Swimming in Unknown Waters
When her bus left Auckland, the weather had been sunny and summery, matching Cassie Knott's excitement at the prospect of a week in sub-tropical Northland, shorn of thankfully-ex Pete.
It wasn't the possibility of a hot new romance , under a resort's setting sun, that had energized her. It was simply the imminent change of scene. Her past relationship had slowly died, like a cancer patient, painfully and slowly, always promising remission and never delivering.
Consequently, wild horses weren't getting her involved with anyone for a good long while. When she'd decided to take go alone on the holiday they'd planned and paid for months earlier, it felt like a new beginning.
Best bud dy Vicky had applauded her decision, and offered the bright idea that a quick no-strings romance was just what she needed to 'get over Pete'. It absolutely was not. Bars full of well-lubricated men who wanted summer fun? She'd told Vicky she'd use the break to get some painting done.
Now , in early-afternoon, the day had clouded, and so had her mood. She wished Vicky had been able to get time off and come with her. Marsden Bay was a tourist town: great when you were with someone to share sex-on-the-beach - the cocktail, not the act - or to hit the cafés and see the sights with.
As the bus pulled into her stop at Marsden Bay and shuddered into silence, she gathered her things. No more moping. Alone was fine.
Across the road was an old-style wrought iron and timber bench , a good place to catch her bearings and work out where to go. She put down her raffia carry-all - an Anya Hindmarch knock-off - and parked her case beside it. She slid up her sunglasses till they rested in her dark-red curls.
T he bay filled her view, dull under the clouds, yet enticing. Pete hadn't liked swimming. She was going to enjoy plenty. When she thought about the ordinary, boring man she'd allowed herself to believe in for so long, she cringed. What she wanted to do and be, outside work, had been stifled for too long. As she looked out over the glittering water, she felt freer than she had in ages.
Beyond a narrow strip of grass and the trunks of whispering pohutakawa trees that stretched overhead, steps led down to the sand. Several small catamarans lay just feet away, waiting for tourists wanting a sail, their red and orange sails gently flapping in the brisk sea breeze.
She didn't see the man initially. He must have been fixing up or picking up something between the boats; suddenly he rose like a meerkat, close enough so she could see his eyes; a gleam of blue-green, like paua-shell nacre. His stare caught her; she froze.
He moved forward a pace and came out from between the sails, close enough to talk.
"Hi," he said , flashing a winning smile.
They were wonderful white teeth, framed by a full-lipped mouth, in a tanned unshaved face. She gaped. There was something electric arcing in the space between them.
"Are you catching flies? The ones around here are quite tasty, eh."
That broke whatever spell it was. Cassie closed her mouth firmly. What a stupid school-girlish thing to do. She put her sunglasses firmly back on, as if the gesture would sequester her embarrassment somehow. She had to find her hotel.
"I . . . I just got here." She explained what she was looking for and then reached down, because she was going to pick up the carry-all. She had to tear her eyes off his face and look down to see it. And then she missed one of the handles and nearly tipped the contents out over the sidewalk.
"That way."
She had to look back at him to see where he was pointing or she'd have looked rude as well as silly, and he told her, pointing behind and along the road a short distance to the next intersection.
"Thanks."
Even his head looked cute; his inky black hair cut close on the sides and back but tousled and spiky on top, almost like a kid's. His skin was darker than tanning alone would achieve. Cassie considered the
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