Page 67 of Nothing Without You

‘Talking about how I feel, and thinking about being in a relationship again. It terrifies me.’

His voice was soft and gentle. ‘There’s no need to force anything. Why don’t we just take it slowly and let it evolve.’ He held his hands up in the air, palms facing outwards. ‘No pressure. We can just see each other and work it out from there.’

‘You mean, go on dates?’

He chuckled. ‘I guess so. Let’s start with tonight. Come for dinner. I’ve got some fresh prawns from the local trawlers, and I’ll cook something special for you.’

Chapter Seventy-Eight

The old Datsun just made it up the hill again to Chris’s house. ‘Of course, his place has the best view on the island,’ she mumbled aloud.

When she got out of the car, she looked up at the timber building nestled among palm trees and other rainforest plants, all of it impossible to see the night before. Large timber poles stretched from the ground to the roof, and she could see a front veranda with large glass doors leading into the house. Although the front yard was flat, it seemed as though the backyard was steep and covered in trees. She walked along a path that led to the front door, using a large cast iron knocker to let Chris know she had arrived.

She stared in awe at the gardens as she waited. Bright-coloured pots filled with lush plants lined pathways leading off into various parts of the yard. Chunky, dark timber chairs and a few small tables were strategically placed, invitations to sit amidst the cool shade. Melodic chimes and other decorations adorned the space, swaying gently between massive hanging pots brimming with flowering impatiens. The tranquil atmosphere was enhanced by the presence of a fishpond, and everywhere she looked, there was an explosion of colour. Gazing upwards, she stared at the taller palms and trees, their canopies casting a delightfully cool and relaxing ambience over the yard where she stood.

When the door swung open, she couldn’t help but smile. Chris stood barefoot, his usual attire of old boardshorts and T-shirt replaced with new boardshorts and a collared polo shirt.

She was glad she had bought something from the market last week. A fitted floral dress that came to above her knee, together with some new leather sandals, made her feel refreshed and comfortable. She felt as if she was starting to look like a local, appearing relaxed like everyone else did. ‘I’m a bit late,’ she said.

‘Never late here. We’re on island time.’

She knew exactly what he meant. It didn’t matter where you went or what you were doing. No one here was in a hurry. ‘This house is amazing. I love the pots.’

‘I bought them back from Bali. Same as most of the furniture and bits and pieces. I go surfing there with the guys you met the other night. You’d love it. I’ll take you there one day.’

She felt her face burn and he laughed. ‘You’re blushing.’ Leaning over, he kissed her and she felt an undeniable ache in her body.’ His lips were warm and she stayed where she was, hoping he’d kiss her again.

She murmured, ‘That was nice.’

He had turned to head up the stairs but came back, putting down the spatula he held in his hand and drawing her into his arms. His lips met hers and they pressed against each other, his eyes full of longing when he looked at her. Finally, he drew away and grabbed her hand. ‘C’mon. I’ll show you around.’

She ran her hand over her lips. They were on fire, as was the rest of her body. ‘Just let me check on the vegetables first,’ he said, letting go of her hand as she followed him into the kitchen.

She stood in the middle of the room, gazing up at the high ceilings and large windows. The kitchen, dining and lounge took up most of the floor they were on, and she slid her shoes across the polished floorboards. The warmth of the timber was homely, and she loved that the kitchen benches, the shelves that held a combination of crockery and jars filled with herbs and spices, were all timber. Chris pulled a tray of vegetables out of the oven, turning each piece over, then sprinkling some herbs over them before putting them back in. ‘Another half an hour and we can eat. I thought we could sit on the veranda while it’s still light.’

Her eyes took everything in—the walls covered in paintings, some so large they took up an entire wall. She turned to another wall, a display of varied surfboards and old photos hanging across the space. Underneath that were heavy timber shelves, stacked with books and other oddments.

She came to stand beside him. He was marinating meat in a glass dish and she watched as he carefully turned the meat over and spread some more marinade on top. ‘Do you like cooking?’ she asked.

‘I do when I’m cooking for someone else. Usually it’s just me though, so more often than not, I eat at the pub or buy takeaway.’

‘I don’t mind cooking for myself. I’ve got used to it, and at least no one complains.’ She thought about how Bob had once thrown his meal across the table at her, the contents flung across the floor. His meat had been undercooked and he said the vegetables were hard. There had been no joy in cooking back then, but living at The Magic Fish, she enjoyed following different recipes and experimenting with ideas, especially for fish.

‘You looked like you were thinking about something,’ he observed.

‘I need to stop thinking about the past.’

‘You can always confide in me. Sometimes it’s not good to bottle things up.’

‘Thank you.’ She wondered if she would ever share with anyone the details of her treatment from Bob. She shivered and turned her gaze to the assortment of ornaments and pictures that lined the wall near the end of the kitchen. Suddenly she reached up and took down an item hanging on a keyring. She held it in the air. ‘It’s your lucky penny. You still have it. 1924.’

He came to stand next to her and took it from her. ‘I take it with me whenever I travel overseas. It’s been lucky for me, and now I feel extra lucky because you’re standing in my kitchen.’

‘I still have a photo of us taken here on the island. I left my house in Yeppoon with just a small bag, but I managed to grab a box I kept hidden. The photo of us was in there.’

Chris reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a wallet. He unclicked it and searched for something. Holding it up, he read the back of it. She knew already what it was. ‘Stradbroke Island, 1974. My Evie and me.’

Chapter Seventy-Nine

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