“You and Claudia, and Zack and me,” she said dubiously. “Just one big happy family.”
“Well, yeh.” He smiled suddenly. “Or a double date. Think of it as neutral territory,” he coaxed. “May be for the best, don’t you think? For everyone to get to know each other?”
“Where would we go?” she asked, wavering.
“I was thinking Piha. Only an hour or so from here. If it doesn’t rain, that is. A few hours, that’s all. With a carsickness tablet,” he added. “And no fishing. And nobody has to harden up.”
She smiled back reluctantly. “OK. A few hours at the beach. No fishing. No camping.”
“Zack and I’ve decided we like footy best anyway. We’ll stick with that.”
Chapter 17
“Where’s Claudia?” Emma asked in surprise when they got to the Toyota late Saturday morning. “I thought she was coming.”
“Couldn’t do it after all,” Nic said, opening the door for Zack to clamber into the back seat and tossing Emma’s beach bag in after him.
“Zack’s going to wonder if she’s real,” Emma told him as she climbed into the passenger seat. “She doesn’t seem too excited about getting to know us.”
Nic shut her door after her, walked around and swung into the driver’s side. “Yeh,” he admitted as he put the ute in gear and pulled away from the curb. “She’s having a bit of trouble with that.”
They didn’t talk about it more on the drive to Piha, mindful of Zack in the back seat. Instead, Nic good-humoredly answered Zack’s questions about the training the team was doing for the semifinal. No stops despite the winding road, thanks to that tablet. Soon enough, they were driving slowly through the tiny town and ending up at the large Piha Beach carpark, sparsely populated today. No rain, just puffy white clouds and a brisk sea breeze.
“Let’s go in the water!” Zack urged as they stepped over the berm and onto the wide beach.
“A bit cold,” Nic said dubiously. “For you and your Mum. I’ll go with you.”
“I’ll come too,” Emma said. “For a bit, anyway. Till I freeze.”
It was cold, she found. Frigid, in fact. Nic did stay with Zack, to her relief, braving the waves and allowing her to retreat to the shallow water near the shore. A few minutes, though, were enough for all of them. Emma ran for the beach bag she’d stashed at the edge of the high-tide mark, pulled out a big towel and rubbed Zack down, shivering herself. Wrestled his warmest jumper over his head.
“There. That’ll warm you up,” she told him.
“Do we have hot chocolate?” Zack asked.
“Luckily, yes.” She reached to the bottom of the bag for the thermos.
Nic took it from her. “I’ll pour it. Dry yourself off, get something on before you get hypothermia.”
She took his advice. It might be best to cover up anyway. She’d wished this morning that she had a one-piece to wear. But she only had one costume, and it was a bikini, so that was that. Well, at least she wasn’t shivering under a layer of cold, wet fabric. That was the upside. And it wasn’t like Nic had never seen her body before.
She saw him staring at her, thermos in hand but hot chocolate forgotten, as she rubbed at the skimpy costume in an attempt to dry it. Whoops. She hadn’t been to the beach with a man in too long. And maybe Nic having seen her body wasn’t such a good thing after all. Just like it wasn’t great that she’d seen his. She’d been right—he had added some muscle. And it looked terrific.
She wrenched her gaze away from the solid bulk of his shoulders, only to find herself captivated by the sight of the drops of water sliding slowly down his well-defined pectoral muscles toward the ridges of his abdomen, disappearing into his low-slung swim trunks. The extra weight in his chest and shoulders only set off his trim waist and narrow hips more, and there was just way too much of him on display, looking way too good, for her peace of mind. She forced herself to look away, dropped the towel and hastily pulled on her skirt, the heavy lace knit of cream-colored wool warming her. Drew the ribbon drawstring tight and tied it in a bow, then wrapped herself in her pale pink cardigan before she found her comb and began working on her matted curls.
Nic finally looked back down at the thermos and cup in his hands. “Right. Hot chocolate.” He poured it out, handed the metal cup to Zack, whose shaking hands promptly spilled half of it.
“Better to pour it halfway,” Emma suggested.
