Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance (13 page)

‘Wow,’ Winnie breathed, gripping the edge of the boat as it dipped up and down in the water. ‘Mrs Mannix told me the lighthouse platform was still in the water, but I never imagined it would look so cool – and
big
 – up close. I love all the birds, too!’

Alex felt a tug of pleasure in his chest that she was as impressed with the sight of the Cape Jaffa Lighthouse platform as he was, even though he’d seen it a thousand times before. Walker had swung past it on the way back to shore after hours at sea. The massive round structure, comprising iron beams and timber decking, thrust out of the water with a shortened jetty tailing behind it. Hundreds of gannets, fluttering black-and-white feathers and squawking noisily, dotted every inch of its surface.

‘It’s actually lucky we could get so close to it today,’ Alex commented. ‘The reef can be a bit shallow to get around, but the water’s good this morning.’ He shook his head. ‘Hard to believe the old platform was once earmarked for demolition by the government as a so-called danger to shipping and the public. Luckily, the locals petitioned to save it and leave it be. Apparently it’s more than a hundred and forty years old and one of the biggest structures of its kind in the southern hemisphere.’

‘Unbelievable,’ Winnie whispered. She shuddered. ‘You know, it’s where Mrs Mannix’s husband once worked. Before – before he got knocked off by a big wave, never to be seen again.’

‘Really?’ Alex shook his head. ‘Huh.’

‘Seen enough?’ Walker called out from the cabin.

‘Yep, ready to go,’ Alex shot back. The boat began vibrating with movement again. He glanced sideways at Winnie. ‘My mate Kirk is coming over to my place for a bite to eat. If it’s okay, why don’t you join us before I drop you back at the office.’ He’d actually been amazed she’d kept her breakfast down all morning. In fact, things had been a lot more harmonious between them this morning than during their outing at the Old Woolstore restaurant.

Winnie nodded. ‘Oh, okay, thanks . . . And I might have another photo job for you later on, if you don’t mind. Olive put me on to a farmer who’s hand-built his own ultra-light plane. I thought it might make a good pictorial spread with some moody, black-and-white shots. I tentatively booked him in last week and he was going to confirm.’

‘No worries.’

‘I’ll tag along, too.’ Winnie yawned. ‘So long as I can keep my eyes open.’

Alex had figured the tiredness would hit like a tidal wave eventually. The corners of his mouth suddenly twitched. ‘By the way, how’d your dress fitting with Eden go the other day?’

‘Not as badly as I imagined,’ Winnie said, before her eyes slitted. ‘Though I’m guessing you knew Cyndi was a bridesmaid already, seeing as you’re the wedding photographer and a friend of the groom. You could have warned me. After everything that happened, all thanks to you.’

‘But where would be the fun in that?’ he teased. ‘Besides it’s not my fault she’s crazy.’

Winnie flicked non-existent lint off the jacket she wore.
His
jacket, which she’d probably perfumed with her own special scent. ‘Actually Cyndi’s going to do the hair and make-up for the fashion shoot with Allira Becci, if it goes ahead.’

‘So you’re friends now?’

‘Something like that.’

Alex shook his head. Women. ‘Looks like it all worked out perfectly then.’

A bloodcurdling scream escaped Winnie’s lips as she froze in the doorway of Alex’s kitchen. The distinct smell of cooking flesh hung in the air. He spun around from the stove, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. ‘What the hell?’

She stabbed a finger in the direction of the pot boiling away, her stomach lurching. ‘You – you just cooked that lobster
alive
.’

His hands collapsed at his sides. ‘Not alive. I sliced through its head super-fast with a knife first. It’s the most humane way, so it barely feels a thing. You would have heard it screeching when it hit the water otherwise. Its brother went before it.’

Winnie’s breathing was laboured. ‘I swear it was still twitching.’

‘You would be too if it happened that fast. What do you think people do with lobsters anyway? Make them play piano?’

‘Ha-di-ha-ha.’ She placed her hands on her hips. ‘You know I’m vegetarian. I won’t eat it anyway.’

A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘I’m well aware of that. There’ll be plenty of potato salad and fresh bread, too.’ He turned back to the pot – and the murdered cray. ‘Though most people wouldn’t turn down free lobster.’

‘Well, I’m not most people.’ She supposed she should be impressed he could cook at all and hadn’t offered her baked beans on toast. ‘So . . . do you eat lobster
every
day?’

