Page 85 of That Island Feeling

‘Alright, obviously we can’t be trusted in here,’ Jack says, pulling away and turning to straighten the table. Luckily the glass hasn’t broken. ‘Tom will kill me if we damage the joint – although I suppose that’d be payback for the state of Keith’s place. But he has gone out on a limb to let us in here. Ah, shit, I wasn’t supposed to say that.’ He pauses briefly. ‘You’re meant to believe that this is all movie magic.’ He wiggles his fingers in the air like Kirsten Dunst in Bring It On – another family favourite.

I laugh. ‘Do that again.’

‘Movie magic.’ His spirit fingers transform into unwieldy flappy birds.

‘Ha. Watch out!’ I lean in and narrowly save another glass before it’s sent flying.

‘Oops.’ Jack grins, sheepish. ‘We’d best get out of here.’ He takes my hand and leads me out of the room, retrieving the bag of oysters he’s left by the door on the way.

‘So Tom works here? Why isn’t it open tonight?’ I ask as we step into the kitchen. It doesn’t have the same time-warp effect as the front of house, but it is an impressive masterpiece of stainless steel.

‘Yeah, he does – well, mainly on their oyster farm,’ Jack responds. ‘It’s the same issue we have on Pearl Island, really. I guess with budget airlines, tourists now prefer going further afield to Fiji and the like, so The Oyster House is only open a few days a week. At least they still have oysters going for them. And sea planes.’

‘Sea planes?’

‘Yeah, there’s space for them to land here. I always say that if we had that same luxury on Pearl, we’d be beating the tourists off with sticks. I know I’m biased, but our beaches, wildlife – everything – is so much better.’

I love the love he has for his home.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you how you found our little island?’ he says.

‘My parents honeymooned there, actually,’ I reveal, my stomach swooping with an influx of emotions.

‘Ah, really? That’s lovely.’

‘My dad was a marine biologist, so I think maybe that’s why they chose Pearl Island.’

‘And you organised the girls’ trip here so –’

‘So that I could see the slice of perfect paradise they always spoke about so fondly,’ I finish. ‘I guess to help me feel closer to them. Well, it’s a bit more than that, really . . .’

I trail off, like a hermit crab retreating into its shell.

Jack studies me, his expression tender. ‘Please, continue,’ he encourages softly.

‘My mum spoke about this “island feeling” all the time,’ I say, raising my fingers to give the words air quotes. ‘So, I came in search of it. I wish she’d chosen a more tangible sign, like a butterfly or a rainbow.’ A faint smile flickers across my face.

‘Or a parrot or a seagull. There’s plenty of those to go around.’ Jack laughs gently, leaning in and planting a kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘Don’t worry, Andie-girl. We’ll track down that island feeling for you.’

My insides hum with hope, and for the first time I entertain the thought of what life could look like with Jack once I’m off the island. Yet as quickly as it arrives, I dismiss it. Sure, Pearl Island is only a two-hour commute from Sydney, but it’s absurd to think that a holiday hook-up could become something more, especially considering how vastly different our worlds are. I can already picture him, next week, cooking buttery rock lobster for some new tourist girl, while I return to caring for Dad.

I try to suppress the sudden rush of emotion. ‘Thank you. That’s very sweet.’

‘Sweet? You’re the one who is one hundred per cent Chupa Chups right now,’ Jack says.

‘Okay, so I might have inherited a sweet tooth,’ I laugh, thinking of Dad’s chocolate obsession.

‘Thank goodness for those thirty-four years of brushing,’ Jack fires back.

My heart does a joyful little dance. It’s this easy banter filled with our private in-jokes that has me confused. He’s clearly fluent in the language of flirting, and it’s impossible for it not to have an effect on me.

‘So what’s on the menu tonight?’ I ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto more comfortable terrain.

‘Well, an empty restaurant is good news for us. It means no middleman.’ He slings the bag of oysters onto the countertop and empties it out. ‘Although I do have one tiny confession.’

‘Yes?’ I ask nervously. My mind races through every possibility, from the restaurant unexpectedly opening and us having to cook for a crowd like a cruel prank, to something even worse – that he’s still involved with Clara. Ever since Taylor mentioned they used to live together at Moorings, it’s been weighing on my mind.

Jack pulls open the drawer underneath the counter and retrieves a knife and a steel mesh glove.

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