by Fiona Harper
She came back out on deck an hour later, helped him as they prepared to sail into Salcombe for the night. Her smile was back on, her wit at one hundred per cent capacity. He knew it for what it was now. Emotional wallpaper. And so thin. How had he ever thought her hard and insensitive?
It made him want to turn the boat round, sail back to that beach and command the sun to come out, the waves to be still. However, despite the cracks that some of his friends made, even he didn’t have the power to do those things, so he stayed silent and guided the boat up the river and towards the busy marina.
But it bothered him that he couldn’t. He wanted to do something to thank her for all she’d done for him. This holiday had been just what he needed and he was ready to face life back at home now.
Then why aren’t you ready to say goodbye, if you’re ready to move on?
So he wasn’t ready to end whatever he had with Zoe yet. That didn’t mean anything. He and Zoe were combustible chemicals. Great for an instant reaction, but long-term they would be destructive. She wasn’t right for his life, nor he for hers. Okay, that mental jigsaw picture of his future did not have a Zoe-shaped hole in the middle, but he was having fun. What was so wrong with that?
When they reached the marina he jumped off Dream Weaver to secure the bowline and as he did so he realised something.
He didn’t think that hole was Sara-shaped either now. He could see someone like her in the picture if he tried, and that was progress, wasn’t it? Zoe had distracted him enough to help him get his bearings, to at least start the process, and he was very grateful to her for that.
So why wasn’t he happier? Why did he feel as if he’d been using her somehow, even if they’d both come into this with their eyes open and on equal terms?
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE last beach on the list Damien had drawn up for Zoe was Blackpool Sands, only a short distance from the Dart estuary, and they had just enough time to visit it before they left the open sea and headed upriver to Lower Hadwell for their last night aboard Dream Weaver.
There had been six beaches they’d wanted to visit, and they’d managed them all—bar one. Maybe one day, Zoe thought.
She knew she ought to do what Damien had suggested: make plans, book a free weekend in her calendar and drive down to add that extra tick to her list. There were still a few weeks before the weather would get colder and the leaves started to turn.
Next summer, maybe. Or the one after that.
Not yet. Because the thought of returning on her own was making her feel strangely depressed. And, really, it was time to concentrate on her career now. She didn’t have the time or money to gallivant around the country if she really wanted to get a shop up and running.
She watched Damien drag the dinghy from where it had been lashed to the deck and throw it overboard, keeping hold of the painter. How different he seemed from the night of Sara and Luke’s wedding. He moved easily, fluidly, the muscles across his back shifting under his T-shirt. It hardly seemed the same body she’d done a tense rumba with almost a fortnight ago.
In fact, now that she knew him better, she realised he’d been unusually tense that night. Hadn’t he said as much when he’d apologised for kissing her? At the time she’d thought it was a lousy excuse, but maybe there’d been some truth to it.
The dinghy was in the water now and Damien was walking it round to the ladder at the stern, dragging it by its yellow rope.
Weddings were always stressful, she supposed. Especially if you’d been as close to the centre of the action as she and Damien had been.
No, that didn’t sit right. The Damien she knew was contained and focused under pressure. Something had been different. He must have been really stressed. She knew now she’d never have been able to push him over the edge the way she had otherwise. If she didn’t know how happy he’d been for Luke and Sara, she’d have thought the whole idea of them getting married bothered him somehow.
The dinghy was ready now and he grinned at her. She smiled back.
Oh, well. Whatever it had been, he was all better now and that was what counted, wasn’t it?
While not as Mediterranean-like as the weather they’d been blessed with the previous week, it was a passably pleasant day. The sun could occasionally be spotted between the slow-drifting clouds and the temperature was mild. It certainly hadn’t stopped the holidaymakers flocking to this popular beach, even though it was a mile or two from the nearest town.
They left Dream Weaver anchored in the deeply shelving bay and took the dinghy the short distance to the shore. Jagged pink-tinged cliffs rose either side of the beach, topped with bright green tufty grass and populated by unimpressed sheep. A crescent of perfect golden shingle—fine enough to look like sand, but not fine enough to walk on without hopping now and then—arced gracefully between cliffs and road and deep blue water.
The proximity of the road meant that, unlike many of the beaches they’d visited that week, it had a car park and toilets, a café and a surf shop. After the relative seclusion of some of those other beaches, this one was all noise and colour and movement. It felt like a return to civilisation, the real world, and Zoe wasn’t sure she liked that that much. The real world was close enough as it was. Let her have the last day of her fantasy holiday without being reminded it was almost over.
However, as they hopped out of the dinghy and pulled out of reach of the crashing surf, she and Damien felt like a unit of two. She hung on to that feeling.
It wouldn’t be the same when they got back home, would it? Damien might change his mind about that dinner in the cold, grey light of a London morning. And maybe that would be a blessing in disguise. There would be plenty of other women around, most of them more glamorous than she was. On the boat, with just the two of them, it had been fine, but Zoe didn’t do well with comparisons. She was never the first one a man’s eyes went to when she went out with her single friends. Especially if that friend had been Sara.
