Mei slips the card into the pocket of her jacket.
“Are you going to call him?” I ask, topping up her glass.
“Maybe. It might be a nice birthday present to myself.”
I wish I had her confidence. Then maybe I wouldn’t have had to find a fake date for the wedding.
I wish I wasn’t an overthinker. Because the whole way home, and half the night, my conversation with Mei, and Ant’s behaviour, runs on a loop in my head.
Is there merit in Mei’s suggestion that two driven people together is not a good combination? She’s right about me needing the cobwebs blown. But is Ant the person to do it?
Short answer to that, I suspect, is yes. If we’re talking from a purely physical perspective. The man has know-how written all over him.
But what is Ant really feeling about the fake dating? He didn’t kiss me when he had the perfect chance. My body language was practically begging for it. If he were a player, wouldn’t he have made a move? Which makes me think he’s not interested.But then he was so supportive at dinner, and incredibly sweet after my disastrous day in surgery. Was that just kindness? And around and around.
I don’t know the rules of these games. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.
Finally, as light starts to tiptoe through the gaps in my blinds, I realise I’m about to have eight days in Hawaii to work it out. And against all the odds, I’m looking forward to it.
Chapter Fourteen
Lilavati
It wasn’t by accident that I booked the tickets for Hawaii at the last minute. Spending a week with my parents, grandmother and the Emily Brigade is going to be hard enough. Being stuck on the same flight as them would be too much. I need to get on the plane, plug in my earbuds and zone out.
Ant is already waiting for me underneath the departures board when I arrive at Sydney Airport. He’s wearing boardshorts and has a battered backpack slung over one shoulder, an enormous lumpy-looking duffel bag at his feet, and yes, a surfboard in a padded bag bearing a logo with the letters BRB is propped against the nearby carry-on scales.
Ant has been as busy with work as me. I guess he’s been taking extra shifts to make up for the time off. So we haven’t seen each other for over a week. I’m surprised by the burst of pleasure the sight of his smiling face causes. His handsome, smiling face. And his very fit body.
He looks exactly like a surfer going on a relaxing holiday in Hawaii should look. I, on the other hand, look like a stressed-out mess.
My suitcase is, I already know, nudging the maximum limit, thanks to a delivery of dresses, shoes and ‘cute little beach café suitable’ outfits my mother had delivered yesterday. I worked until after twelve last night and have had precisely four hours’ sleep. Ant takes all this in with one sweeping glance.
“Relax, Honeybee, we’re on holiday,” he says with a whoop, and to my surprise, drops his backpack, lifts me into his arms and spins me around.
It’s the most physical contact we’ve had since that day he pulled me onto his lap, and I don’t think I’m dizzy from the spinning when he slowly slides me down the rock-hard muscles of his chest and abs till my feet connect with the floor.
We’ve been upgraded—courtesy of Warren, I assume—to business class, so the queue to check our bags is non-existent.
“I hope they take good care of your board. Aren’t they very delicate?” I ask as Ant covers his surfboard with fragile stickers.
“It’ll be right,” he says, giving the board a pat as it disappears up the conveyor belt. “The guys in Hawaii know what they’re doing with surfboards. As long as it leaves Sydney in one piece, there won’t be a problem. And it’s insured.”
I didn’t think about getting extra insurance for his board.
“Was that very expensive? I can cover it.” I don’t want him to be out of pocket for doing me a favour. He already refused to let me pay for his visa.
“Nah, it’s all good, Sparky.”
We sail through passport control so we have plenty of time to spare for a drink in the business class lounge before heading to our gate. Despite his decidedly un-business-like attire, the attendants at the desk flirt with Ant and virtually ignore me. Hereturns serve, but also never removes his hand from the small of my back.
This is the first time we’ve been somewhere other than the hospital cafeteria or my parents’ place. And honestly, he couldn’t be more solicitous if I were his actual girlfriend. He shouldered my carry-on without question, guided me to a table in the lounge, went straight to the bar and ordered us a drink. I’ve had real boyfriends who didn’t pay me this much attention. Which is a sad observation about my love life to date.
Clinking his beer against my champagne glass, Ant makes a toast.
“To car park encounters, fake dating and destination weddings.”
I’m pleasantly surprised when I lift my glass and drink. It’s the good stuff. I take another gulp.
