by Antonia Paul
Cassie's Chance
Antonia Paul
PUBLISHED BY:
Antonia Paul
Copyright © 2013
Antonia on Facebook: AntoniaPaul
Author website: AntoniaPaul.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
Swimming in Unknown Waters
When her bus left Auckland, the weather had been sunny and summery, matching Cassie Knott's excitement at the prospect of a week in sub-tropical Northland, shorn of thankfully-ex Pete.
It wasn't the possibility of a hot new romance, under a resort's setting sun, that had energized her. It was simply the imminent change of scene. Her past relationship had slowly died, like a cancer patient, painfully and slowly, always promising remission and never delivering.
Consequently, wild horses weren't getting her involved with anyone for a good long while. When she'd decided to take go alone on the holiday they'd planned and paid for months earlier, it felt like a new beginning.
Best buddy Vicky had applauded her decision, and offered the bright idea that a quick no-strings romance was just what she needed to 'get over Pete'. It absolutely was not. Bars full of well-lubricated men who wanted summer fun? She'd told Vicky she'd use the break to get some painting done.
Now, in early-afternoon, the day had clouded, and so had her mood. She wished Vicky had been able to get time off and come with her. Marsden Bay was a tourist town: great when you were with someone to share sex-on-the-beach - the cocktail, not the act - or to hit the cafés and see the sights with.
As the bus pulled into her stop at Marsden Bay and shuddered into silence, she gathered her things. No more moping. Alone was fine.
Across the road was an old-style wrought iron and timber bench, a good place to catch her bearings and work out where to go. She put down her raffia carry-all - an Anya Hindmarch knock-off - and parked her case beside it. She slid up her sunglasses till they rested in her dark-red curls.
The bay filled her view, dull under the clouds, yet enticing. Pete hadn't liked swimming. She was going to enjoy plenty. When she thought about the ordinary, boring man she'd allowed herself to believe in for so long, she cringed. What she wanted to do and be, outside work, had been stifled for too long. As she looked out over the glittering water, she felt freer than she had in ages.
Beyond a narrow strip of grass and the trunks of whispering pohutakawa trees that stretched overhead, steps led down to the sand. Several small catamarans lay just feet away, waiting for tourists wanting a sail, their red and orange sails gently flapping in the brisk sea breeze.
She didn't see the man initially. He must have been fixing up or picking up something between the boats; suddenly he rose like a meerkat, close enough so she could see his eyes; a gleam of blue-green, like paua-shell nacre. His stare caught her; she froze.
He moved forward a pace and came out from between the sails, close enough to talk.
"Hi," he said, flashing a winning smile.
They were wonderful white teeth, framed by a full-lipped mouth, in a tanned unshaved face. She gaped. There was something electric arcing in the space between them.
"Are you catching flies? The ones around here are quite tasty, eh."
That broke whatever spell it was. Cassie closed her mouth firmly. What a stupid school-girlish thing to do. She put her sunglasses firmly back on, as if the gesture would sequester her embarrassment somehow. She had to find her hotel.
"I . . . I just got here." She explained what she was looking for and then reached down, because she was going to pick up the carry-all. She had to tear her eyes off his face and look down to see it. And then she missed one of the handles and nearly tipped the contents out over the sidewalk.
"That way."
She had to look back at him to see where he was pointing or she'd have looked rude as well as silly, and he told her, pointing behind and along the road a short distance to the next intersection.
"Thanks."
Even his head looked cute; his inky black hair cut close on the sides and back but tousled and spiky on top, almost like a kid's. His skin was darker than tanning alone would achieve. Cassie considered the possibilities. Maori or Pacific heritage?
She didn't look back as she trailed her case across the street. He might have seen her looking.
The small hotel had been recommended on a review site. Cassie couldn't remember which. But a tent and a long drop would have suited fine.
She found the place. Owners Suzanne and Tom were a bit like her parents, non-descript.
"You on your own, love?" Suzanne looked up from her register. "The booking was for two."
"Well, we broke up." Not much more to say.
Suzanne said she understood, and Tom, behind her, said they hadn't another booking for three weeks, so she was welcome to stay longer. He said he'd give her a much reduced rate.
Maybe they knew how it felt, probably not. But it was a lovely studio apartment, straight off the street, past a leafy garden with tall flax. The raised concrete terrace lay under a magnolia canopy, with a view down the street to the bay and the islands. Cassie felt immediately at home in the sun-yellow and white decor.
"It's lovely."
And there was still time in the day for a first swim. She donned her Speedo; green swirls and black. A mid-length moss-green cotton dress made a good cover-up, and she packed her well-worn jean-jacket in case it got cold later.
Several shop windows in the street enticed a closer look: books and pottery; a display of glass-blown sculpture; an art gallery, its window stuffed with pieces; Maori carvings. She got a few things for the apartment from a mini-supermarket, and chilled juice for now from the café.
Carrying her drink, she walked on, swinging her raffia bag. At the tourist place, she didn't take much convincing before agreeing to take the day cruise. A whole day on the water, with a chance to swim with dolphins, sounded heavenly.
