As Beautiful as the Bay

by Serenity Woods

Ginger’s jaw dropped.

  The bakery.

  Holy shit, was Sam even back from the awards? Quickly, she locked the cottage, shoved the keys deep in the pocket of her jeans, and began to follow the man down the hill toward the sea front.

  She was totally unprepared for what she found. The road was unrecognizable. Water poured down the hillside and tumbled over rocks and around trees into the back gardens of the shops at the top end of the road, carrying with it all kinds of broken furniture and other items out to the wild black sea beyond. There were people everywhere, carrying objects to safety, but it was immediately clear to Ginger that the shops were going to be ruined. Most of them were already knee-deep in water.

  She hesitated on the edge of the flow, then took a deep breath and waded in. Ooh, that was cold. She splashed through the shallows, heading for All or Muffin. She could already see the water swirling through the doorway. Her throat tightened. Poor Sam. He would’ve been on a high after winning the award, and then he would’ve come home to this.

  The water was getting deeper. She got to the door, shocked to find it broken, the glass long gone. She paused on the edge, looking with dismay at the counter, which had sagged in the middle, and the debris bobbing about in the water—spoiled food, broken pieces of wood.

  Wading deeper to the doorway to the main bakehouse, she saw Sam, alone, hard at work in the light of one torch perched on a shelf, trying to move all the equipment that had been on the lower shelves up above the water level. His jeans and his thin sweater were completely soaked through. His brown hair looked like a shiny helmet fitted closely to his head.

  At that moment, all the shame and humiliation she’d been feeling vanished, and the only emotion she felt was a huge sense of relief that he was all right.

  “Sam,” she called out. “It’s me.”

  He looked over and stared at her. “Ginger?”

  Chapter Seven

  For a moment, Sam thought he was dreaming again. It was like one of his worst nightmares, surrounded by freezing cold water, in the dark, trying desperately to rescue the bakery from going under. He’d just been thinking, What a fucking metaphor, and then Ginger had called his name.

  “Oh my God, Sam, this is so awful, I’m so sorry.” She started to wade toward him.

  He put up a hand, inhaling sharply at the thought of her being captured by the black water. “It’s not safe in here. You need to leave.”

  “I’m not going.” As usual, she ignored his instructions and continued wading up to him. She plonked her umbrella and flashlight on a shelf. “Is George okay?”

  “I took him up to the vineyard about an hour ago.”

  The light shone on her face, showing her relief. “Oh, I’m glad. I was so worried about the two of you.”

  He felt like saying, Really? But he just turned away and started moving some of the baking trays. “The house is flooded. I had to get him out, and then do what I could here.”

  Ginger began to help, lifting the equipment up and out of reach of the swirling water. He couldn’t force her to leave. So he said nothing, and for a while the two of them worked in silence, rescuing what they could.

  Jesus, it was cold. Sam shivered, knowing Ginger must be freezing too, although she didn’t complain. He worked as fast as he could, but he couldn’t stop thinking it was all pointless. The lower ovens were all under water. Although he kept most of his ingredients in high cupboards, the damp would no doubt spoil much of the food. All around them, ladles, bowls, and bottles floated, and his boots scrunched on spoons and other debris that had sunk to the floor.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were back,” she called out as she lifted an electric mixer. He could see it was partially wet and probably wouldn’t be usable, but she lifted it anyway.

  “As soon as the awards were over, they told everyone that the ferry to Russell would be closing soon, so most people began to make a move.” He hefted up a wooden box and cursed as the bottom fell out into the water, taking with it most of the items inside. “Fuck it.” He threw it aside.

  “The level’s still rising,” Ginger said. He looked at where the water now lapped at the third shelf. When she’d arrived, it had only just been above the second.

  “I don’t think there’s much more we can do.” He looked around, tired and depressed. “And most of what we’ve rescued is probably going to end up rusted or unusable. What a fucking waste.”

  “We should get out,” she advised. “Come on, or it really is going to get dangerous.”

