‘The sunshine, a beer and an almighty vessel – an offer no one can refuse,’ she replied playfully, looking up at the boat and wondering exactly how she would climb on board.
Nolan must have read her mind and threw a rope over the side. ‘Attach the clip on the end of the rope to the metal ring behind you,’ he instructed.
Bea swizzled her body round, located the metal ring and did exactly that.
‘Now pass me up your paddle.’ Nolan lay on his stomach, reached over the side of the boat and grabbed it from her.
The kayak was bobbing from side to side and, feeling a little jittery, Bea slowly wriggled backwards as much as she could, praying the kayak didn’t tip over. Nolan then unravelled a rope ladder, which hung down the side of the boat.
‘Okay, as you stand up, there’s a fair chance you may end up in the water if the kayak tips over,’ he shared.
Bea had already worked that one out for herself but, determined not to end up in the water, she made a swift move and grabbed the rope ladder like her life depended on it. The kayak tipped but luckily Bea was already climbing towards the deck, where Nolan was standing waiting with two beers in his hand. Only forty-eight hours ago her life had been doom and gloom as she packed her suitcase and readied to flee. Never in a million years could she have envisaged this – standing on the deck of a houseboat with a handsome stranger, and drinking beer in the sunshine. Could life actually get any better than this?
‘Cheers.’ He handed her a bottle and clinked his against it. Immediately she detected his divine, spicy masculine fragrance, which sent a tingle down her spine. Knowing she was blushing slightly she couldn’t stop her eyes flitting over his body. Then full-blown embarrassment hit her as she realised she was wearing a life jacket along with an unflattering wetsuit, her legs resembling black puddings hanging in a butcher’s window, and on her feet were sodden trainers that felt all squelchy and stank to high heaven.
‘Do you want to take off your jacket and trainers?’ Nolan asked, as if reading her mind.
‘Thanks,’ replied Bea, handing back the beer while she unclipped her helmet, hung her life jacket on a nearby hook and kicked off her trainers. Holding them over the side of the boat she promptly poured the water back into the river before placing them on the deck to dry out in the sunshine.
Taking back the beer, she took a sip. ‘It’s like a log cabin on the water,’ she said, admiring her surroundings. ‘It’s truly amazing.’
‘Because that’s exactly what it is.’
‘And everything is so olde-worlde. Do you actually live on here?’
‘I do, at the minute,’ he replied, gesturing towards the bamboo cane seat with plush soft cushions. Bea sat down. ‘And I can’t see it changing any time soon. I’ve been sailing the seas for the last six months. This was my grandfather’s boat and it’s been part of the family for many years. He passed away last winter…’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Bea offered warmly.
‘Thanks,’ Nolan replied, sitting down in the chair next to Bea and taking a swig of his beer. ‘I’ve spent the winter months renovating the boat. It was hard work, took a lot of blood, sweat and tears, but it’s been well worth it. It had been moored outside my grandfather’s house for many years and it was only when he passed away that I came to realise there’s more to life than a nine-to-five job and answering to someone else.’
Bea could relate to that but it took some guts to give up the security of regular work on a whim. She’d never been one for taking chances. This was the first daring thing she’d done for many years.
‘Where did your grandfather live?’ asked Bea.
‘On the coast of Cornwall.’
‘That’s a lot of water you’ve covered to get here.’
‘And worth every second. Me and The Hemingway have bonded. I’m glad I took the decision to renovate it, otherwise it would have been scrapped.’
‘You’ve renovated this entirely by yourself?’ Bea was amazed. ‘It’s a thing of beauty.’
‘Isn’t it just,’ replied Nolan, holding her gaze, and there was that feeling again, the flutter of a hundred fireflies swirling around her stomach.
‘Would you believe I’ve never actually been on a boat before? This is a first for me.’
‘And I’ve never had a visitor on my boat before, so this is a first for me, too.’ He held up his beer bottle and clinked it against Bea’s. ‘Welcome!’
‘It’s such a grand name for a boat, “The Hemingway”.’
‘Named after my grandfather, Morgan Hemingway. Would you like a tour?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Bea was curious to have a look at all the nooks and crannies and discover what the boat had to offer, and it was soon clear that The Hemingway was not just a run-of-the-mill houseboat. She thought it would be all mod cons and leather upholstery but was surprised to find it was littered with paintings on the walls, and old velvet settees with crocheted blankets and brightly coloured cushions. In a corner there was a bar stacked with bottles of different spirits.
Nolan pointed to it. ‘I’m not an alcoholic,’ he said, smiling and holding up a bottle. ‘Each one of these bottles tells a story… Look.’ He handed one of the bottles to Bea and pointed to the handwritten label. ‘At every bay my grandfather sailed into he purchased a bottle and labelled it with the place he bought it.’
‘What an amazing collection.’ Bea handed the bottle back and began to look at some of the others. ‘Salcombe. St Ives. Oh my, look at this one…’ Bea picked up the bottle of Glensheil Gin. ‘Heartcross. The Hemingway has frequented these waters before!’