She booked it.
Once on the sand, she chose a spot under one of the pohutakawas, and put the bag up against its trunk. She peeled off the dress, put on her goggles, and headed for the water.
The cloud cover had thinned out. Sunlight glittered on the rippling surface as she walked into its welcoming chill. She sunk below the surface and absorbed the coolness, refreshed. A 200-yard champion ten years earlier, she still loved to swim. She'd seen a dull red diving platform maybe fifty yards out, and headed for it.
Overhand, she reached it quickly and climbed on, pulling the edges of her Speedo down where they had ridden up. She dived, and surfaced, climbed and dived again. She floated for a while on her back, and swam down to look around below the platform. But swimming alone got boring. She sprinted to the beach, not stopping until she could touch bottom, almost getting there in one breath.
She waded out, and passed in front of the row of catamarans on the way back to her bag. Her eyes narrowed as she recalled her open-mouth moment.
"Nice diving."
Him again? White shorts, orange-red tee, bronze-brown skin, wide smile and silver coated shades. He slid the glasses up and planted them in his hair as he walked forward into her space.
Time paused, his blue-green gaze sucking her in. In another instant she would have stepped back; he was way too close. But his head whipped around before she could. Someone had called to him; a party of four had come up and questions were beginning. Inane ones, like Are you open?
She saw frustration flash across his face; a dark cloud
scudding to block the sun. She sensed he didn't want to break the connection. But they'd broken it for him. He slipped away to rent them a cat, and Cassie continued to where she had left her things.
She couldn't believe her reaction. She didn't know him, and didn't want to. She didn't want anyone that close, thank you very much.
She put the goggles away, dried her hair enough so it didn't drip, and put on the dress. She looked up at his back, glad of the distance. She didn't know what she might have said if the tourists hadn't interrupted.
When she had to stop abruptly, to avoid walking into a couple outside the café, she realized she was halfway back to her studio. She'd been thinking she might paint him.
She showered and got a drink of lemon and water. She grabbed her watercolor pad, then stopped short in the doorway, in mid-stride, as a large male tui landed and swayed on the closest flax flower-stalk.
The width of the terrace from her, in full afternoon sun, his green iridescence morphed to blue and back to green as he twisted, nectar hunting. Now he almost faced her, flaunting his curling white neck-feather as he raised his head. He twitched and burrowed into another seed pod.
She grinned as she remembered how flax nectar fermented and wondered how many sips would make a tui tipsy. A minute passed and suddenly the stalk flicked in the breeze as he leaped into flight and was gone in a flash of blue and brown.
In a chair on the terrace, she drew the bird with a hard graphite pencil. A few strokes and his head appeared, twisted towards her, ready to be given life with a splash of color. Then she drew the seed-pods, rampant, waiting for him to harvest what they held. A few more quick lines completed her composition.
The tui's feeding saved, she put it aside. The man's face had intruded and she couldn't push him away. His smile teased at her mind's edge.
She tried to capture him. She drew the outline of a face framed between sails. His eyes needed color, but even blank they stared at her, enticing her to find out more. She imagined him close without a crush of little yachts and people scrambling for his attention.
But not too close. Nooo, Cassie.
She put the drawing under everything. Her holiday was not to find a guy, or dream about a guy, or wonder about whether she should. It was to get her head back together.
She returned to the tui, mixed some watercolors, and painted as shadows shifted on the terrace, until a patch of bright that slowly encroached up her arms finally dazzled her when it hit a corner of her work. And she realized she was hungry.
She cut a tomato she'd bought and ate tuna with it. She savored it. 'Freedom was not being served Pete's macrobiotic brown rice and seaweed. She planned to eat him right out of her life.
Cassie looked critically at her bird. She decided to change some details, but of course her watercolors had now dried up. And the light wasn't good now. She shrugged and put everything away, including her sketch of Paua-Eyes.
The lounger looked appealing. She laid on it and watched the sky's color change slowly into its evening hue. The cloud cover turned fiery red as her first day came to an end. She decided she'd swim again in the morning. And find him, if she could. To finish the portrait, she needed a photograph.
Cassie wondered if she could get one without him thinking she fancied him.
Chief Boatman
Tuesday dawned sunny, but very gusty and cool. So she stayed at the studio and painted and read until well into the afternoon, when the wind calmed. It still wasn't warm, so she decided against a swim, but guessed it wouldn't hurt to see if he was at the beach. She could get his picture with her phone.
She got distracted on the way.
She found the art gallery again, in the middle of things, bookshop on one side, outdoor café on the other. Bustling. Lots of cars nosed into the kerb, and many people wandering. On a whim, she decided she'd have a closer look at the art.
They had bits of everything. A wall of paintings drew her; a striking seascape particularly. Spray seemed to fly from its canvas. She'd never been able to capture sea like that.
A weather-beaten, kind-eyed man came over, having seen her interest, and she found him as fascinating as the painting.
Cassie admitted she painted too, that her passion was depicting birds. She said she also painted people if they had something that attracted her. She agreed to show him a picture if she finished one while in Marsden Bay.
