Page 16 of Taking A Chance

“You know what it is?” she questions me.

“Of course,” I put on my most serious face. “Not really,” I confess, and point to the label at the side of identical soaps stacked on the table.

“Arsehole,” she laughs and smiles, and the sun is no longer the brightest thing I’ve ever seen.

“That,” I whisper. Standing close, I look down at her upturned face, her hand still firmly in mine.

“What?” she whispers back.

“Your smile.” I bring my free hand up to her face, holding it in place, to stop her from turning away. “Now that is an amazing view.” I lean forward, with the intention to steal a kiss. Needing to have the softness of her lips against my own, only to be interrupted by my asshole of a brother.

“Cade,” Ben shouts, and I reluctantly step back, breaking all connections. I do, however, notice the flash of disappointment that sweeps across Petra’s face.

“What’s up, brother?”

“You’re too slow, man. We both need a drink.”

“Go to Lucky’s on Cleveland Street, we’ll catch you up.” I shout back at him. Ben gives me the thumbs up before jogging back to where Kat is and they both turn and walk away.

“I think my brother has the hots for your girlfriend.”

“I think it might be reciprocated,” she laughs hard.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really, it’s just calling her my girlfriend,” she waves her hand at me, trying to brush it off, but still laughing. “It sounds weird, that’s all. Back home a girlfriend is a partner.”

“But she’s a girl, and she’s your friend, so, girlfriend.”

“True, but we tend to go with friend.” I frown at her and she instantly responds to it. “Think of it this way, you wouldn’t call your mate your boyfriend, would you? Unless you were in a same sex relationship.”

“I guess, but then why call them mate?” I counter. “That gives the impression that you’re having sex as in mating.”

“Touché. I can’t argue with that,” she concedes.

Petra decides to purchase a bar of the strawberry and vanilla soap, but I intervene, adding two or three more bars of the different fragrances, before handing a fifty-dollar bill to the vendor.

“Cade,” she says, pushing my hand away and holding out her own bills.

“Please, let me,” I push my hand further forward, my height giving me the advantage.

“I can pay for my own things,” she scowls at me. I think it’s meant to be scary, but it’s actually kind of cute. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone.”

“It’s a gift, Petra. Nothing more, nothing less.” Hooking my finger through the gift bag straps, I hold it out to her. “A gift,” I clarify.

“Okay,” she nods at me, her sass subsiding. “Thank you, Cade.”

“You can make it up to me later.” Her shoulders go back and her height increase a few inches as she rears up at me. “Joke; I’m joking.” I laugh.

“You little shit!” she bats my arm and I rub the area, making out that it hurt.

“Ouch!” I drape my arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get that drink.”

After drinks, we take a walk around the marina. Some of the boats anchored are bigger than my place in Bath. The quality and luxury of them shouts big money, the cost of mooring here in itself, must be mega bucks.

I lean up against the white painted railing, looking at a sizeable white craft with a large deck at the back and a table of eight chairs laid out. Plush cushions are scattered around a deep seating area that runs around the edge. The words ‘Jack The Lads’ written in bold blue letters across the stern.

“Mmm, I can imagine sitting there eating fresh grilled fish, while drinking a glass of crisp white Sauvignon. Out there,” I point and look out to sea, “watching the sun go down.”