Hugh shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t.’
‘Well,’ I say, attempting to hold onto my annoyance but it’s draining out of me. ‘It’s OK. I want to put it behind us. I need a clear head today.’
He smiles, slightly crooked and cheeky and genuine.
A laugh escapes my lips.
‘What?’ Hugh asks, a wrinkle appearing in between his eyebrows.
‘I just realised this is probably the Hugh everyone else has got . . . you’re kind of nice.’
‘I am nice.’
‘And happy.’
‘That too. I’m more than just a hot, Australian face, Millie.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ I laugh.
Hugh’s eyes dance turquoise. ‘So, I take it we have a truce then?’ he says.
‘Truce,’ I confirm. Then I remember the shark isn’t really why we weren’t friends in the first place. ‘Except the wrasse,’ I say. ‘I’m finding that fish. Whether you like it not.’
Hugh holds his cup of tea in front of his mouth, but I see a grin bloom behind it.
Chapter 13
‘Nice sweatshirt.’ Hugh nods at the unravelled hem I’d been picking at earlier. Self-conscious, I tug the sleeves further down towards my hands. We’re sitting next to each other now, both gazing out at the sea towards the sunrise. We’ve spent the last couple minutes in companionable silence, watching as gulls swooped into the water. Every so often I steal a glance at him out of my peripherals, and one time I catch him looking back at me. We both look away as fast as we can, focusing on the turquoise horizon. He’s squinting, but his eyes are a clear bright blue this morning with golden flecks around his irises. He’s a little sunburned around his cheeks and on the slope of his nose. He looks even more like Prince Eric in profile than he did yesterday. The sun is about two feet above the water now, and Hugh says he started to hear rumblings of movement in the cabin while he was making tea.
‘Is this something Americans do? Wear extra-large clothes?’
‘Well, it’s actually not mine.’ I blush, although I can’t pinpoint whether it’s the implication that I’m wearing men’s clothes or Hugh’s gaze that makes me uncomfortable.
‘Oh.’ His eyes widen. ‘I see.’ He coughs awkwardly and recovers his normal expression. We sit in silence for another minute before he says, ‘I have to say it’s impressive that you found someone who can put up with your snoring.’
‘What!’ I exclaim, heat creeping up my neck. ‘I don’t snore!’Snoring is better than moaning in my sleep,I think.At least I didn’t do that.
Hugh’s lips twitch. I can tell he’s trying his hardest to keep a smile at bay. ‘If you say so,’ he says.
‘Also, I’m not . . .’ I stammer. ‘I haven’t found . . .’ I trail off again, not wanting to admit to snoring. ‘I thought we were in a truce,’ I complain, half whining.
‘You’re right,’ Hugh says, hands up in mock surrender. ‘You don’t snore. Truce.’ He winks. ‘So, tell me about the owner of the sweatshirt. If it’s not yours, is it someone special’s?’ Now, it’s his turn to blush at his own naked curiosity, and he fixes his gaze onto his half-empty cup of tea.
I stifle a laugh. ‘Well . . .’ I hesitate. ‘It’s my ex-boyfriend’s,’ I begin. I’m continuously surprised at how easily ‘ex’ rolls off my tongue. ‘We actually broke up pretty recently . . . it wasn’t great.’ I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath. It suddenly feels like every word I choose is heavy with importance. ‘He was right for me at the beginning. He was – he is – patient and safe. He’s reliable. I needed that in college, and right afterwards, when I didn’t know what I wanted to be doing. But I know myself better now and . . . well . . .’
When I stop talking, even the gulls are quiet, the ocean seems to be holding its breath. ‘This sounds stupid but it affected more of my life than I thought.’ I sigh. ‘I’m hoping this trip will give me some time to focus on myself. So I’m single but . . .’ I stop talking, leaving the rest of my thoughts left unsaid.
‘You’re focusing on yourself,’ Hugh supplies, his voice even. His eyes are still glued to his tea.
‘Trying to,’ I say in a small voice.
Hugh stills. I glance over at him, but his face remains impassive. Suddenly I’m extremely aware of my body. My breathing slows, but my heartbeat pulses at my temples. His leg is so close to mine that if we were to get jostled our limbs would touch. I spot a big wave in the distance, and feel a thrill dance up my spine. Neither Hugh nor I say anything as it approaches. We are both completely still. The wave is almost underneath the boat. I am so focused on the possibility of our limbs tangling together that I am holding my breath.
‘Morning!’ Andrew calls out, plopping down beside us right as we crest over the wave. We all jostle into each other, and any tension between me and Hugh dissipates.
Andrew launches into a barrage of questions, wondering how we slept, if we had breakfast yet, if there was more coffee. Watching Hugh respond with complete normalcy, as if Andrew hadn’t just interrupted a moment, is all I need to convince myself that letting that conversation continue would have been a bad idea.I wish Hugh wasn’t on this stupid boat.I know why he is though – if Millie knows this is the best dive trip a marine biologist’s salary can buy, then Hugh knows it too. I remind myself thatI can’t keep letting Hugh distract me just because he keeps me on my toes and appears in my dreams.Nothing can get in the way of me finding this wrasse.
We have three dives today, three more tomorrow, and one more after Fitzroy Island. Plenty of chances.
