Page 50 of That Island Feeling

Oh God. ‘Do I want to know about Woof?’ I groan, shoulders immediately tensing.

‘You may have noticed that there are no dogs or cats on the island?’

I actually haven’t, maybe because I’ve encountered approximately a hundred other species.

‘It’s to protect the native wildlife,’ Jack continues. ‘But there’s this one bull shark that we’re all constantly hooking and releasing. He’s got that many puncture marks now he looks like a punk rocker. Someone – I can’t remember who – named him Woof, and it’s stuck.’

It’d be a sweet story if it wasn’t about a bull shark.

‘Amazing!’ I laugh nervously. ‘And when was the last Woof sighting, exactly?’

But Jack doesn’t hear my question. He’s plunged under the water, bubbles cascading around him. When he hasn’t resurfaced a minute or so later, I begin to panic.

‘Jack?’ I call out, alarmed, eyes fixed on the rippling water where he disappeared. Just as I’m about to hurry back to shore to call for help, Jack pops up next to me.

His eyes are glassy from the water and he’s clutching his knife and half a dozen rocks covered in seaweed and mud.

‘Wild oysters,’ he exclaims.

We’re settled on the picnic blanket against the backdrop of a breathtaking, fiery sky, enjoying the delicious aroma of buttery rock lobster searing on the grill, when Jack takes his shucking knife to the oysters.

My stomach squirms uneasily as I sip on my wine and watch him skilfully wield the knife. He hasn’t washed them, and I can see algae and barnacles attached to their rough shells.

Say something, Andie. Argh, but you don’t want to offend him . . .

He positions the knife at a forty-five-degree angle and inserts the tip into the spot where the two shells meet.

‘Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves?’

His eyes flick up at me.

Well, you said something, Andie. Just not what you wanted to say.

‘Honey, I could do this in my sleep.’

Jack makes a point of keeping his gaze on me as he pushes the knife deeper into the hinge and twists. I want to look away. One slip of the blade and we’ll need more than a box of Little Mermaid bandaids. He wriggles the knife back and forth.

‘Ummm, Jack?’

Okay, I’ve finally worked up the courage.

‘Yes, Andie?’ He bites down on his tongue as he concentrates.

‘Are you trying to poison me?’ I blurt.

Crack! The oyster springs open. A satisfied smile spreads across Jack’s face and he takes a sip of his wine as just reward.

‘What do you mean?’ he asks, brow furrowed.

I take a deep breath. ‘Ah, um, Hazel mentioned that the oysters here have some disease so you can’t eat them?’

The low chuckle starts deep in the pit of his stomach before spilling out of his mouth as a warm roar.

‘Yes. That is true,’ he says eventually, when he’s finally done laughing (at me?).

‘Oh, okay. I thought I may have misunderstood something.’

That still doesn’t explain why he’s about to serve them to me, or what’s so funny. I’m suddenly conscious that I’m in the middle of nowhere with a man who, up until a few minutes ago, I felt entirely comfortable with.

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