Page 72 of Washed Up

She tucked a few strands of curly hair behind her ear. ‘Good. You?’

He ignored the question, reached down and picked up a picnic basket that had been sitting by the gate.

‘Shell Beach?’ he said, waving said basket in front of her.

‘You made a picnic?’ she said, unable to keep the smile off her face.

‘I might have.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I’m working.’

He shrugged. ‘You are entitled to a lunch break, you know. I know you work for your slavedriver parents but still.’

Frankie giggled. ‘It’s only 11am.’

More shrugging. ‘So, it’s an early lunch. Brunch. Whatever the kids are calling it these days.’

She smiled. Why the hell not? ‘Fine. Let’s go.’

‘Good.’

A smile played on her lips as they ambled along towards the crossroads in companionable silence, turning without discussion towards Belvoir Bay to pick up the coast road. As the cove came into view before them, Frankie drew in a breath. ‘I always did love Belvoir,’ she said, biting her lip.

It was looking particularly beautiful today. The sun was sparkling off a calm sea, the sand was golden and soft, summer meadow flowers were bursting into bloom on either side of the path and there was little sound save the calling of a buzzard overhead, the chirruping of the warblers in the hedgerows.

‘Belvoir it is,’ said Jake without hesitation, leading her down the steep slope past the café to the sandy beach, waving to Betty as they passed. She waved back gaily with a little ‘yoo-hoo, you two’, as if it was perfectly normal to see Jake and Frankie together. Which it was, thought Frankie, but somehow today felt different.

The beach was deserted, for once. It was a Saturday morning, changeover day, but Belvoir was a popular spot with visitors and locals alike. The next ferry was due in the next hour, and would no doubt bring a cacophony of noise, but for now, they were alone.

Jake produced a soft tartan blanket and laid it in a prime spot at the top of the beach. Belvoir, unlike Shell Beach, was much more enclosed, protected from the elements, and the sun was hot on their faces as they sat down next to each other and stared out to sea towards Sark, Herm’s larger island neighbour.

‘Aren’t you working today?’ said Frankie after a few moments.

‘Later,’ said Jake. ‘When the tide goes out, I need to get back.’

Frankie studied the water line. Guernsey and Herm had one of the largest tidal ranges in the world, and she knew the beach would change dramatically over the next couple of hours, uncovering delightful rock pools all along the sides of the cove. But for now, the crystal blue water lapped softly only metres away from where they sat, the sound instantly calming to Frankie’s ears despite being all too aware of the man sitting beside her. What was this, exactly? A date? It sure seemed like a date.

‘How’s work been going?’ she said, although she knew the answer. The success or otherwise of the oyster farm on Fisherman’s Beach was a constant source of conversation for the locals.

‘Good. It’s going to be a good year, I think.’

‘Great.’

Jake reached behind him and produced a bottle of Prosecco. ‘Look, I didn’t bring you here to talk about the fishing stocks.’

‘You didn’t?’ said Frankie as innocently as she could.

‘No. Of course not. I wanted to talk to you about something and… Well, I’ve been working up to it.’

‘Working up to what exactly?’

Jake turned his body towards her, his eyes studying her face, dropping to her lips, her own body heating under his gaze. ‘Frankie, I’ll be honest with you, I just can’t stop thinking about that kiss.’

Frankie dropped her eyes. ‘Me neither,’ she mumbled, although it wasn’t strictly true. ‘But I thought you said I needed to sort myself out, you know. Decide what I want and all that.’

Jake smiled. ‘You do. You definitely do.’

Recognition dawned. ‘So you thought you’d show me what I could have?’