Before I could chicken out, I asked the bartender for a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down my new future, aka The Plan:
1 Get a job
2 Get a house
3 Get a partner. Marry him.
There, simple. That was what I would do.
I ordered another whisky to celebrate The Plan and was about to slide onto the bar stool, in case I got too tipsy downing another Scotch, when I dropped my room key on the sand. I stepped back to try and look for it, at the exact time someone was stepping forward, because I felt my body slam into something hard – like a wall of cement. I tried to right myself, but my shoe went one way, and my foot went another and, before I knew it, I was on the ground in a heap, my knee-length dress hiked around my upper thighs.
‘Sorry, are you OK?’ A hand appeared in front of my face. It was a rather nice hand, square and large and quite like you’d imagine a tradie’s hand to be, but without the rough bits or anything covered in grime or paint.
When I looked up, a very good-looking man with his good-looking hands was standing above me. ‘I’m Nick,’ he said in a broad Australian accent. He had kind chocolate brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He was admittedly gorgeous, with blond hair, a dark sandy colour, and tanned olive skin. He was about six foot, with broad shoulders. He was wearing dark blue shorts, a fitted blue plaid shirt and white slip-on sneakers. The cool kind.
‘And I’m better when I’m dressed,’ I said, grabbing on to Nick’s hand and letting him pull me up. He looked away like a gentleman whilst I straightened my dress and brushed the sand off. I could feel the heat of the blood, still in my cheeks. Had I shown my bum to the world? To Mr Gorgeous? My knickers?
‘That was some tumble.’ Nick stared at me.
‘Yes, I’m training for the Worlds. Floor is my best. I was about to do a back flip, but you got in my way.’
‘Funny that, I thought you were looking for something in the sand. A room key perhaps?’ He opened his palm and there was my white room key.
‘How did you—?’ My heart was beating so loudly, as if it were trying to escape my chest. At any moment, this gorgeous guy would make an excuse to leave. To go back to his girlfriend. Or wife. I bet he had a lovely, pretty woman, beautiful and slim with blonde hair, who went to the gym more than three times a week. She was probably an Instagram influencer or model, because they mostly were nowadays.
‘Stealth.’ He smiled. ‘Is that whisky?’ He pointed to my glass.
‘Single malt.’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘Are you?’ I could feel him staring at me.
‘A girl that drinks whisky? Absolutely.’ I tried to hide my smile. Was this gorgeous man flirting with me? Stuff like this didn’t ever happen to me. Broiled chicken cheaters happened to me. Vanilla guys who were into computers happened to me. Hot men on islands did not happen to me.
Nick smiled at me, and his eyes crinkled in the most adorable way. I opened my mouth to say, Well, have a good night, expecting he was just being pleasant because he was on holidays, and his wife was probably eyeing me up and wondering why her wonderful husband was talking to the awkward girl at the bar who’d just fallen in the sand. But then I stopped myself. There are times in your life when there is a moment. A moment that presents itself as a possibility. The universe had conspired to plant this man right in front of me. Bumping into me. Literally. And it had to be for a reason.
Ask him to have a drink with you.
This was one of those moments when the man in front of you is gorgeous, and maybe he’s not living in a granny flat with his parents, or a workaholic with a heart problem, and it’s not a weird blind date, and he might be taken, or not, but still, you think – just go for it.
Ask him to have a drink with you, I thought again. I mean, it’s just a drink. Why not? Why the bloody hell not!?
I took a deep breath, smiled and said, ‘Well, I was about to have a shot too. Are you up for it?’ I held my breath and waited for him to respond.
‘I am,’ Nick said, laughing. ‘But none of that girly shit.’
My heart did a little cha-cha. ‘You mean, no Cocksucking Cowboy?’
‘Slippery Nipple,’ he chimed in.
‘Jam Donut?’ I teased.
Nick held up his hand. ‘OK, that’s the only one I’ll let you consider. Because it tastes like—’
‘Gummy snakes!’ I interrupted.
‘Exactly!’ He laughed and nodded at the bartender. ‘Two Jam Donuts, please,’ Nick ordered. The bartender had no idea what that was, so in the end we got two shots of Baileys with a dash of chambord. We cheers-ed and tossed them back quickly.
‘Ugh, that was sweet.’ I shuddered.
Nick ordered two whisky chasers, and paid for both rounds. A true gentleman.
‘So, what are you up to tonight?’ he asked. ‘Did you watch the game?’
‘Game? No.’ I almost snorted. ‘I hate sports.’ I thought it best to be honest, and not pretend I was really into cricket or rugby, and then have to listen to him prattle on about his team for the next thirty minutes.
‘All of them?’ Nick asked.
‘Well, except that Japanese show of people falling into the water whilst trying to balance on slippery apparatus.’
‘Oh, Kamikaze! I love that too.’ Nick grinned.
‘Were you here watching …’ I put down my whisky to use air quotes ‘… the game?’
‘No.’ Nick leaned in. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda don’t like sports either.’
‘What?’ I feigned shock and horror. ‘How un-Australian!’
‘It’s true. I think I was dropped on my head as a child.’
‘Your head does look a little lopsided.’ I grinned.
Nick laughed. ‘So, what brings you to Fiji’s top sports bar, then?’
‘This is a sports bar? I thought it was welcome drinks.’
‘It’s both.’ Nick smiled. ‘But mostly a place where guys get to hang out all day, every day.’
I nodded. ‘Ahh, a man-cave. A male den. A place to grunt away from the ladies.’
‘Yes, we’re on our best behaviour right now,’ Nick teased. ‘How’s our English sound to you? Can you understand us? I’ve been really practising losing my grunt accent.’
‘Hmmm.’ I squinted at him, feeling my heart beat faster. He was cute and funny, and had great banter, and he didn’t seem to have anywhere to go. He was staying longer than a man who was here with his girlfriend or wife would stay. And in an instant, I knew – I kinda liked him. There was something so likeable about him, something so easy, something I felt I could trust.
‘Better keep trying,’ I teased.
‘So, what brings you to Fiji, to the land of snorkelling and sun? Kids? Husband?’ Nick asked casually.
‘None of the above. I’m just here for the weekend and I thought I’d try my luck at winning big on the turtle races. Mumma needs some new shoes.’
Nick looked down at my black Havaiana thongs on my feet and said, ‘Yeah, I wasn’t going to