13
‘You’re sunburnt.’
‘I’m a lot more than just that.’ She was sitting back in her chair, eyes closed, body limp. ‘I hurt in places where I didn’t even know I had muscles. You didn’t tell me windsurfing was a workout.’
‘You didn’t stop when I suggested you might want to.’
After the first two hours, where he’d coached her on holding the foil upwind or downwind and moving her feet around the mast, she hadn’t needed him any more. They’d rented an extra board and he’d spent the afternoon asking himself if he was simply enjoying cutting through the air on his board – one of his favourite activities since moving to the island – or whether he was trying to impress her.
If the latter, it hadn’t worked. She’d been focused on her own skills, her wide grin whenever they shared a look the result of her progress.
‘We decided to keep busy, so I kept busy,’ she said with a shrug that became a wince. Learning to windsurf hit the core muscles as well as the arms and shoulders and he could imagine how she was feeling. ‘But now I’d like a drink.’
He signalled to a waiter and spoke to him in quick Italian.
Cracking an eye open, she asked, ‘Did you just order for me? I’ve had enough surprises.’
‘There’s only one drink you’ll want right now.’
The other eye opened. ‘That’s presumptuous.’ There was no heat behind the words. ‘I don’t think someone haseverordered a drink for me without checking first.’
‘Do you… Have you had a boyfriend since…?’ He choked on the question.Bad idea.
Perhaps he was lucky she was so tired. She just leaned on her elbows and gave him a withering smile. ‘Not really. I went on a few dates when I thought I should.’
‘Not because you wanted to?’
‘Whowantsto date?’ she said with a grimace. ‘A first, even a second date is fraught with messy motivations and assumptions. Most people aren’t emotionally intelligent enough for a first date.’
She leaned closer with a conspiratorial smile, the contented lines of her face compelling.
He grinned back, joining her with his elbows on the table. ‘You’re right about that.’
The waiter brought their drinks and he held his breath as she studied hers, turning the squat glass around slowly with one hand. The ice cubes in the pale gold liquid caught the slanted rays of the sun. The sprig of mint looked shop-bought; what a waste when the stuff grew like a weed.
‘Hmm?’ he prompted when he couldn’t handle the suspense.
‘It looks exactly like what I would have ordered,’ she answered. ‘Limoncello Spritz?’ She took a sip through the glass straw and sighed from her diaphragm. ‘God, that’s good.’
Holding up his beer, he waited until she tapped her glass against it. ‘Cin cin.’
‘Cheers.’ Taking a long sip, she stared out at the calm sea. ‘I should take a picture,’ she said suddenly, rummaging in her rucksack for her phone. ‘This is exactly what my mum told me I should do on my week off.’
Something about what she said brought more colour to her cheeks, although she seemed to blush so often in his presence, perhaps it didn’t mean as much as he thought. She lined up the shot with the drink in the foreground and a few taps later, it was sent. Her phone rang a few seconds later.
‘Oh, I’m so?—’
He gave her a quelling hand gesture and stood. ‘I’ll just visit the restroom. Take your call.’
Trying not to overhear – or to feel too curious – he dawdled to the back of the kiosk, taking his time to wash his hands and splash some water on his face. When he rounded the corner again, he almost collided with someone – a person he hadn’t run into for a while and that had probably been for the best.
‘Gabri!’
He kissed her cheeks by rote, accepting the gesture when she wrapped her arms around him for a hug.
‘Ciao, Cristina.’
‘Where have you been hiding?’
