one?”
I have several suggestions on my phone, but I opt to ask our waitress for help instead.
She’s more than happy to, and within ten minutes she’s managed to arrange a taxi for the morning, picking us up outside Old Town and taking us straight to the dock in Kotor.
I can actually feel myself starting to relax.
To keep things simple, I browse places on Airbnb nearby that we can book instantly. Fortunately, there’s a quaint loft a few blocks away, and without thinking I book it.
It’s only after the confirmation email comes through that it occurs to me that we’re sharing again. And there is only one bed.