Page 55 of Not in a Million Years

‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.

‘One, I can see your knickers, Kate. And two, this is a foot fetishist’s dream.’

I laughed. ‘Stop distracting me. You’re not a foot fetishist, are you? That’s so gross. I had one message me on online dating once.’

‘Really? How do you bring that up in a profile? “Likes fun nights out, cosy nights in and knocking one out over your bunions”?’

‘Actually, he asked me if I do that thing of dangling my high heels off my toes when I’m sitting on a tall bar stool.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, at least he was up front about it.’

‘Exactly – and gave me a clear heads-up to ignore and block. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with feet as such.’

‘You’ve got nice feet.’

The compliment surprised me. ‘Come on, no one’s got nice feet. There are gross ones and not-so-gross ones. Mine are average at best.’

He shrugged. ‘If you say so. Are you ready yet?’

‘Nope. I need to put on another coat and then let them dry for ten minutes before I can risk my flip-flops.’

‘God, it’s a bit of a pain being a woman, isn’t it? All that maintenance.’

‘Hey, at least I didn’t have to get the iron out.’

‘Glad you noticed I put a bit of effort in.’

‘You look very smart. Shame about your hair.’

‘What?’ He raised a hand and ran it through his barnet, which was almost all corn-gold now from the sun. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’

‘Too long,’ I said. ‘It looks wanky.’

‘Want me to take your nail scissors to it before we go?’

Quite suddenly, I realised I didn’t. Objectively, Daniel’s hair might be wanky. But subjectively, it was quite another story. Looking at it, I found myself wondering how it would feel to run my fingers through it, to bury my face in it and breathe in its fresh-lemonade scent, to feel its ends tickling my face if he kissed— What? What was I even thinking?

Feeling my face flame, I swung my legs down off the bed. ‘You’re all good. I expect lots of people on yachts have wanky hair.’

‘Ah, thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ I slid my feet into my flip-flops and gave myself another quick glance in the mirror.

‘Kate?’ Daniel appeared, his reflection close behind mine.

‘That’s me.’

‘You look stunning. Just saying.’

I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d slapped me on my (not sandy) bum. In the mirror, I saw my eyebrows shoot upwards and a delighted grin spread over my face. He thinks I look nice. The knowledge made me glow with pleasure, and a tiny thrill of something else – something far more potent and exciting.

‘You’re not so bad yourself. Wanky hair notwithstanding of course.’

Gently, he punched my upper arm. It was the briefest touch, a friendly bump and no more. But it felt as intimate as a caress. It felt like the mark of his knuckles would stay on my arm all night, clear as the lipstick imprint of a kiss. Hastily, I fumbled my room key into my handbag along with my phone.

‘Are you sure we don’t need to take anything?’ I asked. ‘Flowers for the hostess? Bottle of wine? Something like that?’

‘Don’t be daft. They’ll have laid on enough booze to float the entire yacht and got a team of florists in. We’ll send a thank-you message tomorrow.’

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