Chapter 21 #2
‘He’s a scientist really, underneath that fisherman’s beard,’ Nina says, blinking up at him, goofy faced.
‘This has taken years of cultivation,’ Peter grins, stroking his red and grey streaked beard.
‘You’re a bloody twat,’ I tell him and Isla snorts her wine.
‘Kit’s got the rescue team well drilled.’ Peter winks. ‘I reckon when Cal steps down, Kit’s going to be next up.’
‘Isn’t it dangerous?’ Isla asks, looking at me with an expression I can’t read.
‘No more than fishing,’ I say. ‘The Atlantic during spring tides is like something the gods have sent.’
‘We’ve got each other’s backs,’ Peter adds. ‘Best crew in Cornwall. Wouldn’t trust anyone else out there with me than Kit and the rest of them.’
Isla doesn’t say anything else, but her fingers curl a little tighter around her wineglass.
Before the mood can sink too deep, which no one wants for a first date, Ayo calls across the bar, voice booming.
‘Quiz night in ten, folks! Teams of four max! No fighting!’
‘We’re playing, right?’ Nina asks, eyes bright with competitive spirit. ‘We’re the perfect team of four.’
I glance at Isla. This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I suggested a date, but then I did say dinner at the pub, which probably serves me right for forgetting about quiz night.
‘I’m terrible at quizzes,’ I warn Isla. ‘My knowledge is pretty much limited to fishing, boats, and Eighties action films.’
‘And I know far too much about celebrity gossip and Oscar winners,’ she replies. ‘Between the four of us, we might have a chance.’
‘Don’t underestimate Peter,’ Nina says proudly. ‘He’s got an encyclopaedic knowledge of useless facts. It’s maddening but useful.’
‘Comes from spending too many nights on watch,’ Peter explains with a modest shrug. ‘Read anything and everything to stay awake. Gets stuck in your head after a while.’
‘Team name?’ Nina asks, already scribbling on one of the answer sheets Ayo has distributed.
‘How about “Quiz-tine’s Chapel”?’ Isla offers. ‘Art history pun.’
‘Too clever by half,’ Nina decides. ‘What about “The Sea Salt Bay Avengers”?’
‘Boring,’ Peter teases.
Nina rolls her eyes.
‘“Fishermen’s Friends”?’ I suggest.
‘Makes us sound like cough drops,’ Nina says dismissively.
‘“Quizteama Aguilera”?’ Isla tries.
We all pause, considering.
‘That’s not bad,’ Nina admits, writing it down. ‘Pop culture reference but not too obvious.’
‘And Ayo will appreciate the pun,’ Peter adds, signalling to Tilly, who’s laughing behind the bar with Cal, who’s standing next to his teenage son.
I give them a wave, ignoring the high raised eyebrow and as-unsubtle-as-hell look from Cal when he sees Isla next to me.
‘First round’s on me. Second round’s on Kit when we win. ’
‘Confident, aren’t you?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘With these two lovely ladies on our team? Absolutely.’ He winks at Isla. ‘Hollywood’s finest and Sea Salt Bay’s sharpest. We can’t lose.’
With our team name settled we order another round and a basket of chips.
The quiz kicks off, and shockingly, we’re not complete crap.
Peter handles anything vaguely nautical or historic like he’s been waiting his whole life for this.
Nina crushes music and lit. Isla’s a machine when it comes to pop culture and film.
I handle the sports stuff, mostly. Don’t humiliate myself, which is enough.
Somewhere between rounds, I start noticing her more.
Isla. The way she leans in when she talks, like what she’s got to say can’t be wasted on air.
Her knee bumps mine under the table, and she doesn’t move it.
Her hand lands on my leg every time she nails an answer.
It’s distracting as hell in the best way.
She laughs at something Nina says – head thrown back, that laugh that always made people turn just to find the source. And then she leans in again, breath warm on my ear.
‘I’m having a really good time,’ she says, and my head is full of salt and vanilla. ‘Thank you.’
‘Me too,’ I say, a little rough, because yeah – I mean it.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back to mine. And I don’t think. Just kiss her. Quick. Sure.
She’s smiling when I pull back, lips pink and soft. ‘What was that for?’
‘Felt like it,’ I say. ‘That all right?’
‘More than all right.’ She glances over my shoulder, grinning. ‘Though I think we just made the Pendleton table’s night.’
I follow her look. Yep – Dot and her knitting posse are watching us like it’s prime time telly.
‘Let ’em talk,’ I mutter. ‘Not hiding this.’ It slips out before I’ve thought about it too hard. Too late now.
She looks at me – really looks. Then her hand slides into mine under the table.
‘Me neither,’ she says, voice low. And that? That settles something in my chest I didn’t know was still shifting.
Nina clears her throat loudly. ‘As much as I’m loving the will-they-won’t-they, we’ve got a sports question and our so-called expert is busy making eyes.’
I grin, squeezing Isla’s hand once before turning back to the paper. ‘Hit me. Long as it’s not cricket, we’ve got this.’
The moment passes, but it stays there between us, buzzing under the noise, under the banter, like a live wire.
‘Final question,’ Ayo announces, milking the tension. ‘Category: Local History. For the win, folks.’
Nina and Peter exchange confident glances, while Isla looks to me. ‘This one’s on you, local boy,’ she says. ‘No pressure.’
‘The question is…’ Ayo pauses dramatically. ‘In what year was the Sea Salt Bay lighthouse first lit, and who was its first keeper? Two-part answer, both parts required for points.’
A murmur runs through the pub as teams confer. I start to reach for my pint, mind already working on the answer, when Isla goes completely still beside me.
‘1843,’ she hisses under her breath. ‘The first keeper was James Trevillian.’
I stare at her, astonished. ‘How did you know that?’
A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. ‘I played his granddaughter in The Lighthouse, remember? I did my research.’
Nina is already scribbling down the answer. ‘Are you sure? This is for the win.’
‘Positive,’ Isla says. ‘James Trevillian, 15 August 1843. His granddaughter Elizabeth kept a journal that was the basis for the film. It might have been filmed in Wales and riddled with Cornish inaccuracies, but I remember that much.’
‘I’ll be damned.’ Peter grins, impressed. ‘And here I was about to say 1847 and William something-or-other.’
We submit our answer, and the tension builds as Ayo reviews all the submissions. Finally, he stands, pint glass raised high.
‘And the winners, with a perfect score in the final round … Quizteama Aguilera!’
Our table erupts in cheers, Nina and Peter high-fiving while Isla throws her arms around my neck in celebration. The rest of the pub offers good-natured applause, with a few mock boos from the defeated teachers’ team.
‘First prize,’ Ayo announces, approaching our table with a bottle, ‘is this fine champagne. Well, prosecco. Well, sparkling wine from the supermarket in Truro. But it’s the victory that counts, not the prize, right?’