“Gosh, these are heavy,” she pants, stopping to stretch her back.
“Why don’t you take a break on the quad? We’ll have to head back soon anyway—the tide’s coming in.”
“Just one more? This one’s stuck.”
I step beside her and grip the far corner. “Very well. On three. One, two—”
We heave, but the bag doesn’t budge.
“Ah.” I point to the trestle’s edge, where the mesh has caught on a barnacle. “Let’s try from this angle—”
But as I shuffle around her, she tugs hard. The bag comes free with a wet lurch, and she tumbles back against me. For a dizzying second, the world hangs in balance, her weight pressed to mine, the sudden slack of the net between us.
Then we both pitch backwards into the shallows.
I land on my back, her on top, a tangle of limbs as cold, brackish water closes over me, flooding my collar and my boots, freezing water rushing along my scalp. I push myself up onto one elbow and surface, sputtering and blinking. She’s sprawled across me, the damp ends of her hair tickling my face, her palm braced against my chest. We exchange a mortified look.
Her laugh bubbles out first, half-gasp, half-disbelief, and I can’t help joining in.
She scrambles off me, dragging me with her, and for a breathless moment, we cling to each other as we struggle to stand, boots slipping in sand and mud.
“Are you alright?” I ask as we draw apart.
“Me? Fine. An Englishman broke my fall. Areyoualright?”
“Yes. The ground broke mine.”
We look for the bag. It sits nearby smugly. I scoop it up, relieved the contents haven’t spilled out.
“Well, that went well,” I comment, pushing dripping hair from my eyes. At least her clothes are relatively dry.
She looks me up and down. “I’m so sorry! That was completely my fault.”
“Not at all. Occupational hazard.”
The quad bike growls as we skim back across the shallows, the tide creeping in. Lily-Anne is flushed, mud splattered on her cheek, blonde waves rippling in the wind.
Radiant, especially compared to me, although emerging from the sea like this, with waterlogged boots and sodden clothes, may be the highlight of my year.
Back at the shed, I pull on a mismatched change of clothes, glad to be dry again. We share the sandwich I made, and Lily-Anne gives no indication that the ham and mustard might not be up to snuff with holiday fare.
I spend the next few hours grading and boxing in the shed, our conversation flowing easily. By mid-afternoon, the sun has come out, and the day feels well-spent.
We drive back to the cottage, lingering at the front door to remove our damp socks. It’s turning into a nice day, so I ask, “Shall we eat on the patio?”
“As long as we get toeat—I’m starving,” shereplies, hopping on one foot as she wrestles a sock free.
I hide a smile. “Why don’t you head upstairs and warm up with a hot shower? I’ll get the oysters in the oven.” I hesitate, key in the lock. “Afterwards, if you’ve still got the energy, I thought we could swing by the music shop and replace that string. I went through my old string packets last night, but I mostly have ones for electric.”
She halts mid-wobble, glancing up at me. “You have an electric guitar?”
“Yes.”
“I was hoping you might have a guitar hidden away somewhere!”
I smile. “Not hidden. Just there.”
She looks at me differently now, recalibrating. I half-expect her to ask to see it. If so, I’ll fetch it.
