Page 8 of Washed Up

‘Who’s this, then?’ he said, putting out a hand to shake Dylan’s. ‘You’re gonna need a few more clothes, mate, if you’re going out in that.’

‘Thanks for the tip,’ said Dylan, crossing his arms across his chest, not for the first time that day. Then, to Frankie, ‘Fancy a proper drink, then? If you’re not working, that is?’

‘I’m surprised you could face one at this hour,’ said Frankie.

Dylan shrugged. ‘Hair of the dog and all that. Whatever the hell that means.’

‘Shouldn’t we go and get you some extra clothes first?’ she said, indicating his bare chest.

He grinned. ‘I thought you liked the minimalist look.’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

Dylan spread his arms so his waistcoat opened wider. He really was very well put together, she thought, purely objectively of course.

‘Tell me I’m wrong, then.’

‘I don’t think I ever said anything to that effect.’

‘It wasn’t anything you said.’

Frankie’s face was burning again. What was it about this man? She cleared her throat, which only made Dylan’s grin wider. Meanwhile, Jake was looking between them now. When they didn’t take the hint, he gave a little cough. Thankful for the distraction, Frankie turned to him. ‘Sorry, how rude of me. Dylan, say hi to Jake. Jake, this is Dylan.’

Jake was giving him a look that could cut diamonds, but he stuck out his hand and shook Dylan’s firmly. ‘Good to meet you, mate. Stuck here, are you?’

‘Yeah, I’ve had better mornings, I won’t lie,’ he replied.

‘Bad luck.’

Dylan glanced at Frankie. ‘Ah, I don’t know, it’s not all bad.’

Jake visibly bristled, and Frankie wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. What the hell was she going to do with this person in the middle of a storm? And why was it even her problem?

CHAPTER FIVE

Half an hour later, Dylan and Frankie finally made it out of the pub.

Frankie screamed as they splashed through the now torrential rain to the little tourist gift shop around the corner, the cold water pouring down her back, soaking her long skirt in seconds. Dylan’s teeth were chattering by the time they got inside, where he leaned against the door and shook the water out of his dark hair.

‘Hi, Michael,’ said Frankie to the young man at the back of the shop who was watching them with amusement.

‘Morning, Frankie,’ he said, with a huge smile, adjusting his baseball cap. ‘Lovely day.’

‘Ha. Yes. Isn’t it delightful?’ She turned to Dylan. ‘Michael, meet Dylan. Dylan, Michael is one of the students who comes over for the – er – summer to help us out.’

‘Bit in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it?’ said Dylan, grinning as he shook Michael’s hand. ‘Sorry about dripping on your floor,’ he said, as the water pooled around his feet.

Frankie wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Michael, this poor man is stranded on the island until the ferry comes and we really need to get him some more clothes.’

Michael waved a hand, his dark eyes crinkling. ‘Looks like you could use some too, Frankie,’ he said mildly.

Frankie looked down. Her clothes were clinging to her body, leaving little to the imagination. She raised her eyes, half expecting to find Dylan looking at her but he was too busy poking through the little seashell sculptures and boxes of fudge on the shelves.

‘Help yourselves,’ said Michael. ‘I’ll send the bill to your mum.’ Another flash of his straight white teeth.

‘Ha. Yeah, she’ll love that. She thinks he’s her toy boy already.’

‘She does?’ said Dylan, looking up from the fridge-magnet display, his eyes wide.