The dolphin follows us through the bay and out to sea. I see it at least another thirty times.
I must lean there for so long, watching, I don’t even notice when the others leave.
Click.
I spin to find Gus down on one knee, his camera in handpointed straight at me. I glare at him which only makes his lips curve upwards.
Click. Click. Click.
“Will you stop?”
He drops the camera. “Do you really want me to? I’ll delete it if you insist.”
“No,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Don’t delete it. I want evidence of this.”
He half-smiles. “Evidence of what?”
“That I took a leap of faith and agreed to get on this boat with a little old man called Roko and a famous popstar. Because I’m almost dead certain that firstly, nobody will believe me, and secondly, I will not believe myself once I’m surrounded by my ordinary, sensible life again.” He doesn’t laugh at this, his smile dropping off to something more sincere when he nods and lifts his camera again. “Oh, and nobody really knows we’re here. So, I guess your photos will make a good documentary one day if we don’t survive and they recover the camera.”
I’m facing him now, my hair blowing partly across my face.
“Right.” Gus is fighting a laugh. “Glad that’s the first place your mind goes.” He takes a minute to look at the photos he’s taken. “Did you hear when my sister called you a pretty blonde?” he asks, changing the conversation.
I did. “Did she?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I agree by the way.”
I shrug the compliment away. “I’m too uptight for pretty.”
“Ah, I see. I must be wrong then.”
Click.
“You are.”
He stands upright, and shakes his head as he steps towards me, a subtle movement. He carefully props the camera up on one of the blue, upturned barrels before coming over to lean beside me. He stands close, his arm touching mine, and I regard him as he looks ahead.
Click.
“Oh.”
I turn to look at the camera. In the corner of my eye, I see him look at me.
Click.
“I’m confused,” I say, facing him now. He keeps his eyes locked on mine, that half-smile pressed along his lips.
Click.
“What are you doing?” I say, pretending to be exhausted by his antics.
He shrugs, reaching out and brushing some of my hair back behind my ear as the wind picks up again. I swear my breathing shatters at his touch, a slipstream of sensations racing from where his fingertips graze me all the way down to my core.
I swallow, watching the way his pupils expand, his gaze dropping to my lips.
His curls ruffle now too. I fight the temptation to reach out and tangle my fingers in them.
Click.
