Chapter 4: Lunchtime Flirtation
The cabana grill was a welcome pocket of shade, the thatched roof casting a lattice of sunlit stripes across the white linen tablecloth. Josh slid into a wicker chair, the scent of salted rim and grilled shrimp thick in the damp air. A fan overhead churned the humidity into a sluggish, warm current.“Right then,” he announced, catching the eye of a passing server. “Pitcher of the strongest margaritas you’ve got. And three glasses.” He grinned at Lynda.“Don’t argue.It’s medicinal. For my headache.”
“I wasn’t going to argue,” Lynda said, though her tone suggested otherwise. She settled opposite him, placing her bag neatly by her feet. Nikki flopped into the chair beside Josh, close enough that her knee brushed his under the table.She radiated heat like a sun-warmed stone.
“So,” Josh began, turning his full attention to Lynda as the drinks arrived. He poured, the lime-green liquid sloshing.“Fitness content. Is it all kale and punishing sunrise routines? Do you have to frown at carbs for the camera?”
Lynda took the glass he offered, her fingers avoiding his.“It’s about balance.And functional strength. Not… frowning at carbs.”
“Right, right. Balance.” He took a long drink, the tequila sharp and bright. “So if I ordered a plate of nachos the size of a car tyre, you wouldn’t judge me?”
“I’d judge your life choices, yes. But not for the camera.”
He laughed.“See, that’s what I like. Honesty. Back home, my mates just say ‘go on then, fatty.’ No poetry to it.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table.“Seriously, though. What’s the bit you actually enjoy? Or is it all a brutal slog for the ’gram?”
Lynda stared at him for a beat, as if deciding whether the question was genuine. Nikki watched over the rim of her glass, smiling.“Hiking,” Lynda said finally. “There’s a trail in Big Sur. The morning mist comes off the ocean, and everything’s silent except your own breath. It’s… it’s not a slog.” She took a small sip, her eyes momentarily distant.“No camera required.”
“Big Sur,” Josh repeated, committing it to memory. “Sounds better than Lincolnshire.It’s flat.And mainly wet. Your videos—do you do the talking bit, or just inspirational music and you looking stern while lifting things?”
“I do the ‘talking bit,’” she said, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “I script it.I talk about form, about mindset.”
“Go on then. Give us a sample. ‘Today, we’re conquering the… kettlebell of self-doubt.’”
She actually snorted.A short, unguarded sound she immediately tried to swallow. “That’s terrible.”
“I’m here all week.” He slipped into a deeper, mock-serious tone, puffing out his chest. “Remember, followers, the only limit is the one you… blah blah blah… now suffer with me!”
This time, a real laugh escaped her, melodic and surprised. It transformed her face, smoothing the careful lines around her eyes. “Stop it,” she said, but she was still smiling, her shoulders loosening. She reached out to swat his arm playfully, her fingers landing lightly on his forearm.The contact was brief, electric. She left her hand there for a second too long before drawing back.
Across the table, Nikki’s smile had settled into something knowing.She caught Josh’s eye over Lynda’s shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, she ran her tongue along her lower lip, tasting the salt. She gave an almost imperceptible nod, as if approving of a performance.The conversation flowed. Josh steered it, asking Lynda about filming logistics, the pressure of constant content. She spoke more freely now, her gestures becoming animated, her green eyes holding his. He learned she’d studied marketing, that she managed all of Nikki’s contracts too. “Someone has to be the grown-up,” she said, with a glance at her sister.Nikki just shrugged, stirring her drink with a straw. She hadn’t said much, but her presence was a constant hum underneath their dialogue.
When Lynda excused herself to visit the restroom, the atmosphere shifted subtly.The reggaeton from the pool seemed louder.
Nikki leaned across the table immediately, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.“See? She never laughs like that. Not with… people like us.” She said ‘us’ as if she and Josh were natural allies.“You’re good at this. Getting under her armour.”
“There’s no ‘this,’” Josh said, but it sounded weak even to him. The tequila and the sun were making him bold. “And what’s ‘people like us’ mean?”
“Fun people.People who know a holiday is for getting messy.” She leaned back, appraising him. “You should ask her out. Before she remembers she’s supposed to be working.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Do it. She’ll say yes.” Nikki’s phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, and her playful expression faltered for a fraction of a second.A shadow.Then she brightened again, locking the screen. “Her loss is my gain, anyway.I’ve got a swimwear shoot at four. Over on South Beach.”
Lynda returned, the careful composure slightly restored but her eyes still warm. The bill came, a silent verdict.Josh’s pulse thumped in his throat.He looked directly at Lynda. “So. Since I’ve now been fully educated on the perils of refined sugar and the virtues of functional strength… would you let me buy you a proper dinner tonight? Somewhere with no yoga mats in sight.”
He saw the flush rise from her neck to her cheeks. She didn’t look at Nikki. She held his gaze, and for a moment, he saw the same woman from the rooftop—tired, real, and surprisingly unsure.
“Just dinner?” she asked, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it.“Scout’s honour. I’m not even a scout.”
A slow nod.“Okay. Yes.”
Nikki clapped her hands together once, a sharp, bright sound.“Perfect!I’ll be gone for hours. You two have fun.” She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She gave Josh a wink that Lynda couldn’t see. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Lyd.”
Then she was gone, weaving between the loungers, a flash of white bikini and golden skin disappearing into the glare.Josh and Lynda were left in the sudden quiet of the cabana. The space between them felt charged, alive with the unspoken promise of the evening ahead.
“I should go prep for my shoot,” Lynda said, not moving.“Right. Of course.”
“Meet in the lobby?Eight?”
“Eight’s good.”
She stood, gathering her things. She hesitated, as if wanting to say something else, then just offered another small, private smile before walking away. Josh watched her go, the elegant line of her back in the black one-piece, the way she navigated the deck with purposeful grace.
He signalled for the server and paid the bill, his mind already racing.As he stood, his own phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.Had to steal your digits from Lyd’s phone.Nikki 😉. Good luck tonight.Don’t break her.
He stared at the message, a slow grin spreading across his face.Then another buzz.Dean.WHERE ARE YOU MATE. Found this insane pool hall.Full of Swedish backpackers.Get your arse here.
The day, which had started with a headache, was suddenly splitting into too many possibilities. He looked towards the hotel, then back towards the city, feeling the pleasant, dangerous pull of two very different tides.