Page 63 of That Island Feeling

His warm weight shields me from the cold lashings of water and an involuntary low sound escapes my lips. My heart bangs against my chest as he kisses me.

‘Holy shit, you’re sexy, Andie,’ Jack growls in my ear when we come up for air again, his glowering eyes fluttering down to my breasts. I feel like I’ve been stung by a thousand jellyfish.

I’m about to curl back into him when his expression shifts to something I can’t quite decipher.

‘Umm, Andie?’ he asks. His voice is no longer a gravelly growl.

‘Yes?’ I say, breathless.

‘Are you wearing my mother’s bathers?’

Chapter Twenty-seven

JACK

I’ve been tasked with bringing a starter to tonight’s dinner at Moorings. Three years ago, that would have meant fresh pearl oysters with ponzu and pickled ginger – or, if I was feeling particularly fancy, a Spanish-style dressing with chorizo, capsicum and sherry. I could prepare oysters at least thirty different ways.

Even if I wanted to impress Andie, there are no shuck-and-go oysters available for purchase on the island. The bowling club sometimes gets rock oysters from Crescent Island, but they don’t do takeaway, and Charlie outright refuses to sell anything other than pearls on his menu – hence scrapping his seafood options altogether. There’s no way he’ll purchase any Pacifics from Alec without a lot of convincing.

Anyway, considering Andie will be there this evening, it’s best not to show up with a bag of aphrodisiacs, especially after our heated shower kiss. I wouldn’t want to give the impression that I’m only after one thing. But that kiss . . . that kiss!

Dating rule number three: Don’t come on too strong.

Although, I guess technically this isn’t a date – it’s a group dinner I lucked into thanks to Tom’s invitation. He’s here to join the bucks on his day off and isn’t even aware of my feelings for Andie.

I opt for a simple bruschetta. I have tomatoes and basil from Mum’s garden, and a sourdough loaf that I baked this morning. Baking is less about my culinary skills and more – like my art – about keeping my hands busy.

I prepare the topping, finely dicing red onion and garlic to toss with the tomatoes and basil and finishing it off with a generous splash of olive oil. I transfer the mixture into a container and bag up the bread to assemble at Moorings.

I text Charlie on my walk over.

I think she might like me back.

I’m passing by Mum’s place when my phone rings.

‘Hey,’ I answer.

‘Hi, Jack. It’s Lena.’ Charlie’s faint voice sounds in the background: ‘Sorry mate, she saw your message come through and wanted all the deets. And no shit! Of course she likes you – have you looked in one of those mirrors you Windex recently?’

I laugh. ‘Hi, Lena. What would you like to know?’

‘Well, how do you know she likes you?’

‘She kissed me.’

‘She kissed you?’

I chuckle. ‘Is that so hard to believe?’

‘Not at all. I always tell Charlie what a catch you are, Jack!’

‘Well, thank you. And it was more of a mutual kiss. Any advice on what my next move should be?’ I don’t mention the divine intervention of the jellyfish. I really should send it a thank-you note.

‘Take her to bed!’ Charlie bellows.

‘Charlieee,’ Lena rouses. ‘Don’t listen to him, Jack. His idea of romance is bringing home expired Paddle Pops from the shop freezer.’

I roll my eyes, even though neither of them can see me.

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