Page 126 of Washed Up

‘I think so,’ said Sally, then turned as Dylan joined them. ‘You guys ready for some food?’

‘Are we ever,’ said Dylan with a suggestive wink at Frankie.

She flushed again and, truth be told, even when it arrived, she barely noticed the food, except that it was warm and hot and filled her empty belly. All she could think about was kissing Dylan on the beach. About what might come next. About how it might feel. Mainly, she was worrying about exactly how incompetent he was going to think she was. It was one thing him knowing she was inexperienced, it was going to be quite another thing when he discovered exactly how inexperienced.

‘And what are you thinking about?’ he said when he caught her blushing into her lemon meringue pie.

‘I prefer not to answer that right now.’

‘Well now I know exactly,’ said Dylan. ‘I was thinking the same thing, as it goes.’

‘This time, I can pretty much guarantee you weren’t,’ she said with a guffaw. The idea of the famous Dylan Wright worrying about his, er, performance, was too funny. His baffled face just made her laugh harder, until wine came out of her nose and she had to run to the bathroom to rectify the situation.

Sally came over every few minutes, ostensibly to check on them but mainly to shoo the younger waitresses away from Dylan and Frankie’s table – or, more accurately, Dylan’s chair – where they flocked all too frequently as if attracted by a magnet. To his credit, Dylan was gracious and kind to them all, even signing a few autographs as they left. In between the interruptions Frankie and Dylan giggled and chatted and ate and managed to completely avoid discussing the Thing They Didn’t Want to Face. The idea that this thing between them might ever actually work beyond tonight. And how.

It was only on the walk back to the Manor in the cooling night air that the conversation stilled.

Eventually, Dylan spoke into the silence. ‘How about we do both?’

‘Do both what?’ said Frankie, her turn to be baffled. ‘I’m… not very experienced, remember? Go easy on me.’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Frankie! What on earth do you think I meant?’

‘I don’t know but it sounded complicated.’

He snort laughed at that, and she couldn’t help but join in, though she was secretly a little relieved.

‘Well, hell, let’s circle back to that later,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘But no, I’m talking about our conversation earlier. You remember our existential crisis about music retreats and travelling and all that, right?’

‘Oh. That,’ she said flatly, before understanding dawned. ‘Wait, you think we can do both?’

Dylan turned towards her, navy eyes sparkling in the moonlight, and his excitement was infectious. ‘I’ve got enough money, right? I don’t need to work. And let’s be honest, Herm in the winter is probably a bit bleak for running retreats.’

‘That’s true,’ she said.

‘But plenty of places are amazing in the winter. Some places even have summer when we have winter, eh? New Zealand, Australia, Fiji.’

Her skin prickled. ‘So, what? We run the retreat here in the summer and…?’

He nodded. ‘And travel through the winter. Exactly. Everybody wins.’

Frankie felt like she might leap out of her skin. ‘Could we really do that?’

‘Sure. Why the hell not?’

She squealed. ‘In that case, I win. I’m not sure about everybody else but I definitely win.’

Dylan laughed, low and soft, as he pulled her close. ‘You, Frankie Jacks, are all that matters.’

He lowered his lips to hers and she melted into his kiss. How could any of this be happening? Was this all a dream she was about to wake up from to find she’d been drooling into her pillow? Surely it had to be. It just had to. No one could be this lucky. But no, when Dylan pulled back it was still him and they were still kissing in the moonlight, only now they had a plan. Of sorts.

The rest of the way up the hill, they talked animatedly about how they’d convince the islanders to let them do it, where they would set it up, what it would be called, how the name of Dylan Wright could be used to reach the best, most high-profile clients. How they could keep it discreet, private, a genuine retreat from busy celebrity lives. A chance to switch off and let creativity flow. They only stopped talking and plotting when they arrived back at the house. The chill in the air was even sharper, as they stopped by the front door.

‘Do you want to come in?’ said Frankie, her face aching from smiling so much, her bones zinging around in her body with the excitement. And, suddenly, tension too. For here was Dylan Wright, standing in front of her, looking at her like he wanted to devour her, and although she knew she should feel nervous, somehow it seemed like the simplest thing in the world to take his hand and lead him upstairs.

‘I think…’ she said, when they were standing in her bedroom, looking at each other, metres apart, the sound of the waves swelling around them as if they were still down on that beach between the dunes. Somehow her whole bedroom seemed different from how it had looked, or perhaps felt, only hours before. Or maybe it was them that had changed.

‘You think…?’ said Dylan, looking down at her, his pupils dark.