‘Not usually. They’re too expensive not to sell on and I actually prefer crab. But Walker slipped me a few, thinking you might appreciate it. I didn’t have the heart to tell him you were vegetarian.’

‘Right,’ Winnie said, still feeling a little stiff. Horrified. ‘Um, mind pointing me in the direction of your bathroom?’ After five hours of crossing her legs, she couldn’t wait another minute. She’d already been sidelined by the jaw-dropping harbour view from his lounge window; the location made up for the rental property’s small size. Forget Sydney apartments with hyped views of the famous Coathanger – if you stood on one leg and bent your head to the left. His place was absolute waterfront, with shiny white boats almost within touching distance in the marina and the sea beckoning beyond. The berth out the front of his place was the only empty one. The minimalist interior also gave the impression Alex could pick up and take off at a moment’s notice – like with her unit.

‘No problem. It’s down the hall to the right.’

Winnie followed his instructions, plonking herself down on the loo. As she sat there, it felt as though the beige-tiled floor was swaying beneath her feet, like she was still on the boat. Her face felt tight from being finely powdered in sea spray, and a salty tang lingered in her nostrils and at the back of her throat. She’d never felt so bone-tired before, thanks to all the holding on for dear life and body-rocking. She didn’t know how Alex did it day in, day out,
and
had the energy to take photos afterwards. Soon she’d need matchsticks to keep her eyes from falling shut.

When she wandered out to the tiny back garden, Alex and Kirk were sitting at an outdoor table tucking into lunch. Averting her gaze from the cooked lobsters, she helped herself to the salad. All the sea air had obviously given her a healthy appetite – she was shovelling it down by the forkload. Potato salad had never tasted so good.

Kirk waggled dark eyebrows at her across the table. ‘So, see any fins out there today? The other morning, a guy in a tinny saw a great white shark, though usually they camouflage pretty well against the water.’

Winnie shivered. ‘Nope, only the dolphin variety of fins, which was far nicer.’

Kirk nodded, chewing open-mouthed. ‘You see a lot of sea lions, too. Not so cute when the dirty buggers take off with your crays, though.’ The sound of him breaking off a lobster leg made Winnie flinch. The smell was also starting to turn her stomach.

Oblivious, Kirk sucked the meat out. ‘Fishing can be a dangerous sport. Another fisherman I know recently got his foot tangled up in a cray pot’s rope and was dragged overboard. Luckily, he was able to get his boot off underwater and swim to the surface or he would have been a goner. The weight of the pot would have dragged him right to the bottom.’

Winnie blanched. ‘Good grief.’

‘No need to scare her now,’ Alex intervened. ‘She’s had a long morning.’

‘I’m fine,’ she protested. But when she got up to clear her plate after polishing off the lot – Alex made a mean potato salad – she paused and gripped the table. Forget the bathroom floor, the entire
earth
seemed to be moving under her feet now.

‘Maybe you should have a lie-down before you head into the office,’ Alex advised. ‘Might make you feel better.’

‘No need. I’ll be right . . .’ she began cheerily, but trailed off as she went to move and her feet felt like they might give way underneath her. ‘On second thoughts, maybe a quick nap would help.’

‘My room’s to the left down the hall,’ Alex said quietly.

Winnie felt a little taken aback.
His
bedroom? She couldn’t sleep there, could she? It seemed too . . . intimate. But as her vision grew blurrier and another yawn threatened to escape, she found herself nodding. She would have gladly slept on the back porch right then.

‘I can drive you back along the beach in my four-wheel drive later, if you like,’ Kirk added. ‘That’ll be a different experience for you as a city girl. And less scary than hanging on at the back of my motorbike! No rush either. I’ll happily shoot the breeze with Alex until then. My work’s done for the day.’

‘Thanks,’ Winnie offered sleepily. Even the horror of seeing a freshly killed lobster boiled was fading into the back of her mind.

Alex’s bedroom was tastefully decorated, at least – for a rugged sort. Not that she’d expected a Jim Beam quilt cover set exactly, but you never knew with bachelors. The gloriously king-sized bed, with its grey-and-white striped doona, looked cosy and inviting – a vast improvement from her camp bed. Above it, a simple sailboat painting hung. There was an absence of any personal photos, so she didn’t feel any closer to knowing him. In any case, there was some information she was glad not to be privy to. For example, unlike the bears in
Goldilocks
, she didn’t really want to know who else had slept in his bed.

