‘And you don’t have to be so bloody ungrateful,’ he bites back. ‘Maybe we should take a rain check. I want to do this, but you obviously don’t.’
He turns to walk away and guilt swamps me. Shit. My problems with Jackson are not Greg’s fault.
‘Greg, wait. I’m sorry,’ I call after him. ‘We can still go. I need to get changed. I’ve picked out what I’m wearing and everything.’ I know I’m babbling.
I should run after him. Make him accept I am sorry, after all, I do mean it. However, there’s a huge part of me that simply wants to curl up on the couch and stick my head under a blanket and block out the world. So I stay exactly where I am, half hoping I haven’t called loud enough.
Hearing me, Greg stops. ‘I don’t think either of us will have a good time with the mood you’re in.’ He pauses as if he’s wrestling with what to say next. ‘Do you even want to go out with me?’
Those words propel me forwards. ‘Of course I do.’
He looks at me long and hard, before saying quietly, ‘Maybe you need to get him out of your system first then.’
Without waiting to hear my reply, he spins around and for the second time today I’m left watching the back of a man walk away from me. And it’s all my fault.
Chapter Ten
‘What do you think of our latest photo entry?’
I stand back to let Reeni into the kitchen. It’s Monday, the one day of the week I get off, and I’ve been lazing on the couch staring at Alexander Armstrong presentPointlesson TV and feeling stupid because I’ve not been able to answer any of the questions.
‘That’s never been the same since Richard Osman left,’ says she, waving glibly at the telly.
‘I still think it’s great.’ I grab the remote and hit mute, and we sit down. ‘I haven’t seen it.’
‘I thought not, or you’d have been on the phone.’
She flicks through Instagram and pulls up a photo. My heart hits the back of my throat. It’s Daisy. Someone has opened the window shutter and balanced The Beach House coffee cup on the corner of the window ledge. There’s an orange-and-blue striped beach towel pooled artistically on the floor and a pairof white trainers with burnt orange heel tabs positioned next to them. It looks like someone has stepped straight out of them to walk into the hut.
‘Isn’t it fab?’ says Reeni.
My lips twitch into a smile. The photo is beautiful. ‘Who sent it in?’
‘That’s even more intriguing.’ She wiggles her dark eyebrows at me. ‘Do you know anyone by the name @jafflesmeetsurf?’
‘No.’ But as I’m saying the word, a light bulb in my brain flickers.
‘I did some digging.’ She flicks through some more photos and hands the phone over. ‘Check out these.’
I swipe through the photos. There’s a picture of a group of people all balancing on surfboards on the beach and one of them on their stomachs, paddling on boards in the sea. One of the front of a very cute yellow hut with a brown wooden flat roof and the nameJAFFLE HUTin wooden letters across the front and to the left of it half a dozen surfboards propped up. Another of a familiar blonde lady in a navy apron standing behind the counter, a beaming smile on her face and a green juice in her hand, and the final one is Jackson standing by the propped-up surfboards holding on to a white one covered in black squiggly lines.
I look up at Reeni, then back down to study the photo again. He’s barefoot, in long orange shorts and a sleeveless baby-blue T-shirt that accentuates how sexy his forearms are. The breeze has pushed his hair out of his face, and the golden beach and vibrant aqua-blue sea are behind him. He looks gorgeous, and I try hard to stop it, but my heart cartwheels.
‘He took the photo of Daisy?’ I haven’t seen Jackson, or Greg for that matter, since that evening on the beach a little over a week ago. I’ve avoided walking past the Camper Café. And neither of them has come near The Beach House.
Reeni shrugs. ‘Looks like it.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Maybe he’s reaching out, and feels guilty.’
‘But I was the one who accused him of quitting on us.’ I cringe and cover my eyes with my hands.
‘Yeah, but he snapped and stalked away from you.’ She nods towards the photo. ‘He didn’t submit it by accident. He’s not stupid.’
‘I need to get out of here.’ The walls feel like they’re closing in and I need air. ‘Do you want to go for a coffee?’
‘This is exactly what I needed. Olly’s driving me mad at home,’ says Reeni, leaning her head back, her face tipped up towards the sun. ‘I hope he’s not driving Mum mad now.’