  “You go.” He still hadn’t forgiven her for walking out of the award ceremony without congratulating him. He’d returned to the others ready to express his shock and tell her he was sorry she hadn’t won, only to find she’d vanished.

  “You haven’t seen it out there—it’s real scary.”

  “For fuck’s sake, just leave me alone.”

  “I’m not leaving you in here.”

  “Stop acting like you care,” he snapped. He was shivering violently now, and it was getting harder to keep his footing as the water swirled around them.

  “I do care,” she said, looking dismayed. “I care a lot about what happens to you.”

  “Yeah, right. All you care about is yourself.” All the anger, hurt, and worry that had been poisoning his system over the past few hours exploded from him in a burst of rage. “You thought you could step off that plane and everyone would fall at your feet and worship you. Well, I have news for you, Lady Cartwright—you’re not the center of the fucking universe. I’ve never met anyone so self-centered that they couldn’t even bring themselves to shake the winner’s hand after they lost.”

  “That wasn’t why I left,” she said.

  “Bullshit.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Please, Sam, don’t be angry with me.”

  He ran his hands through his wet hair. “I don’t know if I’m angry with you or myself.” He picked a piece of wood out of the water—part of one of his precious work benches that the river had lifted and tossed aside—and threw it across the room, where it landed with a splash. “Mac was right—I shouldn’t have entered the fucking competition. I didn’t think I’d win. I didn’t deserve to win. Megan Smith said I was ‘innovative and challenging conventions’—it’s just bullshit. I haven’t changed anything except the name, and that earned me a month in the doghouse. I don’t do anything that hasn’t been done for the last two hundred years.”

  Ginger put a hand on his arm. “Come with me. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said roughly, “you deserved to win, not me.”

  “I didn’t, and we both know it. I was arrogant and rude to you, and that wasn’t fair. You’ve done a lot more than just keep things running here, Sam. But I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. You need to leave.”

  He opened his mouth to refuse, but at that moment the water surged through the door and lifted a whole rack as if it were made of paper. Bottles and tins slid off and fell into the dark water with a splash, and the rack fell forward, blocking the doorway.

  “Shit.” Real fear knifed through him now—not for himself, but for Ginger. He had to get her out. He waded over to the rack, Ginger at his side, and together they managed to drag it a foot from the doorway to enable them to get through. She squeezed under, taking her flashlight with her, and disappeared into the front of the shop. Sam’s flashlight had fallen into the water and promptly gone out, and for a scary moment he was submerged into darkness. His heart banged, and when he had to bend to get under the rack, the icy water clawed up to his neck. He fought for breath as it sliced through him, almost panicked, and then he was through, Ginger’s flashlight guiding his way through the shop and out into the street.

  He stared in shock at the view. The river had engulfed the northernmost shops, and the sea was now lashing waves over the road, making it hard to tell where the ocean ended and the river began. Only now did he truly comprehend the awesome power of nature, and he backed away from the bakery, knowing
he had no control over what happened to it tonight.

  The rain continued to pour down, although he was already so wet and cold it made no difference, except that it made it difficult to see.

  “Where are the emergency services?” Ginger yelled, flashing her light around.

  “A tree went down over the road from Kawakawa, so I don’t think they can get through,” he shouted back. “And someone said there were people trapped in cars not far from here, so when they do get through, they’ll go there first.”

  “Should we stay and help?” she asked. A couple of people were carrying belongings away from the shops, but Sam could see it would only be minutes before it would be too dangerous to go inside them, and besides, he was exhausted.

  “I don’t think so. It’s too late. We’ll have to wait until the morning, and then assess the damage.”

  “I hope Fred and the others got home,” she said as they walked away from the seafront.

  “They were all there when I dropped Dad off,” Sam said. “They would have come to help, but there was a leak in the roof of one of the bedrooms in the B&B, so I told them they should stay and sort that out before it caused too much damage.”

