“Only if you don’t want it all. I ate before I came. I just know plane food is horrible and it’s a long flight.”
“Sure was. I finished my book though.” He opened one of the sushi containers with a crackle of thin plastic. “I love that you figured out even my sushi preferences without me ever mentioning it.”
As I halted at the lights leading to the freeway, I glanced an amused smile at him. “You told me I had to figure you out the hard way, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I did.” With an answering smile, he picked my left hand up off the gearstick. “You did great, Princess,” he said, and kissed a line along my knuckles, before setting it down again. “Now focus on driving.”
I pushed the car into gear, flicking him a grin. “Yes, sir.”
His little squeak of joy when he discovered the cake was truly priceless.
Since the Australian Open was held in Melbourne every year, it was far from Miles’s first visit, yet there was something surreal about having him stretched out in the front seat of the car as I drove through the city and out again, streetlights flashing a golden rhythm upon his face.
He ate, feeding a few pieces to me as he worked his waythrough the bag, then as we left the traffic behind for the open highway, he fell asleep.
It was almost eleven o’clock when we pulled up outside the house I’d rented for a couple of days – a cute weatherboard set well back from the road, nestled in amongst shadowy trees on a quiet street. Outside lights illuminated a short path from carport to deck, and when Miles pushed open the car door, the scent of the ocean hit immediately. Waves crashed nearby. In the distance, a dog barked.
“No pool, I’m afraid,” I said as I pulled his suitcase out of the car. “But this is the sleepy end of the peninsula and school holidays haven’t started, so there’ll be practically no one at the beach to see us.”
“Where’s your bag?” he asked.
“I came yesterday to get things ready. Here.” I unlocked the door and shouldered it open. “Make yourself at home.”
It wasn’t a large house, but it had a cosy lounge, warm wooden floorboards, the kind of bathroom that’s all pebbles and glass, a well-appointed kitchen, and a king-sized bed.
“Mm I like it,” Miles said and flopped onto the soft, tan couch. “It’s so quiet.”
Having sat his suitcase against the wall in the bedroom beside mine, I returned to find he hadn’t moved. “Are you tired?”
“No,” he said, the word a suggestive purr as he propped himself up on an elbow. “I slept on the plane and for most of that drive. And my body clock is always messed up for days after coming this far. Don’t know how you manage it so often.”
“Practice, I guess. Come on, we’re going to the beach.”
Miles glanced toward the dark windows. “Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Are we swimming? Should I change?”
I shrugged, trying to hide a smile. “No need, but it’s up to you.”
“You’re being very easy going for a kidnapper.”
“Fine, just bring a beach towel. I put a couple in the bathroom if you don’t have one. Oh, and thongs if you brought any.”
Miles had pulled himself up and started for the bathroom, but spun back at that. “Thongs plural? Like wear one forwards and one backwards? What kind of beach is this?”
“A normal beach of the sandy variety? Which is why thongs.”
He stared at me and I stared back, our overtired brains both taking far too long to realise where we’d gone wrong.
“Flip-flops!” he said as I groaned. “I forgot that’s what you call them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to put on a thong for you, but two? At the same time? On a public beach? No.”
A few minutes later, each wearingthongson ourfeetand armed only with towels, we made our way across the empty road toward the beach. A half moon hung in the clear sky, turning the sand pale silver and leaving the surface of the ocean gleaming like scattered stars.
“Small waves,” Miles said as we brushed through the shrubby growth onto the sand, the air filled with the scent of salt and seaweed.
“We’re on the bay this side of the peninsula. The other side is open ocean so has proper surf. We can go tomorrow if you like.”