Once the dinghy was safe they headed for the café. Zoe sat on one of the weathered picnic tables while Damien went to get ice cream. He returned with a cardboard holder containing six cones, all in different colours and flavours, and plonked them down in front of her while he started on his own plain vanilla.
Zoe laughed nervously. ‘What’s all this? You can’t possibly want to fatten me up.’
Damien’s mouth kept smiling but his eyes told her he wasn’t happy with her comment. Nothing he hadn’t told her in person over the last few days, nothing his obvious attraction for her hadn’t chipped away at. But making a joke about her size was a hard habit to break. How else was she supposed to stop someone jumping in and doing it first? At least this way she controlled the damage, didn’t look like a pity case.
She flashed a look back that communicated both exasperation and contrition. His eyes regained their sparkle.
‘I got one of each flavour for you so could try them all, pick which one you like, and leave me to eat mine in peace.’ And he took a huge lick of his ice cream, as if to demonstrate.
Zoe left the cones to drip while she extracted herself from her side of the picnic bench and went to sit on Damien’s lap. He held his cone at arm’s length, just in case, and Zoe hit him lightly on the chest. But hitting turned to touching and then she kissed him, slowly and sweetly enough not to shock any onlookers, but thoroughly enough to accomplish her goal and sweep her tongue along his lips and then inside his mouth.
She pulled back. ‘Vanilla’s not bad.’
Damien sat there looking a little stunned. ‘If that’s what buying more than one cone gets me, I’m going to do it more often,’ he said gruffly.
Zoe just laughed. More often. He hadn’t changed his mind yet, then. And she was going to make the most of that.
Right then she decided that tonight she should grab whatever bliss was on offer, make the most of a gorgeous man and a secluded boat. She’d deal with the fallout when they got back home. She knew it was reckless, but she couldn’t walk away
without greedily taking what she could. She wouldn’t live her life wondering what it would have been like. Aiden had taught her she couldn’t plan for success in matters of the heart, but that didn’t mean she had to plan for failure instead, did it?
She pulled the cardboard holder over, selected the vanilla and started to lick. She didn’t even slurp each of the others to see what she was missing. In fact, she donated them to a family passing by with some incredibly whiney children. The mother gave her a grateful look. Well, she did before her gaze moved to Damien and the woman almost walked into a pole.
Zoe’s choice of flavour, and she was sticking to it.
Her choice.
Maybe that was where the answer lay? Instead of waiting for someone to relegate her to second choice, maybe she should be the one making the decisions for once. And the way she felt right now, with Damien’s arms around her waist, the memory of warm vanilla from his lips mixing with the cold, fresh stuff from her cone, she wondered if she dared choose this man—the one who had pushed her over the last edge of her resistance by buying her a tray of multicoloured ice creams.
* * *
Dream Weaver rounded a bend in the river and Zoe watched the pastel coloured houses of Lower Hadwell appear with a sense of heaviness inside. Tonight they’d take the yacht back to her mooring, tidy her up and leave her ready for Luke and Sara’s next visit.
After lunch tomorrow they’d both be away. Separate cars. She hoped it wouldn’t be separate lives.
Was it wrong to hope for more? Because hope she did, even though she knew she wasn’t Damien’s usual type, knew that there would be more than a few raised eyebrows among their mutual friends when it became common knowledge that something was going on between them.
They secured Dream Weaver at the little marina and went below decks to start packing and tidying, after which they planned to have a leisurely dinner at The Ferryman. While she tidied, Zoe was making good use of her imagination to form other plans she had for Damien that night.
She had her head in the cupboard opposite the bathroom, replacing Luke’s oilskin, when a muffled tinny tune chimed out from inside her cabin.
Her mobile phone!
The coverage had been so patchy for the last couple of weeks she’d almost forgotten she owned it. She quickly extricated her head and shoulders from the cupboard and launched herself into her cabin, throwing the top half of her body on to the bunk and grabbing at the little shelf on the wall where she’d left her handset.
It stopped ringing just as her fingers closed around it. She wiggled herself back off the bunk, stood up and inspected the screen.
Sara?
Why on earth was she phoning from the Caribbean? It would cost a fortune.
Zoe wandered into the main cabin, phone in hand, looking bemused. Damien looked up. ‘Problem?’
She frowned. ‘Don’t know. I missed a call from Sara. I don’t know why she—’
The phone leapt to life in her hand and she quickly pressed the button and answered. ‘Hi, darling! What are you doing calling me from Paradise?’
There was a loud sniff on the other end of the line, and when Sara spoke her voice was tight and strained. ‘I’m not in Paradise. I’m at Heathrow.’
Zoe dropped the phone but, luckily, she caught it with her other hand. Damien took a step closer as she pressed it back to her ear.
‘You’re at the airport? But you’re not supposed to be back until the day after tomorrow!’
‘I know,’ Sara wailed. ‘It’s over, Zoe. The whole thing is messed up!’
Zoe’s stomach went cold. ‘What’s over?’
‘Me and Luke.’
Time stopped. Zoe’s mouth refused to do anything but hang open uselessly. She swallowed and forced her vocal cords to work. ‘So where’s Luke?’ she asked hoarsely. She was afraid she knew the answer that was coming and she didn’t think she was going to like it.