  He stopped at the junction of the road, by his car. He wanted to turn around and go home, but the house would be completely flooded, so there was no point in doing that. “Are you going up to the vineyard?”

  “We won’t get out of the town.” She pointed her flashlight at the water lying across the road. He couldn’t tell how deep it was, but it was possible it would come over the top of the exhaust pipe, and then what would he do?

  “Come back to my place,” she said. “I’m at the top of the hill, so it won’t be flooded.”

  He hesitated, but he had no option. He was cold and tired, and at least she was a friend, so he wasn’t imposing on a stranger.

  He nodded, and they set off up the hill. The rain lashed down on them as they walked, and Ginger hunched her shoulders and wrapped her free arm around herself, trying to keep the flashlight aimed with her other hand. She stumbled at one point, so Sam put his arm around her, and he held her tightly as they half-waded, half-ran the rest of the way, splashing through the standing water, and trying to avoid any debris that had been swept along.

  Ginger led him to the row of houses at the top of the hill, and opened the gate of one of the smaller cottages at the end. Water pooled on the flagstones in the garden, but when she opened the door, he was relieved to see the inside was warm and dry.

  “Come in; don’t worry about it,” she said when he tried to wring out his top on the doorstep.

  She flicked the light switch, but the power still hadn’t come back on, so she picked up her flashlight again. Sam went into the tiny kitchen and stood there, shivering, as she shed her raincoat and disappeared into the house. In seconds, she was back carrying a large towel that she wrapped around him.

  He rubbed his hair and attempted to dry himself, but his clothes were soaked, and he was shaking so much by now that his teeth were chattering like a cartoon character’s. Ginger studied him for a moment, then took his hand and led him across the kitchen. He toed off his shoes and flicked off his socks, then followed her through the living room.

  “With no power, the shower won’t be working,” she said, “but the tub should still be hot.”

  She slid back the sliding door to the deck. Outside there was a small hot tub. The rain hammered on the corrugated plastic canopy above it, and it was hardly dry there, but they were out of the worst of it. Ginger pulled back the pool cover and he helped her lift it to the floor. The tub wouldn’t have heated since the power went off, but steam still rose from it in the light of her torch.

  “Come on,” she said, “we’re both freezing. This is no time to be proud. Strip off and get in. I’ll be back in a second to join you.” She disappeared inside again.

  Sam stared at the tub, then out into the darkness at the wild weather. Every now and again, the rain sprayed across the deck, showering him with icy drops. Well, the evening couldn’t get any weirder. He tugged off his wet sweater and let it slop to the floor, peeled off his jeans, then, leaving on his wet boxers, climbed over the edge of the spa, and lowered himself into the warm water.

  “Aaahhh...” It was bliss. Even lukewarm, the water felt wonderful on his icy skin. He sank up to his neck, groaning. He wasn’t going to think about how his home and the bakery were ruined. He and his father were safe, and so was Ginger, and that was all that mattered.

  The door slid aside and Ginger reappeared, carrying two glasses. She closed the door and placed the glasses on the rim of the tub. “Get that down your neck,” she said, and started undoing her jeans.

  Sam picked up the glass of what looked like brandy or whisky and took a sip—yep, whisky, a nice Islay single malt, judging by the peaty taste. The flashlight sat on the edge of the tub next to the glasses, pointing at Ginger as she tugged her jeans down her legs. He averted his eyes hastily. After she’d removed her sweater, though, she perched on the edge of the tub and swung her legs over the edge, and it was impossible to avoid looking as she slid down into the water. She still wore her bra and panties, but even in his exhausted state, his mouth watered at the sight of her pale skin, and her beautiful curves.

  He pushed away his desire, though. “This is not how I expected the day to end,” he said wryly, passing her the other glass of whisky.

  “I know what you mean.” She took a mouthful of the whisky, shuddered, then lay back with a sigh. “Oh God, this is lovely. I couldn’t feel my feet.”

