‘Hi. I’m Matt Ashby – one of the surfing instructors at the Coolwave Academy.’
The guy brushed his long, sandy-blond hair from his eyes and offered her his fist to bump. Emilie smiled and responded, taking the chance to study his features, which were flashed with flares of gold from the torches around the dance floor. Were all the surfing instructors in Cornwall like Matt? she wondered. If so, she wished her parents had relocated to St Ives when she was a teenager. What fantastic summer holidays she could have had!
‘Hi, Matt. I’m Emilie Roberts, and that…’ she pointed to Alice who already had her slender arms slung around the neck of a muscular Adonis towering a good head above her, even in her stilettos ‘…is my friend Alice Jenkins. It must be a great way to earn a living – teaching holidaymakers to surf and being able to call all this your office.’
‘It’s amazing. I love every second of being out there on the waves, battling nature’s force. It’s a shame it’s the end of the season or I’d offer to take you out. The surf’s been spectacular this year.’
‘Oh, I’m not much of a water baby, I’m afraid. Even a hotel swimming pool looks more inviting from underneath a stripy umbrella, never mind the open sea.’ A ripple of discomfort shot down her spine as the image floated across her mind.
‘Are you saying you can’t swim?’ he asked.
‘No, I can swim. It’s just that when I was eleven one of my friends pushed me in a river for a dare and I had to be rescued by a passing dog walker. Now, whenever I teeter on the edge of a pool willing myself to jump, I start contemplating the long list of things that could go wrong!’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing. I bet with a little time I could help you overcome your fears. It’s just a matter of confidence and you look to me like a person who has acres of that.’
She laughed. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you had seen me this afternoon sprawling on the floor in front of an audience amongst a pile of squashed biscuits.’
Matt scrunched up his nose in confusion and Emilie giggled. She’d forgotten what it was like to chat to someone who was on the same wavelength as she was. She was enjoying herself immensely so she wasn’t about to confess her tendency to attract chaotic disaster wherever she went. Not a good omen for anyone who made their living on the sea.
‘Long story,’ she said.
‘So, what does bring you down to Padstow, Emilie Roberts? Are you on holiday?’
‘No, I’m working. I’m a food and product photographer. I’m shooting on the next Lucinda Loves… cookery book.’ The blank expression on Matt’s face told her he probably didn’t spend much of his spare time glued to the TV set – if indeed he even owned one. ‘I work for a photographic agency in London – Dexter Carvill – but I’m thinking of investing in my dream to go freelance.’
‘Just thinking? If it feels right just go for it, I say!’
‘I did have it all planned out. My boyfriend was a photographer too so we were going into business together, but that was before I found photographs of him with a certain lingerie and swimwear model on his Facebook page, and a few other things like taking my favourite camera without asking and always derogating my chosen field of expertise.’
She stopped, surprised at her frankness considering she had just met Matt. She usually took her time sizing up new acquaintances but Matt made her feel so comfortable and relaxed in her own skin that she felt she could confide her deepest darkest secrets and he wouldn’t judge her.
She lifted her head to check his expression, expecting a sympathetic nod, but what she got caused her stomach to drop like a silver penny down a well. His attraction to her was written clearly in his eyes, the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day. He wasn’t the usual kind of guy she found attractive with his tousled, sun-kissed hair, a natural golden tan from the hours he spent wrestling the waves and a body Ryan Gosling would be proud of. In contrast, Brad spent most of his time indoors, often in a darkened room, and therefore tended to work the pale and interesting look with gym-honed muscles, not the effortless, all-round physique that came from spending life in the fresh air.
Matt was the complete opposite of Brad in other ways too. Brad chose sharp, designer-branded attire, wore a Tag Heuer watch and wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without a comb in his pocket and a liberal sprinkling of his favourite cologne. His appearance was so camera-ready that he could easily have stepped into one of his own photo shoots should the unlikely occasion arise. He exuded impeccability and polish from every pore and thread.
Matt, on the other hand, was the epitome of an easy-going wave addict. Sun-kissed and a little frayed around the edges with his bleached jeans, washed-out tee shirt and the leather thong he wore around his neck. His hair, the colour of liquid corn, sprang from his head in tufts and added to laid-back vibe his presence projected.
But the major difference was in temperament. Brad oozed charisma and sartorial elegance and worked hard at maintaining this superficial veneer, as well as the signature come-to-bed glance from his chocolate brown eyes, complete with long spidery lashes she would have given her Nikon D810 for. However, Matt clearly didn’t give a second thought to his external appearance and was relaxed and content in his own skin. Nevertheless, Emilie detected a deep sadness behind his aquamarine eyes that even when he laughed was never completely erased.
She shoved away her surprise at the zing of desire that had started to fizz through her veins. The last thing she wanted to do was fall for a guy who was leaving the next day – and she had never been interested in one night of passion, no matter how hunky the guy was. She offered Matt a wide, but wary smile.
‘Maybe after this Cornwall shoot is over I will take the plunge and go solo. But as I said, I’ve not made the best of starts, unless you consider it normal to scatter your client’s hand-made biscuits – the very items you have been engaged to photograph – all over the carpet of the photo shoot venue.’ Emilie glanced over Matt’s shoulder and out to sea, again startled at her openness in front of Matt. She felt as though they occupied the same frequency somehow, that they had been friends for years not minutes.
‘Sounds like a case of beginner’s nerves to me. I’m sure things will improve as you settle in to the assignment and understand what your client wants, their quirks and their preferences. What happened after the biscuit fiasco?’
‘I was mortified and only Alice’s swift intervention stopped Lucinda from firing me on the spot. You know, I was never her first choice of photographer – that was Brad, my ex – so maybe it’s best for everyone if I just leave before things go from bad to worse and I’m looking at my career in the rear-view mirror.’
Warmth tinged her cheeks when she realised Matt was staring at her, his mouth curled upwards in amusement. Tiny dimples had appeared in his cheeks like brackets highlighting his plump lips. She felt strangely nervous, agitated even, in Matt’s company so she took another sip of her drink to disguise her surprise reaction. She watched him copy her action and take a swig from his bottle of beer before she asked, ‘So what do you do when the season ends?’
‘I’m packing up my tent and heading home to Northumberland tomorrow. Work as a surfing instructor tends to be seasonal. I’ve travelled down here for the last two seasons. If I’m lucky I’ll get something to tide me over the winter. I’ll stay with my parents so no problem with the rent and they love having me home, then it’ll be back down here at the end of March ready for another summer full of fun!’
‘Don’t they have surf in Northumberland?’ asked Emilie, an involuntary shudder snaking down her spine as she thought of dipping her toe in the North Sea.
Matt laughed, a sound that was both musical and infectious. ‘Actually they do. But the season is a lot shorter and I have to admit