“Yeah, predictable me. I should go to bed anyway. I’m trying to sleep late to make my pattern less fucked up. What are you up to?”
“Driving back to my hotel. I had a meeting the other side of L.A. Then I’m going to have a bath and a really good sleep. I think I got three hours last night.”
“A bath with bubbles, eh?”
“And a glass of champagne. A little bit of luxury.”
“Your life’s full of luxury.”
I laughed. He was right really; luxury, with weird hours and a lack of boundaries across the board, and a lot of graft, sometimes abuse and the odd soul destroying incident. “It is for tonight, but you know what?”
“What?”
“I’d rather be in Puffin Bay with you, above the Inn, even if you haven’t changed the sheets in forever.”
“Well, that is luxury, isn’t it? Semi-stale sheets and the clinging smell of pub food.” He laughed. “Send me a selfie when you get a mo. I’ve forgotten what you look like without all your war paint on.”
“Will do. Sleep well, Caleb.”
I sent him a selfie of me in the bath, up to my neck in bubbles and holding a glass of champagne, make-up free and smiling. He sent me a selfie two days later, him on a plane, a pretty redhead next to him, who I was sure would make Mozambique even more interesting and he wouldn’t miss me in Puffin Bay at all.
Caleb
The hardest days to sail were when there was absolutely no breeze. As a kid at school, I’d had an odd fascination withThe Rime of the Ancient Mariner, particularly the part when there was no wind to propel the boat and it stayed still. That was how the last few years had felt; I had no breeze to move me forwards, no reason to shift in one direction or another until now.
There’d been times when I thought Zoey was interested in more than a friendship, but then she’d say something or do something that put me back into the friendzone and the boat I was on settled on water I knew well.
She’d caused a hurricane in the last twenty-four hours and I wasn’t sure how to steer myself through it.
I poured the champagne, a glass for each of us, and picked both of them up. I either put mine down on the table before I got to the bedroom or took both glasses in.
The scent of the bath stuff she’d used filled the air and I remembered the selfie she’d sent me once when she was in a bath filled with bubbles, drinking champagne.
I took both glasses into the bedroom, seeing the top of her head over the rim of the bath, facing a large window fractured with the London rain. She’d lit candles and dimmed the lights, outside already dusk.
My throat felt tight when I swallowed.
“Hey.” She turned around, looking over the bath at me, bubbles sliding slowly off her shoulders. I couldn’t see much below the top of them, although I suspected I was going to.
I wanted to.
“I’m not sure I want to go out in this.” I nodded at the window, wondering why the fuck I was now talking about the weather.
“The benefits of living over your local pub – no reason to get wet on the way there.” She reached for the champagne glass as I got closer, seeing more of her skin, the bubbles starting to reveal more.
“True. Maybe I’ll stay in the flat.” I tried not to look. “I always have food and beer when I’m living there.”
“You could keep champagne in your own home. And have a big bath like this, with a view over the Menai Strait.”
“And the rain would hit it just as hard as this.”
“It would. Cheers.” She lifted her glass to mine, bubbles slipping lower, the top of her nipples exposed.
I knew she knew what she was doing. I wasn’t sure I did.
“Cheers. Shall I sit on the bed? Unless you want to have some time on your own?” I hadn’t a fucking clue what to do. What I wanted to do was to strip and get in the bath with her, then get her as dirty as possible in the best way.
“Pull the chair up then I don’t feel like I’m drinking champagne on my own.” She pointed to the chair nearby, her bra placed on it with her underwear. Lace, like usual.
