say you’re worrying about your age since you asked me mine,’ he shrugged. ‘And your questions were a bit banal and depressingly literal but somewhat creatively grounded, what with the favourite colour and everything, so I’d say you’re someone who likes to solve problems but in a creative way. That makes more sense for a photographer, I suppose.’
Or for a creative director in an advertising firm, I thought to myself. He was quite possibly the best professional question asker I’d ever come across.
‘You’ve gone a bit quiet,’ Nick noted as Kekipi re-appeared with half of his gang and several platters of dessert. Thank God this dress had plenty of eating room. I was going to go back to England the size of a cow. Two cows, at this rate. ‘I’m right?’
‘About some of it,’ I admitted. ‘But it’s not like I didn’t learn anything about you.’
‘Go on then,’ he said as one of the waiters poured out two coffees. I hoped they were decaf. ‘Stun me with your insight.’
‘I suppose what I noticed most was that you were just really vague.’ I added cream to my coffee and tried not to look at Nick while I was talking to him. Too distracting. ‘Favourite colour, driving licence, yes and no questions, all really easy, but the rest of it … I don’t think you like people knowing too much about you.’
‘Interesting theory,’ he commented. ‘Go on.’
And so I did. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’m not the journalist, obviously, but just all of it – the quick comebacks, the bare feet, the black coffee. Single at thirty-six, can’t commit to a city, nowhere you call home. Maybe you can’t commit to anything?’
‘I don’t think you’re breaking any new ground suggesting a single man in his thirties might have commitment issues,’ Nick said with forced boredom. I glanced up from my coffee cup. He might have sounded bored, but he looked really annoyed. Amazing. ‘Although you realize commitment issues were invented by women? No man has commitment issues. When a woman says that, what they really mean is, “He doesn’t want to commit to me,” It’s a little bit sad.’
‘Wow,’ I replied, leaning towards the candles to get a better look at him. ‘Are you angry at all women, or is there just one who really pissed you off?’
‘Oh, that would be original, wouldn’t it?’ He moved back out of the light and I couldn’t quite see his face. ‘Wounded, damaged and heartbroken, I spend my days writing the stories of others so I never have to think about my own. Constantly trying to outrun my feelings until one day I meet the woman who changes everything?’
‘I never said heartbroken,’ I said quietly.
‘Well.’ Nick tapped his fingers on the table and smiled down at the tablecloth. ‘Well, no, I suppose you didn’t.’
The pretty evening breeze rustled the palm trees overhead and I busied myself by concentrating on the lights inside the main house and pushed a stray wisp of hair out of my eyes. I wondered how many people lived in there. It couldn’t possibly just be Bertie Bennett – it was far too big.
‘So tell me more about Vanessa Kittler, photographer extraordinaire.’ Nick broke the silence first. Even though I’d been at a complete loss for something to say, I chalked it up as a win. ‘I still want to hear your story.’
‘Nope.’ I picked up a piece of pineapple from the platter in front of me and used it as a delicious fruity pointer. ‘I’m not the storyteller, you are. Maybe you should be a writer.’
‘Hilarious,’ he replied flatly. Somewhere in the past five minutes, something had knocked the comedy right out of him. Instead of looking bemused by the whole situation, he just looked pissed off. I was ever so slightly pleased with myself. ‘Must have been a terrible break-up,’ I said, eyes wide with feigned innocence. ‘You poor, broken man, you.’
‘Yeah, I think you’ve seen too many films.’ Nick chugged the remains of his coffee and snatched the piece of pineapple out of my hand. ‘And you clearly haven’t read too many books.’
‘I read,’ I snapped back. He stole my fruit! And, yes, there was an entire plate of pineapple, but that wasn’t the point. ‘I read all the time.’
‘The Fifty Shades books don’t count.’ Nick pushed his chair back.
‘I didn’t read them, actually,’ I announced with triumph. He didn’t need to know I hadn’t had the time and had read the Wikipedia synopses and then downloaded the dirty bits instead.
‘Like I said, not a reader.’
With just as much grace but significantly more purpose than when he had sat down, Nick stood up, walked round the table and placed his hands on the armrests either side of me, leaning in close. I jerked backwards, eyes locked on his. They were such a strange colour. He bent down until his lips were right beside my ear, and I breathed in suddenly, his fresh, soapy shower gel and shampoo just barely covering the traces of a darker, warmer scent that made my stomach flip.
‘Goodnight, Vanessa,’ he whispered before pushing away from my chair and jogging off down the steps and back towards the beach.
‘Well.’ A little stunned and incredibly flustered, I grabbed another bit of pineapple and took a big bite, waiting for my heartbeat to resume normal service. ‘That was just rude.’
‘It was a little,’ a voice said in the semi-darkness. It was Kekipi. ‘I think you touched a nerve.’
I laughed self-consciously, happy to have an ally and only slightly embarrassed at being caught talking to myself.
‘How is the pineapple?’ he asked, filling up my coffee and pouring himself a cup before sitting down in Nick’s empty seat and throwing his bare feet up onto the table. I wondered if he was like this with all of Mr Bennett’s guests. I wondered if Mr Bennett had many guests.
‘Bloody delicious,’ I replied, my mouth completely full. With Kekipi as my witness, it was the best bloody pineapple I had ever eaten. The little plastic pots from M&S would never, ever do the job again. ‘Perfection, actually.’
‘Good to hear.’ Kekipi sipped his coffee and sighed. He looked so contented and comfortable, the opposite of my earlier dinner date. ‘They do say you’ve never eaten pineapple until you’ve eaten it in Hawaii.’
‘I’ll have to make sure I eat lots while I’m here then,’ I said.
‘We can ensure that your cottage is well stocked.’ Kekipi gave me a wink and nodded down the hill, where a light flickered on in the cottage next door to mine. Nick was home. ‘Mr Miller was an interesting dinner companion?’
‘I just hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew,’ I said, tugging at the end of my plait. ‘I’ve got a funny feeling I’m going to have trouble with that one.’
‘I’ve got a funny feeling I’d like to have trouble with that one,’ he replied. ‘And that funny feeling is right in the middle of my trousers. He would be just my type.’
‘Not mine.’ My eyes were still fixed on the glowing window. He was probably taking his shirt off. Right. That. Second. ‘Never been a blond fan.’
‘I’m sure you could make an exception if you put your mind to it.’