  “Thank you for coming to help.”

  She rolled her head on the back of the tub to look at him. “I was worried about you.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d yelled at her for being such a bad loser, but she’d said, That wasn’t why I left.

  They both needed to stop jumping to conclusions, and to have a proper conversation about how they felt. He couldn’t think what to say, though, or how to start it off.

  So he sipped his whisky, and Ginger sipped hers, and together they listened to the rain hammering on the plastic overhead, as the storm continued to rage around them.

  Chapter Eight

  Ginger closed her eyes and let the heat from the water sink into her bones. She hadn’t believed she could be so cold. Not even when she’d gone to the Alps on a skiing trip with her high school had she been so frozen. At first, her feet and hands hurt as the blood rushed to them, but she kept flexing them, and gradually, as the whisky entered her bloodstream, her body warmed through, and she started to relax.

  She gave a long sigh, and opened her eyes. “Is it my imagination, or is the rain easing a bit?”

  “It’s your imagination,” Sam said.

  She’d angled the flashlight to shine across the edge of the tub, but the two of them were mostly in shadow. She could still see the wry twist to his lips, though, and the slight sparkle in his eyes.

  She studied him for a while, listening to the rain. He bore her scrutiny, sipping from his whisky every now and again, just letting her look. His hair was starting to dry out, taking on its usual ruffled appearance—she’d never been able to work out if he styled it like that or if he just never brushed it. It looked as if it was the latter.

  He’d rested his arms on the edge of the tub, and she’d seen his wet clothing on the floor. She glanced down but it was too dark to see anything. For the first time, she became conscious that Sam Pankhurst was sitting in her hot tub, only inches away from her, and he didn’t appear to be wearing any clothes.

  “Are you naked?” she asked.

  “Not quite. I’ve got my boxers on.”

  “Okay. Just wondering.”

  He chuckled and sipped his whisky. His biceps gleamed in the torchlight as he lifted the glass.

  She bit her lip. Think of something else to talk about, Ginger!

  There was one thing she needed to say. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He turned his glass in his finge
rs, studying her. Then he sighed and looked away. “Me too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

  “I don’t blame you. Everything you said was spot on.” It wasn’t easy to admit it, but she forced herself to speak the words. “I did think I could step off the plane and win the award. You tried to tell me an established business would be more likely to win, but I was so full of self-importance that I couldn’t believe anyone wouldn’t see how hard I was working. I thought the world owed me something, and I was wrong.”

  He blew out a long breath. “Come on. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “No, let me say it, now I’ve started. I’m not being a martyr or anything. And I didn’t run from the room because I couldn’t bear to shake your hand, I swear. I’m so pleased you won. It was just... when I saw you up there, I suddenly realized how awful I’d been. It wasn’t the first time, you see, that I’d been so arrogant, and I couldn’t believe I’d let myself get into that situation again.”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he scolded. “Yes, you can be outspoken, but it’s normally because you have something valuable to contribute. You’re an exceptional businesswoman, and a great chef. You’re young, that’s all. You just need to learn a little tact. We have a growing tourist trade in the Bay of Islands. The businesses around here could benefit from the advice of someone from abroad who understands the needs of the foreign traveler, and I’ve heard lots of people say you know your stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “You just have to know how to handle us right. Our ways might seem outdated or makeshift, but that’s because we’ve had to cope for years on our own. We’re at the other end of the world. Imagine what life was like for us before the Internet. Ringing the U.K. cost a fortune, and it took weeks for anything to arrive. New Zealand was like the fledgling pushed out of the nest. We wanted to prove we could cope without Mum coming to rescue us every five minutes. You’ve heard of the number eight baling wire mentality? Everything can be fixed with a piece of number eight baling wire. It’s not sophisticated, but we’ve learned to make do and mend. And we’re proud of that. We are open to new ideas. Think of us like a daughter in her first home. You can’t walk in and tell her she’s doing everything wrong. You have to suggest things gradually.”