Wrinkling her nose, Tiff scrutinised herself in her bedroom mirror. She hadn’t worn a swimsuit for years and the designer one she’d brought from London was black with a plunge front and a gold chain. She’d once thought it sophisticated and had lain around the odd spa pool in it, sipping a cocktail. Here it seemed more ‘Marbs’ than Cornwall so she purchased a new one with a discreet flower print in the mid-season sale at the boutique.
She’d had to go up a size as a result of Marina’s great cooking and being too polite to refuse free goodies from the clients – not to mention being ravenous from all the walking and step climbing around Porthmellow. She also had a ‘farmer’s tan’ from wandering around in short sleeves, plus freckles and a very pink nose despite slathering herself in SPF moisturiser. That was the least of her worries.
She was hardly in the beach mood, but Marina had been keen to make the most of the light, warm evenings and suggested they have an evening swim, so she’d agreed to go.
She hadn’t heard from Dirk for well over a week and she was still lightly simmering. She’d even wondered if maybe it was time she thought about moving on from Porthmellow, even though it had wormed its way into her soul. But it quickly transpired that jobs weren’t lying around like pebbles on the beach, so she’d have to stay put for now, keep her hand in with the freelance stories and wait for an opportunity.
She was considering whether there was time for a quick once-over with the tinted body lotion before Marina came back when there was a loud rap on the door.
Swearing to herself, she lifted a corner of the curtain to see Dirk on the doorstep. Her heart rate sped up.
‘Hello?’ he called.
She shouted through the open window. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
‘I can’t stay. Could you let me in?’ he called up at her.
‘Um. Is it urgent?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hang on.’ She grabbed a robe from the back of the door, tied it tightly and padded downstairs in her bare feet.
Tiff pulled open the door. Dirk loomed on the doorstep but she looked down at him from the added height given by the step. ‘You said it was urgent,’ she said haughtily.
‘It is. I’m here to apologise. I was too harsh and I’m sorry.’ His words rushed out in a torrent.
‘And rude,’ she said.
Dirk looked solemnly back up at her. ‘Yes, I was rude.’
Tiff kept him on the doorstep. ‘And arrogant and unfair.’
‘If you say so …’
Clutching the robe tighter, she raised her eyebrows.
‘OK, yes, I was arrogant, rude, harsh and unfair. Plus, any other adjective you want to throw at me,’ he said. ‘And that’s why I’ve come to eat humble pie and offer an olive branch.’
Tiff was enjoying herself immensely, especially the idea of Dirk eating humble pie, but her curiosity was piqued by his last comment. ‘What olive branch would that be? I don’t see any flowers or chocolates.’
‘I’m not a flowery kind of guy … my olive branch is of a different kind. Are you free on Friday evening?’
She held her chin. ‘Hmm. Well, I was thinking of taking up Troy Carman’s invitation to go mackerel fishing with him but if you’re saying you have a more tempting offer, I might be persuaded to change my plans.’
The truth was, that although she’d made light of Dirk’s lack of trust in her to Marina, she was more hurt than she’d ever let on. She was more worried about the fact that she was bothered by what he thought at all. Their relationship was meant to be one of ‘no strings sex’ but that wasn’t working out how she’d hoped, which wasn’t Dirk’s fault, to be fair. She’d been determined for things to stay casual, but she hadn’t bargained for the strength of her feelings.
Dirk swore softly. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are the most infuriating and frustrating woman on the planet?’
‘Frequently. So what is this olive branch?’
He grinned. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see.’