Page 7 of Swept Away

“Oh,” I say, a little startled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK. I bought it back again yesterday.”

“Oh, right,” I say, trying to keep up.

“That’s why I’m here. Buying back my dead dad’s old boat, five years on. I’ve got two days off work and a whole big plan to put the past to rest and, like…sort my head out.” He shakes his curls, as ifhe’s trying to get water out of his ears, and gives me a rueful smile. “It’s all part of my quarter-life crisis, according to my brother.”

I think about the fact that I have just moved into my best friend’s houseboat on the sly, with one holdall and two bags of food from Tesco, and I wonder if Zeke and I have more in common than I thought.

“So you know The Anchor?” I ask.

Those hazy eyes resettle on mine. They’re light brown, almost amber.

“Dad never brought me here as a kid,” he says. “But I might’ve been in when I came up to sell the boat. This bar feels familiar. You don’t, though, and I feel like…I’d remember you. Were you working here in…” He glances aside as he tries to figure out the date. “Summer 2019?”

I think about it. I wasn’t, actually. I spent that summer staying in a caravan in Devon with a baby-faced man named Theo, who I’d hoped was the love of my life. He gotLexi forevertattooed on his pasty upper arm, a rare act of rebelliousness that didn’t suit him at all; I think it was because his ex had told him she liked men with tattoos. Even then, I’d had the sense not to getTheo forever—he’d accused me of commitment-phobia, but turns out I was just right. When I informed Theo that I planned to stay home and help my best friend raise her child, he left so fast he didn’t even take his beloved Nintendo Switch.

“Nope,” I say. “That was a rare summer off.” My only summer off, actually.

“Knew it,” Zeke says. “You’re too beautiful to forget.”

That makes me snort a laugh.

“You think I’m joking?”

“I think you’ve used that very cheesy line before.”

“I mean it. You’re really beautiful.”

“I’m not. But thanks.”

He pauses; I get the sense I’ve thrown him slightly.

“Sorry, what do you mean,I’m not but thanks?”

My head is a bit fuzzy from the wine, and my body wants to twist away from his compliments—I can’t bear the way they make me feel. I shovel through the tub of ice to loosen it up.

“So, Zeke Ravenhill, who has all the smooth lines,” I say, taking a savage stab at a particularly large lump of ice, “how am I meant to know you’re not a total arsehole if you’re not stalkable on social media?”

He looks back toSurviving Modern Love; I think he’s weighing up whether to allow me the change of subject.

“Not sure my Instagram would be advertising the red flags, if I had it,” he says eventually, running his hand across the front cover. “But it’s a good question. If you want, we could, like, ring my mum?”

I chuck the shovel back into the tub and try to stand still, folding my arms. I’m a bit jittery. I’ve not felt this way around a man for so long; I’d forgotten the electric, zingy excitement of justflirtingwith someone.

“What would she say?” I ask.

He smiles slightly. “She’d probably say I’m a puzzle. That’s what she usually says. ‘You know, Ezekiel is a bit of an odd one out. But he means well, and when he realizes his potential he could really make something of himself,’ et cetera. The sorts of things you say about your least successful child.”

I lean back against the counter behind me. I wonder if he realizes how revealing that was, and how much more attractive it is than the chat-up lines—I have always had a soft spot for slightly broken people. I think again about Marissa’s suggestion, that I just need a distraction, and I feel a whisper of the woman I was before: the woman who would never look at any guy and think he was too good for her.

“Is she right? Do you mean well?” I ask him.

“I do lots of things well,” he says, poker-faced, but teasing.

Normally, when a guy chats me up, there’s a pressure to the conversation, as though every word exchanged ups the expectation, but Zeke just seems as if he’s…playing. It’s confusing.

“Are you flirting with me because you want to have sex with me?” I ask, looking him right in the face.

---