Page 7 of Washed Up

Dylan sighed. ‘Fine. The hotel it is. But I’ll have to go back and get my phone. People will be looking for me.’

‘Whatever you say. We’ll go when the rain eases off a bit,’ said Frankie. I’ll shove that phone where the sun doesn’t shine in a minute, is what she didn’t say.

‘That’s settled, then,’ said Charlie. ‘But first, drinks. And food, if you want it. I’ll get the fire going.’

‘Now you’re talking,’ said Dylan. ‘Coffee, if you have it. Perhaps on an IV drip?’

Lily threw back her head and laughed like he’d said something hilarious. Frankie sighed. It was only 11 o’clock in the morning, and it had already been a very long day.

CHAPTER FOUR

After two coffees and one enormous Herm cooked breakfast, which he had to put on a tab with Charlie, Dylan was itching to go back to Heron Cottage and get his phone. Lily kept offering to take him, but Frankie shut her down quick.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘It’s fine. I can take him. I need to finish the other cottages anyway.’ For some reason she was antsy. Restless. Desperate to get outside, despite the weather. Desperate to get this annoying stranger out of her hair and everything back to normal. Safe. Quiet.

‘Darling, relax, I think we’ve established there won’t be anyone arriving in this.’ Her mother waved a leisurely and perfectly manicured hand at the window, where the rain was now horizontal.

‘I know, but I prefer to get it done if possible.’

‘Not in this, surely,’ said Lily. ‘Take a day off while you can. Why don’t you look after our lovely Dylan here? At least get him settled in the hotel. You work too hard, darling.’

Dylan’s eyes were on her. She could feel it. Frankie refused to look at him but she knew her face was burning. ‘I don’t think that’s true, is it? I get plenty of time off.’ This through gritted teeth.

‘Do you?’ said Lily.

‘Yeah, do you?’ said Dylan.

‘You stay out of this,’ snapped Frankie.

Her mother smiled. ‘At least take a couple of hours off. Get this man some clothes. Help him get his phone. Then you can help Sally out at the hotel if you want. Maybe Dylan can even help you, he looks nice and strong.’ She put her hand on Dylan’s bicep, her eyes lingering on his for a split second too long before she got up and wandered over to the bar.

‘I like her,’ he said, his eyes following Lily’s hips as she sashayed across the room.

‘Of course you do. Everybody does,’ said Frankie, biting back the tinge of jealousy that was as familiar as breathing.

‘I mean, she’s got a point,’ he said, turning towards her. ‘You could use a day off from the sounds of it. Hey, how about you show me the sights?’ His blue eyes crinkled as he grinned at her.

She snorted. ‘Are you kidding? We’ll be lucky if the roof stays on this place.’

He held up his hands. ‘Sorry. Just trying to stay positive, Dunkirk spirit and all that. What do you do here anyway, Frankie? I mean, you know, do you live here?’ he asked.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Not to me. Hungover, remember?’ He pointed to himself.

‘Sure. Well, yes, we live here and my family runs the holiday cottages. You know, like the one you commandeered without asking permission from anyone or even giving it a second thought.’ She peered at him and he had the grace to wince slightly. ‘Anyway, it’s my job to service them between visitors. But we do loads of other stuff on the island, everyone pitches in.’

‘And your dad? Is he around?’

She nodded. ‘Yeah, he’ll be about somewhere. Taking shelter at the moment, hopefully.’

At that exact moment, the door clattered open and Frankie glanced over, fully expecting her dad to be standing there. Hoping, really. She was a bit worried about him in the storm. But no. Not her dad. Not this time.

‘Hi, Jake,’ she said reluctantly as the fisherman approached the bar.

‘Frankie,’ said the new arrival, taking off his hat and shaking raindrops all over the floor. Jake was a six-foot-two-inch Viking throwback with blond hair and green eyes. He was an oyster fisherman and one of the only vaguely eligible men who regularly came to the island, if you could call him eligible. Thankfully he usually smelled more of the ocean than the oysters.

‘Pint of your finest,’ said Jake to the barman, then turned to Frankie and Dylan, his green eyes curious. They were a shade darker than Frankie’s own. She’d always thought they suited him far better.