“I see that,” Nic said ruefully. “Hand me that towel.” He rubbed hot chocolate off Zack’s sweater, then used the towel on himself. And Emma figured out why he’d been staring at her. Because the sight of him drying off that broad chest, the play of muscle as he lifted his arms to work the towel over his back, had her watching again despite her best intentions. She was half-relieved, half-disappointed when he pulled his shirt and hoodie out of his day pack and tugged them over his still-damp torso.
“Drink up, mate,” he told Zack, digging for the rugby ball he’d thrown in earlier. “We need to do a bit of running, get you warm again. We’ll practice passing in the wind. Need that skill often enough.”
Emma pulled a chunky black knit cap onto Zack’s shaggy blond head. “This’ll help too,” she said.
“I like that,” Nic commented. “Got the silver fern on there.”
“It’s not the real one,” Zack told him. “It doesn’t say All Blacks. Mum just put the fern on herself.”
“Better,” Nic said firmly. “Made just for you.”
“Yeah, sweetie. Better watch it, or I’ll embroider a flower instead of a fern on yours next time. Make it pretty, like mine,” Emma told Zack with a smile, pulling on her own hat. Pink, with a delicate, multipetaled knitted white flower on the side, pearly beads adorning its center. Completely frivolous and girly. And more importantly right now, nice and warm.
“Did you make that one too?” Nic asked.
“Yeah. Everything I have on, I made. Except the bikini. I bought that.”
“You still like pink, I notice.”
“I enjoy being a girl,” she said, adjusting her hat so the flower sat just over one ear.
“Yeh. Noticed that too.” He looked away, slung the pack over his shoulders, spun the rugby ball, tossing it back and forth in one hand in a complicated series of moves. “Ready, mate?”
“Yeh!” Zack said, handing his mother the thermos cup.
Emma followed behind as the two of them ran down the beach together, passing the ball back and forth. Nic sometimes had to lunge for Zack’s passes when they went a bit wild, but her son wasn’t too bad, she thought with pride. Nic had Zack run farther along, then kicked the ball to him, shouting in approval when Zack caught it. Then encouraged Zack to kick it back, an attempt that went sadly awry. The ball sailed into the sea, and Nic had to wade out for it.
“Sorry,” Zack called. Nic just waved at him, kicked it back. “Try again,” he shouted. Zack’s second attempt was a bit more accurate, and Nic made a ridiculously athletic leaping catch, pulling the ball in somehow with one big hand.
“Mum!” Zack came running to her some time later, Nic following behind, doing that flicking thing with the ball again, rolling it from wrist to elbow and back. Zack’s cheeks were red with exertion and excitement, brown eyes alive with the joy of the day. “Did you see me kick?”
“I did,” Emma told him with pride. “You did great.”
“Well, not always,” Zack said honestly. “Nic had to go back into the water a couple times to get it.”
“Nah,” Nic said, resting a hand on Zack’s head, giving it a gentle shake. “Getting used to kicking it barefoot, that’s all. Bit different.”
“But Mum,” Zack said, squirming. “I need to pee. Really bad. And I don’t know where the toilets are.”
“Oh.” Emma looked back in the direction they had come.
Nic laughed. “That’s the best part of being a bloke. The world’s your toilet.”
“Really? I can just go? What if somebody sees, though?” Zack looked around worriedly.
“Well, if it were a bit warmer, we’d just walk you out into the sea,” Nic said. “Nobody about anyway, though. Come on. Over here, by this bit of rock.”
They were back a couple minutes later. “Nic says it’s OK, Mum,” Zack told Emma earnestly.
“If he says so,” Emma smiled at him, “I suppose it is.” She pulled out a water bottle, ran it over his hands. “You still have to wash your hands, though. Rub. And then I’ll give you a sammie.”
They spread out another big towel, perched on it while Nic and Zack devoured the ham-and-cheese sandwiches Emma had prepared. She handed them each an apple, took one for herself. Wrapped an arm around her knees to warm herself, looked out at the breaking waves, her ears full of their dull roar. She took in a deep breath of salty air and knew that this was the best day she’d had in a long time. Seeing Zack so happy, after last weekend’s misery. And being with Nic, with his obvious enjoyment of their company, their surroundings, the day. He had always had it, this quality of living in the moment, taking every bit of pleasure from it.