Sinking onto the doona, she untied her shoelaces and then quickly phoned Olive to let her know she’d be late, if she came in at all. She left out the part about where she was resting her head, lest her coworker get the wrong idea. And Christa could lump it. Winnie had already put in enough hours that day.

Terminating the call, Winnie bent up her legs and slipped beneath the covers, fully clothed. The sheets felt like a thousand-thread count against the bits of her skin that were bare. That or the exhaustion was kicking in. As she felt herself drifting off, breathing in Alex’s salt-of-the-earth scent imprinted in the linen, she remembered the possible photo job that day with the farmer who’d built the ultra-light plane. He hadn’t yet called, so she assumed it meant he wanted to take a raincheck. Winnie was glad. Right then, she could barely think straight, let alone conduct an interview.

‘I
missed
you yesterday.’ Olive sprang out of her seat as Winnie stepped into the office the next morning. ‘I would have been talking to the pot plants if we had any. It was so quiet.’ The redhead took a noisy bite out of a sparkly pink Magnum ice-cream in her hand.

‘I was going to come in, but I ended up sleeping longer than I thought, so there didn’t seem any point.’ Winnie chucked her handbag on her desk and gestured at Olive’s ice-cream. ‘
That’s
your breakfast? It’s so unfair you stay so stick-thin with your diet – or lack thereof.’

Olive raised her shoulders up and down. ‘I’ve just got good genes, I guess. Apparently the ice-cream’s champagne-flavoured, so technically I’m drinking on the job.’

‘Lovely,’ Winnie deadpanned, sliding into her seat.

‘Did you just give me a look?’ the ad manager asked suddenly, gesturing at that day’s mini: an ultra-short black one, with a slit at the side. ‘Because I’m well aware it’s undersized, but it shrunk in the wash and I haven’t got around to doing my ironing yet.’ She pulled a mournful face. ‘It’s a favourite, too, but I’m going to have to relegate it to housework duties only.’

‘You do the vacuuming in a miniskirt?’ Winnie asked incredulously.

‘You don’t?’

Winnie shook her head. ‘That’s why trackies were invented. Besides, I
wasn’t
giving you a look. I just woke up with a crick in my neck, so turning away at speed is a struggle.’ She rubbed her neck. ‘

Olive frowned. ‘That sucks.’

‘Yeah.’

The camp bed had been a poor alternative after napping in Alex’s lovely bed. She didn’t think she would be able to sleep any more yesterday once she finally got home, but she had. And, unfortunately, she’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, in more ways than one.

First, there’d been the lengthy email she’d skimmed on her phone from Christa. The editrix had rewritten one of Winnie’s articles, complete with tracked changes, copying in Grant for some reason (horror of horrors). Then there was the angry phone message from the farmer who’d built his own plane. Somehow they’d gotten their wires crossed and he’d thought the photo opportunity was on regardless yesterday. He’d been fruitlessly waiting for her while her phone was turned off and she was in the Land of Nod.

Earlier this morning, she’d tried to ring and reschedule, but he’d just blasted her for wasting his petrol and time before hanging up. So that story was dead in the water. She did have the prospect of interviewing another local, apparently halfway into building a similar plane, according to Olive. Who knew there were so many aircraft enthusiasts in Kingston? Unfortunately, the photos wouldn’t be nearly as exciting, as they could only be done in the bloke’s shed given the plane’s current state.

Olive cut into her thoughts by waving a hand in her face. ‘Earth to Winnie! Time to spill – I want to know how it went out on the boat all day with the swoon-worthy Alex.’

Immediately, Winnie’s mind leapt to slipping between his faintly scented sheets and her cheeks stung like they’d been lathered in Deep Heat. She shuffled some paperwork on her desk to take away from her embarrassment. ‘The trip was really interesting actually. Not that I’d like to do what Alex does every day – I don’t have the sea legs for it. But I coped all right and it should make a fantastic photo spread.’

‘Hmm.’ Olive sat back, sucking on her ice-cream stick’s chocolatey remains. ‘Just you and him, floating on the surface of the ocean, in a tiny boat together; must have been quite cosy.’

‘Yeah, real cosy – with his
boss
on board. And if I were actually interested in Alex in that way. Which I’m not.’

The phone ring cut through the air and Olive lunged for the receiver, giggling. ‘Bet that’s lover boy now.’ Purring ‘
Beach Life
’ down the line, she paused before uncharacteristically blushing and mumbling a bunch of yeses and ad rates into the mouthpiece.