Another bubbly sniff. ‘Antigua, I think.’
There it was. Zoe met Damien’s concerned gaze.
‘You came home on your own?’ she asked quietly.
Damien was closer now, his eyes fixed on her phone.
She didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t Sara—dramatic departures and drama queen moments. Those sorts of things were Zoe’s department. Think, she told herself. What would Sara do? How would she calm you down if you were the one having the meltdown? Be like Sara—you always wanted to be and this is your chance.
Even better, she thought with a flash of inspiration, be like Damien. He always knew how to handle sticky situations. She’d think ahead, not just react.
‘Zoe?’
‘I’m here,’ she said softly.
‘I can’t go home, Zo. Luke and I had a horrible fight. We’ve never had an argument like that before and I can’t go back to a house full of wedding gifts waiting to be opened. I don’t know what to do.’
Sara’s volume was rising along with her pitch. Zoe could tell she was close to losing it completely.
‘You stay right where you are,’ she said. ‘Book yourself into one of the airport hotels, text me the details and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Sara sniffed. ‘Okay.’
‘Just don’t do anything—’ Zoe managed to stop herself saying else ‘—stupid, okay?’
‘Okay.’ She heard Sara pull in a steadying breath.
‘Take a bath, order some room service and I’ll see you soon.’ After a few more reassuring comments Zoe rang off.
Damien’s expression was taut when she looked up. He spoke quickly, words tripping over themselves to get out of his mouth. ‘How is she? What happened?’
He had that look again, that look of a caged animal he’d had just before he’d given his speech at the wedding reception.
Zoe shook her head and stared back down at her phone. ‘I don’t know.’ She met his eyes. ‘They had a fight and she flew home. She’s very upset.’
Damien paced down the cabin away from her and back again. Then he grabbed his jacket and started hunting for some keys. Car keys.
‘What are you doing?’ Zoe asked, her jaw tight.
‘I was going to…’ He looked up, slightly dazed, and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I wanted to help.’
A hundred little details about Damien, about Luke, about Sara, came flooding into Zoe’s head. First and foremost were mental snapshots of the wedding, images Zoe hadn’t even realised her memory had stored: how tense Damien had seemed before the service had started, the way he’d stared at Sara when she’d walked down the aisle. The way he’d dried up just before his speech and the look on his face when he’d stared over her shoulder when they’d been dancing together.
None of those things meant anything on their own, but seen rapidly together as a montage of memories…
And then his words about the mystery girl in his past came floating back to her.
She was in love with someone else.
Zoe was sure her heart stopped beating. Dead.
No. Not like this. He wasn’t doing this to her.
‘I’m her friend,’ she said sharply. ‘Luke’s your friend and Sara’s mine, so it’s not for you to go to her. That’s my job.’ It all came out in a rush because she was trying to drown out the little voice in her ear that was telling her things she didn’t want to know.
She ran to her cabin, avoiding eye contact with Damien, and started ramming things back in her case. She paid no attention to what was going in or where it was going—much the same way she’d packed on the outbound journey, actually. She yanked her case down off the bunk and dragged it through the main cabin. Damien tried to help her but she pushed past him.
‘It was her, wasn’t it? The girl who didn’t like you back?’
He didn’t answer, and when she looked up she found him staring back at her. No words of denial left his lips.
‘That’s what I thought,’ she said and turned to drag her case up on to the first block of the stairway. It was easily a foot and a half hig
h and her case was probably twice the size. She didn’t do very well.
Damien was standing right behind her and she let her frustration out on him. She whipped round to face him. ‘How could you? He’s supposed to be your best friend!’
The shame that washed over his face was all the confirmation she needed.
‘It’s not like that! At least, it isn’t now—’
‘I don’t want to hear it!’ she screamed at him and returned to struggling with her case. At least that way she didn’t have to look at him.
It didn’t matter about the timing one jot. The fact that he’d ever had any kind of feelings for Sara was enough.
The rush of anger produced an adrenalin surge that allowed her to heave her case on to the giant first step. Unfortunately, it didn’t stick around long. Not long enough for the second step, anyway.
She felt Damien’s warmth behind her, and when he gently eased the handle from her grasp and took it up into the cockpit she didn’t fight him. Instead she sat down on the step and put her face in her hands.
Not again, she screamed inside her head. Not again.
And not with this one. Please.
* * *
Damien placed Zoe’s hot pink case gently on the pontoon and stood beside it, looking back towards the hatch. The way Zoe had marched past him, case crashing behind her, had somehow prompted a memory of the day his father had left. Angry voices. A door slamming. A sense he’d disappointed someone.
He’d done it again. And he’d have done anything not to see that hurt in Zoe’s eyes, to know he’d made her feel that way. In fact, the strength of his own feelings on that front had surprised him. If she’d have let him, he’d have wrapped her in his arms and kissed her anger away, told her things he hadn’t even realised had been in his head or heart.
And that hadn’t been the only surprise.
The reaching for his car keys had been a knee-jerk reaction. But it wasn’t what Zoe had thought. He always jumped in to help out friends in a crisis. It was what he was good at. And Luke and Sara’s marriage was in trouble.