Page 94 of That Island Feeling

He’s still peering down at me, and I’m not thrilled about his bird’s-eye view of my nipples, exposed like a plate of eggs sunny side up.

‘Excuse me, do you mind?’ I say, covering my breasts.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Jack says, lying back down and nuzzling under my chin.

‘No. I’m the one who’s sorry. That was a super-shitty thing to say, Jack. I’m a bit out of sorts today. Taylor and I had a weird moment earlier.’

By the time Jack showed up at Moorings’ door Taylor had already gone back to Clam Cove for more discussions with Mitch.

‘Oh, no. What happened?’ He tilts his face up to look at me, and I reach down, winding my fingers in his damp hair just like I did when we first kissed. It’s hard to believe that was only a few days ago, when I was trying to squeeze a holiday fling in the margins of my trip responsibilities. Now I regret wasting any time worrying about beige dips when it could have been spent right here, with him.

‘Well, it turns out that Mitch – Taylor’s ex-husband – is on the island. Apparently he wants her back.’

‘Mitch?!’ Recognition dawns on Jack’s face. ‘That’s the guy who’s been staying at Clam Cove Resort . . . We actually made up the room for him the other night.’

‘Yeah, I figured he was swan guy.’

‘So, you don’t like him?’

I sigh. ‘It’s not that. And I know it shouldn’t be any of my business. It’s just that I don’t love what she told me about why it ended, and I hate that she’s considering going back there . . . And it’s not because I’ve organised this trip – and taken time away from Dad – only for it all to feel like a giant waste. I don’t really know what’s bothering me.’ I stare up at the cloudless sky, feeling truly uncertain. Is it because I resent how everyone else’s life seems to move forward with interesting plot twists, while mine feels stuck?

Jack slides his rough hand into mine. ‘I wouldn’t call this trip a giant waste, would you?’ he asks quietly.

I turn to face him. The red marks have faded, and his hopeful green eyes are clearer and kinder than ever. ‘Well, no,’ I say, voice wispy.

‘That’s a relief.’ He squeezes my hand firmly. It’s a small gesture amid so many larger ones – the dinners, the boat rides, the paddleboarding, the cosy nights in his cabin – but it makes me feel less alone, like I have a teammate in my corner. I knew life was grating on me, but I didn’t realise just how broken I was when I arrived on Pearl Island. Jack has helped patch me up, in every sense of the word. My heart skips a beat as I think of the jellyfish shower ‘first aid’. His scarred, calloused hand grips mine, a faint outline of sticky residue from his bandaid still visible. I hope I’ve helped patch him up a little too.

As I trace the outline of the bandaid, Jack speaks softly. ‘What if the closing credits don’t have to roll on us?’

His question catches me off guard. ‘Huh?’

‘Sorry, Andinese-speak.’ He grins. ‘Although you should be familiar with it. I’ve been nose-deep in Andinese Duolingo all week, trying to play catch-up.’ His voice hitches in his throat. ‘I just mean, what if we continue this thing between us?’

‘But I live two hours away – and with my dad, my brother, my job . . . I can’t move here, Jack. I have to visit Dad every day.’

‘I would never ask you to do that. I can visit you. It is only two hours.’

God! I’m so mortified that my first thought was that he meant for me to move here. How ridiculous, Andie.

‘I could even stay the night sometimes and help you out. If you want me to. Hazel will be perfectly fine here on her own. In fact, we both know she’d probably prefer it if I left her to it. And you were right about my responsibilities; cleaning hotel rooms doesn’t exactly make me irreplaceable. I’m not tied down like you are.’

As he repeats my careless words, I feel a rush of shame. I don’t even believe them. Yes, on paper, he might seem like some carefree, barefoot island guy – perhaps that was part of his initial appeal. But he’s shown me there’s so much more to him. Not only has he been unnecessarily kind to me, but I’ve seen his generosity extend to so many others on the island. There’s the selfless story about Hannah, his obvious concern for Charlie and his kiosk, the river boat, Hazel, Clara – the list goes on . . . And that’s probably not even the half of it. He’s the opposite of dispensable. Being the reason he leaves – even for a weekend – would be like tearing the pearl out of Pearl Island.

‘I don’t know, Jack,’ I say, so uncertain.

‘Blimey! If this isn’t history repeating itself.’ A deep male voice cuts through the air.

Instinctively, I flip over to cover myself, flinging Jack’s head into the air.

‘Don’t worry, love. Didn’t see a thing,’ the man says as he pulls his kayak up to the pontoon. His dark, knobbly knees are stretched out in front of him, and a wide-brimmed hat is jammed over his ears.

‘Andie, this is Keith. Keith, this is Andie,’ Jack says, sitting up and rubbing his neck.

This is Keith?!

‘Lovely to make your acquaintance, Andie-girl.’ Keith extends his hand. I’m desperate to make a good impression, but I’m also too terrified to move and risk re-exposing myself, so I end up offering a limp, dead-fish-like grip.

‘So nice to meet you too,’ I say, forcing a bright smile. Then I hiss at Jack, ‘You could have warned me.’ He hands me a towel, and I’m reminded of the fluffy tower he left for us that first night at Moorings, when we were in a similar predicament – and still strangers.

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