Just now, he was picking up a small stone, rubbing it between his fingers. “Look at this,” he told Zack. “What does it look like to you?”
“A rugby ball!”
“Yeh. Exactly, doesn’t it? It’s even white, with a bit of green. Just like the real thing.” Nic passed the elliptical shape to Zack. “Smooth, too. That’s spent a fair bit of time in the water, I reckon. Feel it.”
“It’s awesome,” Zack said, closing his palm around it. Then handed it back to Nic.
“You keep it,” Nic said. “Souvenir of our day at the beach. Got a pocket there?” He helped Zack stow the stone in the small mesh pocket of his trunks.
“And our day at the beach is getting a bit cold,” Emma remarked. “Time to start walking back, don’t you think?”
Nic helped Emma gather the detritus of their picnic, then shook the towel out into the wind, rolled it again, took the beach bag from her and stowed it inside. Set off with the two of them to retrace their steps. The wide expanse of sand, the wind, were exhilarating despite the chill, and he felt a bubble of happiness rise within him. He dropped the bags, took a few running steps, then turned a cartwheel and came up laughing. Emma let go of Zack’s hand and launched into four or five perfect cartwheels of her own, one after the other, a human pinwheel. And landed on her feet again, laughing in triumph, face flushed from the effort.
“Why didn’t I know you could do that?” Nic asked as Zack came running up to join them.
“You never asked me,” she answered cheekily.
“Show me how!” Zack demanded. “Please,” he amended at a warning look from his mother.
“OK. Face me,” Nic told him. “Legs apart, see? Now put your hands up over your head. Then just swing them around, and kick on over.”
Zack gave a hop, swung both legs awkwardly without getting them close to vertical. “That’s not it, though,” he complained. “That isn’t right.”
“Here. Your mum can demonstrate, and I’ll hold you,” Nic said. “We’ll show your body what it feels like.”
Emma performed a slow cartwheel while Zack, with Nic’s help, mirrored her movements. “Cool!” the boy said once he was upright again.
“Kick off a bit faster,” Nic coached. “Get a bit of momentum going.”
With their help, Zack was soon turning enthusiastic, if imperfect, cartwheels, and the three of them practiced until Nic suddenly kicked up instead into a handstand, then took seven or eight steps on his hands before landing neatly on his feet again.
“How about that?” he challenged Emma. “Got that in your repertoire, have you?”
“You’re still the best at that one,” she admitted. “I can get up there, just can’t walk like you can.” Her handstand was neat, toes pointed, her skirt dropping down around her shoulders to reveal the swimming costume—and the body—beneath, distracting Nic. Geez, she had pretty legs.
“Show me how!” Zack begged, prompting another bit of coaching.
“Here’s one I bet I’m still better at,” Emma told Nic. She moved slowly from a standing position into an arched backbend, turning her body into a perfect bow, then lifted her hands from the sand and came back the same way she’d descended.
“Well?” she challenged with a glint in her eye.
“Never tried that one,” he admitted. “But I’ll give it a go.” He wasn’t sure he looked as good as she had, but he managed it. “Never knew you had these hidden talents,” he said, looking up at her from his upside-down position.
“Gymnastics when I was a teenager,” she explained. ‘I don’t think I could do much on the uneven bars these days, but I can still turn a cartwheel or two.”
Nic bent his legs, lifted off without much effort and was upright again. “That’ll get the spine sorted,” he commented. “Reckon I grew a couple centimeters there.”
“That or bugger it completely,” she agreed ruefully, rubbing the small of her back. “I may have been a bit overenthusiastic, showing you my coming-up technique. It’s been a while.”
“I can’t make myself go over,” Zack complained. He was bent over backwards from the waist, waving his arms.
Emma laughed. “Here. Start lying on your back. Much easier.” She dropped to the sand, to Nic’s amazement. She didn’t seem to mind how much of it she was collecting in her hair. He tried to imagine Claudia getting this messy, and failed utterly.