When he broke off talking to answer a question from another tourist, she realized time was passing, and she'd better hit the waterfront.
Her mouth creased tight as she walked past the cats, their sails down, tidied away. Perhaps the wind had been too strong for sailing. And she didn't see any paua-eyed men in orange-fading-into-red tees with Marsden Cat Hire scrawled across. Too bad. She'd do without a live model; she'd make something up.
"It's you again. Looking for me?"
Damn. She hadn't heard him coming. His eyes were hidden by the silver-coated shades, but the same chest, tousled hair, and deep bass voice wooed her mind. Her skin tingled.
He lifted the shades and his intense eyes swallowed her, his lips opening as his smile broke out.
She turned, so she wasn't looking toward the dancing dazzle of sun on the water, and pulled off her sunglasses.
"Hi," said Cassie. "I remember you." Was there a sillier line in all the world? Her glasses twisted in her hands.
"You like sailing?" His voice had an allure, a teasing quality.
He indicated the nearest yacht. "Free trial. A bit windy today though, eh? We have wind surfers too." He pointed over toward the sea wall.
Cassie looked over at the fiberglass boards, their sails laid flat on the sand, each daring her to lift it so the breeze could fly her across the bay. No, she concluded. She'd have spray in her face for a moment and then be tipped in a wet heap. And that wouldn't look attractive.
"I don't," she said. "That is, I never have."
She indicated the boards and the boats with a brief sweep of her arm. "Is this what you do all day: mind surf boards like an aquarium keeper looking after sharks? Flat whites." She giggled. "What's your name?"
God, she was behaving like she'd had three wines. She rarely had any. Alcohol was not a slimming drink.
He laughed and scratched his cheek "Rangi. Short for Rangatira, eh. Chief."
Right. So he was Maori.
Rangi moved a step closer. "I like to be in charge . . . of everything." Why did he stand so close? He was almost in her space again. His eyes widened and focused on her more closely. "Going to tell me your name?"
She'd been holding her breath, and let it out slowly.
"Cassie."
He was gorgeous. She tried hard to look at him without appearing to. It wasn't easy to look disinterested with her sunglasses off.
"Chief? I guess you mean Chief Boatman?" She waved at the cats. "It doesn't look like you've got a very hard job."
Shame he had an attitude. He had looks to die for, but an ego big enough to trip over. And it no longer seemed the moment to ask if he'd pose while she took a picture to paint from.
Rangi shrugged. "You haven't any idea what the job involves." He sounded dismissive, as if her opinion didn't matter.
She'd thought about him off and on all day. But she could stop now. He might be hunky, but he was rude.
"I was out for a walk, and a swim, that's all," she said.
"I finish in an hour, at five." he said quickly. "I could buy you a drink. In fact, you should let me." He smiled again and her doubts wavered. Hunky described him well.
Cassie told him she'd read a bit and think about it. She squished her way up the dry sand to the seawall. She flopped down on her towel under the pohutakawa and pulled out her Kindle.
Rangi had moved back among the boats, and was pulling one at a time further up the beach. She saw him turn and run to the water's edge as another of the boats approached at speed. He helped the sailors pull it out and drop the sails.
Cassie had lost her place. Her Kindle had shut dow
n. She tapped it impatiently to get past the advertising so she could continue with Two Hours Past Sunset. But the story didn't seem familiar.
What was Rangi doing? Those reflective silver sunglasses were pointing in her direction, but then he bent to pick up something off the sand.
She tapped the screen to go back further. She glanced up. He was leaning against the hull of one of the catamarans.
Cassie wasn't in the mood for Two Hours. She closed up the Kindle and rummaged for her phone. No texts since Auckland. She scrolled through, looking to see if she owed anyone one.
She'd missed one from Glenda, a friend at her former job. She hadn't let Glenda know she was taking the holiday, so she fired off a brief one. And Glenda replied, so she had to give her the story. That took a few texts.
"I'm done, Cassie."
She jumped. She'd forgotten about him. The boards were stacked, the baby catamarans pulled up beyond the sea's reach.
His dry, smooth hand pulled her up. But she felt awkward, ungainly, in the face of another wide smile that seems to shut out everything else, even the magnificent rose hue above the horizon.
"It's just across the road," he said. "Great kai there too. You hungry?
Crazy. But she couldn't claim any prior plans.
"Ok." She'd be safe enough in a hectic, noisy bar.
They ran across the busy road between cars.
"Alcoholic or non?"
So Rangi was choosing for her? Cocky bugger. Most people would ask what you liked.
"Non," she said quickly. He nodded and squeezed past the brightly clothed crush at the bar.
"Here." Rangi held out a tall glass. "Lime and bitters. Let's go over there." He pointed to some booths that faced the road, and the view out to sea. Folding windows stood open and the evening breeze wafted across their table.
"Cheers," he said, lifting his beer. "Thank you for joining me. You look lovely."
With her artist's eyes she studied him. Thick arched eyebrows with glistening close cropped hair. He obviously liked the short look, though he had a tuft up top. And a hint of beard, but not enough to scratch.