‘What kind of boat?’
‘The kind of boat that you have to dress up for. Full of tuxedos and shiny dresses. Where deals are done below decks, and the surroundings are only secondary.’
‘That’s no way to experience this bay.’
She caught his eye. He was staring at her with a mixture of interest and pity.
‘I can see that now.’
She was starting to see a lot of things differently since she’d left Thomas.
It was beginning to look breathtakingly beautiful.
‘You can hop down.’ Ryan climbed out of the dingy and into the shallow water, pulling the small boat to the shore. He held his hands out for Poppy, and Juliet helped her climb to standing in the still-rocky boat, lifting her daughter up and passing her to Ryan. The two of them swished their way through the water, their trousers rolled up, laughing as the spray splashed up at them.
When both Poppy and Charlie were safely on shore, Ryan turned back to Juliet. She was wearing a pair of jeans – rolled up to reveal her slim ankles and bare feet, her shoes tied together and looped over her shoulder. The light shirt she was wearing was unbuttoned, blowing in the breeze, revealing the thin T-shirt beneath. Every curve of her body was visible, slim and lithe. She was breathtaking.
‘You need some help, London?’ he asked, trying – and failing – to keep his voice light. Instead it came out rough, as though it was being dragged out of his throat. He didn’t wait for her to answer, stepping forward and wrapping his hands around her tiny waist. The feel of her warmth against his palms made his whole body tingle in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
He watched her swallow, the tight skin of her throat bobbing up and down. Then she rested her hands on his shoulders, bracing herself against him as he lifted her up. She felt light as air. For a moment he wanted to pull her against him, feel her legs wrapping around his waist. The urge was almost too overwhelming, making him forget where he was, what he was doing, who he was with.
‘There you go,’ he said softly, gently releasing her into the water. Her hands still stayed on his shoulders for a moment, soft and warm. They were an arm’s length from each other, and it seemed too far. ‘Let’s go join the kids,’ he suggested. ‘It’s cold in here. I packed a blanket as well as the food.’
They spent the morning exploring the tiny island, helping the children sort through the pebbles, looking for the perfect stone. Ryan told them the stories his grandfather had told him, about the pirates who had hidden their loot in the caves here, stealing from the English ships and selling the black market goods to the desperate colonials who’d made their home on this wild coast. He kept an eye on Juliet as he spoke, claiming London had it coming after all the taxes they’d put on the food they’d exported.
She’d stuck out her tongue in response, making him laugh out loud.
Later, when their stomachs began to rumble after an hour of playing in the sand and pebbles, he pulled out the food; thick sandwiches full of ham and cheese, with bags of chopped fruit and trail mix for dessert. Ryan trained his camera on the ragtag group, watching the three of them laughing and talking through the glass of his lens. He’d taken photographs of the kids, of their pebbles, of the way they laughed so abandoned and free. And then he’d turned his viewfinder onto Juliet herself, catching her completely unawares as he took close-ups of the freckles that trailed across the bridge of her nose. He was fascinated by the way the soft skin behind her knee folded together as she crouched in front of the picnic blanket.
He wasn’t going to develop them – not these intimate shots – but there was so much beauty in her form that he couldn’t help wanting to frame it.
As if she could feel the heat of the lens as he trained it on her, she slowly turned, a small smile playing on her lips. Though the breeze was light, it still managed to lift the tendrils that framed her face, until the strands were dancing against her skin in a rhythm of their own.
‘Are you taking pictures of me?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Liar. Let me see.’ She stood up and cleared the space between them, reaching for the camera he had slung around his neck.
‘It’s an SLR, there’s nothing to see.’
‘You don’t take digital photographs?’ she questioned.
‘I do when I’m working,’ he said, still holding tightly to the hard plastic case of his camera, even though she wasn’t reaching for it any more. ‘But when I’m taking photos for pleasure, I still like to use this old thing. I like being able to develop the film, to watch it come to life. There’s something amazing about the way the image slowly shows itself on the paper.’
‘That sounds fascinating. I’d love to see how it works.’
She was smiling again, and he decided he liked that more than he could say. In the weeks since he’d met her – on that embarrassing day at the school – she hadn’t smiled a whole lot. Maybe that’s why earning a curve of her lips felt like he’d hit the jackpot.
Maybe that’s why he’d felt the need to capture it on camera, too.
‘I’ll show you some time,’ he said, making a mental note to get rid of the more embarrassing frames. ‘But in the meantime, I need to get you back to the wharf. I made a promise I wouldn’t interfere with your job, and I plan to keep it.’
‘Is it that time already?’ She looked almost disappointed. ‘I didn’t realise it was getting so late.’
He could hear regret in her tone, and he liked it very much. Liked the thought that she was having a good time with him. She was like a flower slowly unfurling from a closed-up bud, and it was going to be beautiful when she finally bloomed.
And if he was being really honest, he wanted to be there when she did.