“Put your hands like this. Thumbs towards your head. No, other way,” Emma was explaining. Nic stepped to Zack’s head and repositioned his arms, grinning back at the little face looking up at him.
“Now push up. Use your legs,” Emma instructed as she demonstrated.
“Like this?” Zack asked.
“That’s brilliant,” Nic told him. “You and your mum. What a picture.” Upside down, heads turned to laugh at each other. It was a picture he needed, he decided. He ran for his pack, pulled out his phone and took a quick snap before the two of them thumped down to their backs again, sprawled on the sand to catch their breath.
A couple was approaching from the other direction, Nic saw. Holding hands. He walked to meet them, held out the phone. “D’you mind taking a photo of the three of us?”
“No worries,” the young man said cheerfully, reaching for it. “Tell me when.”
“It’s a special pose,” Nic explained. “Give us a sec.” He jogged back the few meters to Emma and Zack. “Group shot,” he told them. “Same as before. Can your back manage it?” he thought to ask Emma.
“One more can’t hurt. Come on, Zack.” Under Nic’s direction, they all dropped, their heads facing the photographer, then pushed up together.
“This is it,” Nic called. “Quick, before Emma collapses.”
“Ha! Before you do,” she challenged, sticking her tongue out at him and making him laugh.
“OK. Look at me. Annnndd . . . got it,” the young man announced triumphantly. Nic sank back down to the sand, then jumped to his feet and reached out a hand to pull a slower Emma up as Zack clambered to stand as well.
“That better have worked,” Emma said as Nic took the phone from the young man with a word of thanks. “That’s my limit, I think.”
“Aren’t you Nic Wilkinson?” the young woman with the photographer asked curiously.
“Yeh. That’s me,” he said, stowing the phone away again.
“How d’you think you’ll go in the semis?” her boyfriend asked. “Who’re you hoping to play?”
“Whoever turns up on the night,” Nic assured him. “Prepared for both, but we’ll get it sorted this next week, depending on what happens tonight.”
“I’ve got a bit on you winning the Super 15,” the young man said. “So here’s hoping you get that right.”
“We’ll give it a go,” Nic promised. “We’re ready. Not too many injuries, that’s the main thing.”
“Good luck,” the young man said. “To both of us.”
“Cheers, mate.” Nic
turned to see Emma brushing the sand from Zack’s back and hair. “We’ll be getting on, then. Thanks for the photo.”
“No worries.” The young man and girl set off again, with a curious glance back at the three of them.
“No pressure, huh?” Emma said wryly. She reached to brush off his own back, his shoulders. Then seemed to change her mind, dropped her hand. “We’d better get on,” she said quickly. “Are you watching the game at home?”
“Yeh.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve got a bit of sand in your hair yourself.”
“Oh.” She pulled off her hat, bent from the waist, scrubbed at her head vigorously, came back up with her curls in wild disorder, attempted to finger-comb them into place, then gave it up and put the hat back on again. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkling. “Better?”
“Yeh,” he smiled. “Better. But only a shower’s really going to help any of us.”
“A shower and then a bath, for me,” she said. “After Zack has his. I showed off way too much there. I’m going to need a long soak tonight.”
Her eyes met his, and he could see the moment when the memory hit her too. When they were both thinking about the same thing. About the huge soaking tub that had held pride of place in one corner of the big bure. A pillow at each end, the multitude of candles surrounding the rim, all of which they’d lit that night. The only light other than the moon’s soft illumination through the wide windows and doors. The scented oil in the water making both their bodies slick. They’d started at opposite ends, and he’d watched her sink lower, eyes closing in bliss as he’d massaged a slim, pedicured foot with its pale pink toenails, strong thumbs working on her heel, then moving over the arch with a lighter touch.
He ran his own foot up her inner thigh, rubbed it softly against her while he shifted his attention to her other foot.
“I should do you,” she murmured. “But I’m too relaxed to move. And you’re making me feel too good.”
“Stay like that. I like you this way. Too sleepy to resist.”
She opened her eyes halfway, gave him a secret little smile. “Hmm. What are you planning over there? Going to drown me? You already tried that, remember?”
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