Page 58 of Ride the Wave

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he offers, nodding to the wide, grey sofa as he opens the large, silver fridge in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from inside the door.

I perch on the edge of his sofa, fiddling with the hem of my burnt-orange playsuit.

Picking an outfit for tonight was a difficult call; I had to find something that wasn’t too formal as I knew it wouldn’t be that kind of occasion, but it also couldn’t be too date night or too casual. In the end, I had to video call Naomi to confirm that it was appropriate. I would have asked Flora’s opinion, too, but she has enough on her plate with Kieran’s dad rocking up and preparing for the baby’s arrival.

Also, I knew she’d ask a lot of questions about why this was so important when I was just popping round for dinner with a client and I didn’t want to answer them.

‘The wedges are maybe too much?’ I suggested, as I held up the phone to show Naomi my reflection in the full-length mirror.

‘No, your legs look insane. Is it really hot over there or something? How come you’re so tanned?’ Naomi asked enviously.

‘There’s this amazing invention where they bottle tan and you can cover yourself in it.’ I’d laughed. ‘It’s fake, Naomi.’

‘You’ve done a bloody good job.’

‘So you don’t think the wedges are too much?’

‘Wear the wedges,’ Naomi insisted. ‘They’re not too high, so I think you can get away with them being fairly casual. Glam-casual, shall we say.’

‘I do have gladiator-strap sandals, which might be easier on the walk to his place.’

‘Like a long walk has ever stopped you before. Weren’t you born in heels?’

‘So the legend goes.’

‘I guess you have to ask yourself the following questions,’ she began, shooting a sly smile at the camera. ‘Do you want this guy to see you in a purely professional manner? Or do you want to leave the dinner knowing that he’s going to be fantasising about you and your long legs all night? If it’s the former, then you need to pick a different outfit and a different pair of shoes. If it’s the latter, you’re good to go.’

I pretended to think about it.

Anyway, I’m glad I made the effort because Leo has too. Well, as much as he can, I guess. He’s wearing a crisp, white, linen shirt and pale-salmon-pink shorts. He’s done something different with his hair – although it still looks dishevelled, if stylishly – and when he invited me in earlier and I walked past him, I got a whiff of the cologne he’d sprayed on.

It smells musky and delicious.

‘So what’s on the menu?’ I ask as he comes to sit down next to me. ‘After hearing of your baking success, I’m looking forward to experiencing your culinary skills.’

‘Aren’t writers meant to be observant?’ he asks, placing our drinks down on the coffee table and leaning back into the cushion, his body twisted towards me. ‘You haven’t noticed the lack of cooking smells or the fact that the kitchen is spotless.’

I glance over at the bare kitchen.

‘My dad will be providing the food for tonight,’ he informs me in a hushed voice.

I lean forwards, lowering my voice to a hush to match his. ‘I’m a little bit relieved.’

He grins at me. ‘I would be if I were you.’

Giggling, I sit straight again and reach for my glass before something catches my eye on the wall behind him. A charcoal sketch of a sailboat in the same style as the one in Marina’s Bar and in his dad’s shop. He notices my expression and turns to follow my eyeline.

‘What?’ he asks, swivelling back to me in confusion.

‘That artwork,’ I say, pointing to it in excitement. ‘I keep seeing it. Is it a local artist?’

‘Oh, yeah, it is. Very local.’ He looks almost pained as he adds, ‘It’s mine.’

I blink at him. ‘Excuse me?’

‘When you say you keep seeing it, I’m guessing that’s because you’ve seen it in my dad’s shop,’ he says, laughing modestly. ‘I did ask him not to display it there, but he insists.’

‘You… you drew these?’

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