Pride was at stake here.
She tuned and tuned, every sense totally focused on the boat, the water, the wind. But no, that was a lie because overriding everything else was the awareness that Nick was in the next boat.
He’d brought his son sailing.
A risk…
Hardly a risk. They were both wearing life vests; of course they were. They’d not be allowed to race without them. They were surrounded by a fleet of small boats. Even if they capsized, they’d be scooped up so fast there was never a hint of risk
But still…it was a start, Misty thought.
No, she corrected herself. Getting Took had been a start. This was simply the next step.
As finding Ketchup had been her start. Her start of retreating from her list, from her dreams.
What was her next step?
The wind rose, just a little. She should have seen it coming. Maybe she had seen it, but she was away with her lists. The sudden gust caught her unaware, pushed her sideways, dropped her speed.
Nick surged ahead.
‘Hurray, we’re winning,’ Bailey yelled and they would; the finish line was in sight. But then…
Di. Misty hadn’t even noticed her coming up on the far side of Nick. Di’s Sandpiper edged just ahead. Nosing over the line.
Local pride was intact. Di first. Nick and Bailey second.
Misty third.
But a win had never felt as good. It felt fantastic. It was as if she’d been granted the world.
Was it silly to feel like this?
Thoroughly disconcerted, she reduced sail, manoeuvred her little boat back to dock and was inordinately pleased to see Nick had trouble. You needed to know the currents around the clubhouse to get in tight. He didn’t know the currents and was having to take an extra run.
Di was calling to him, congratulating him over the water. On the dock, Fred, the vet, was watching. Fred’s son sailed. Fred usually watched his son but he was watching Nick now, and she remembered Fred’s reaction when he’d heard Nick was a painter.
Nick would be painting for Fred’s beloved repertory society in no time.
He’d be a local.
That was great. Wasn’t it?
Befuddled, conflicted, she pushed her little boat into shore, then tugged her out onto the hard. Nick needed to go further along, to return his Rentaboat. It gave her time to get her thoughts together, so when Bailey came hurtling through the yard gates and whooped towards her she could laugh and swoop him up into her arms and hug him. And smile over his shoulder to his father.
‘You beat me.’
‘Your mind must have been on other things,’ he said, smiling back, and he looked…fantastic. Faded sweatshirt. Jeans rolled up to his knees. Strong, bare legs. Bare feet. Wind-tousled hair.
He was smiling straight into her eyes, and something was catching in her chest.
Your mind must have been on other things. Really? What could they have been?
‘We should have warned you,’ he said, and she wondered if she was blushing. She felt as if she was blushing. Was it showing? ‘I believe Bailey’s yell might have distracted you.’
‘You really can sail,’ she managed.
‘It’s what I do,’ he said softly. ‘It’s what I love. I just…needed reminding.’
‘That it’s safe.’
‘That it’s still possible to have fun. We’ve forgotten a bit.’
‘And now you have a dog and a sailing club,’ she said, a bit more sharply than she intended, and then wondered why she’d snapped. What was wrong with her? She should be pleased for him. She was pleased for him. She was delighted that he was starting to loosen up, become part of this community.
But there was something still not right. Something…
‘Speaking of dogs… Did you leave them home?’
‘What a question,’ he said, sounding affronted. He motioned to the clubhouse yard. The dogs were tied under a spreading eucalypt, a water bowl in reach. They were occupied with a bone apiece. A vast bone apiece.
‘I didn’t do the bones,’ he told her. ‘But Fred told everyone their story within two minutes of them arriving and your local butcher headed straight back to his shop and brought them one each. Have you ever seen anything happier?’
She hadn’t. She felt herself smiling. But then… Tears?
Of all the stupid, emotional…
She did not cry. She didn’t. But now…
Dogs with happy endings. Nick and Bailey with happy endings.
And Nick was watching her. Mortification plus. But he wasn’t laughing at her. He didn’t look like her tears embarrassed him. He lifted his hand and he wiped a tear away before it had the chance to roll down her cheek.
His touch burned. She wanted to catch his hand and hold it against her face-just hold it.
People were watching.
What did it matter? Was this the next step? ‘Hey, Nicholas…’
The moment-the danger?-had passed. Fred was bearing down on them, intentions obvious. ‘Great sail. Well done. I hear you can paint.’
‘Paint?’ Nick said cautiously and Misty managed a chuckle as she moved swiftly away.
‘Welcome to my world,’ she murmured and went to congratulate Di. She hadn’t taken his hand, she told herself. She’d stayed self-contained. Good.
But self-contained wasn’t actually going to happen. Not if Bailey could help it. She’d taken two steps when he slid his hand into hers.
‘When we go home can I come in your car? Dad says we can have fish and chips for tea. Can we eat tea together? The dogs and I would really like it.’
It seemed surly to refuse, so yes, they ate fish and chips together on the beach. Took bounded a mile or more and then settled beside Ketchup in blissful peace. Apart from looking enquiringly to the chips every now and then, both dogs seemed happy.
Ketchup was looking better every day. The initial pinning of the badly fractured leg needed follow-up. There’d be more surgery later on, but for now he was with Took and he’d found a home.
More, he’d found a boy. And boy had found dogs. The three of them were curing each other, Misty thought, as she watched Bailey tease Took with a chip-tease her, tease her, then shriek as Ketchup whipped in from the side to snatch it. While Bailey was expounding indignation, Took wolfed three more.
Bailey giggled, his father chuckled, Misty went to move the chips out of dog range, Nick did the same and somehow Nick’s hand was touching hers again.
They glanced at each other. Nick moved the chips. Then he returned to touch again.
And hold.
‘It’s been a magical day,’ he said softly. ‘Thanks to Misty.’
‘Thanks to Misty not winning, you mean,’ she said with what she hoped was dry humour, but he shook his head and suddenly he had both her hands and he was drawing her closer.
‘That’s not what I mean at all. Misty…’
What was he doing? Was he planning to kiss her? Now?
‘Not in front of Bailey,’ she breathed. No!
‘Not what in front of Bailey?’ Nick asked, smiling down into her eyes. ‘Not thanking his teacher for giving us a lesson in life?’
‘How can I have done that?’
‘Easy,’ he said. ‘By being you.’ He tugged her closer. ‘Misty…’
‘No.’
‘You mean you don’t want me to kiss you?’
‘No!’
The laughter was back in his eyes. Laughter should never leave him for long, she thought. He was meant for smiling.
He was meant for smiling at her?
‘You mean no, you don’t not want me to kiss you?’ he asked, his smile widening. Becoming wicked.
‘No!’ She had to think of something more intelligent to say. She couldn’t think of anything but Nick’s smile.
‘It’s very convoluted,’ he complained. ‘I’m not sure I get it. So if I pulled you closer…’
‘Nick…’
‘Bailey, close your eyes,’ he said. ‘I need to give Miss Lawrence a thank you kiss.’
‘She doesn’t like ’em slurpy,’ Bailey said wisely. ‘She tells Ketchup that all the time.’