“Amy, you can’t live in Onslow and not swim.” He paused. “Can you swim?”
“Of course I can swim!” I snapped. “I just don’t swim … here.”
A sudden realisation lit Sean’s face as if he had read the uneasiness in me.
I brushed my hair back into place, feeling a nauseated twist in the pit of my stomach. “I haven’t been swimming since that night,” I said lowly, looking down at my bare feet. More silence – I knew what was to come. He would offer me words of comfort, as the realisation slowly dawned on Sean why I had been so terrified of the water. He would comfort me, tell me how he had been frightened that night, too. I could see it in his eyes as he towered over me. The fear in his vivid, blue eyes was the first thing I’d seen; it was the one thing I remembered clearly from that night.
I fidgeted under his silent scrutiny, the anger slowly lifting in me, as he was no doubt thinking of something to say, pitying me.
“You were thrashing around like a piranha from memory,” he said, breaking the silence.
I glared up from my feet. “You paint such a vivid picture.”
Sean moved forward, causing me to shift back against the car.
His boyish grin sobered as he looked at me side on. “Come out with me, on the boat.”
“I’ve swum,” I said defensively, “in pools and stuff. Just not … here.”
“What about the Falls? I could take you there. I think there’s this log lying across a ravine; I could dance across it for you, Swayze-style!” Sean started jiggling side to side, singing, “Hey, Baby, I want to know-o-o, will you be my girl …?”
A wry smile broke across my face.
“Now that I would like to see.”
I envisioned Sean plummeting into the ravine and I giggled at the thought.
“Or we could go swimming here and I could lift you over my head.”
“At the risk of me kneeing you in the face and drowning you, I think not.”
“Just saying. Nobody puts my piranha in the corner.”
Pushing myself off from the car, I said, “One: I am not your anything, and two: seriously, what’s with the Dirty Dancing references?”
Sean looked out over the lake, squinting against the sunlight. He turned to me, his expression sobering as his eyes flicked over my face in silent study.
“Come on, Amy, I saved you once, I’ll save you again.”
I met his stare unflinchingly. “I don’t need saving.”
A wicked grin formed slowly on his face. “Don’t you?
***
I decided against the land expedition with Sean and thought I would just trek home instead. I went to retrieve my thongs but they were gone, along with the fence-sitting delinquents …
“Great! Just great!” I said, throwing up my hands.
I limped my way across the spiky grass – my baby-smooth city feet were not exactly accustomed to traipsing around the outdoors. Sean leaned against the car, his arms folded, attempting not to smile.
“It’s not funny,” I yelled out to him.
His lips twitched. “I never said a word.”
I made a final sweep of the area before hobbling my way back onto the pavement. Sean fired up his ute and reversed, pulling up beside me. Without a word he leaned over and pushed the door open in a non-negotiable ‘get in’ way. I might have argued the point if my feet weren’t on fire, but instead I quickly hopped in, lifting my legs onto the dashboard and sighing in relief. Sean eyed my legs and I could see the look of unease as I rested my feet on his polished black dash. I took a chance to peer around the interior, which was so clean you could eat off the floor. If you really, really wanted to.
I was used to the empty food containers, crumbs, and drink bottles of Dad’s car or even Chris’s. A smile tugged at my mouth. It brought a new meaning to Sean’s apparent unease at getting footprints on his dash.
Well, too bad.
I planted the soles of my feet firmly on the dash. I adjusted my seat back and settled myself in. He would soon wish he’d helped me find my thongs. Sean’s jaw clenched with tension in his attempt to not be agitated by my feet. He pulled into gear and headed for the car park exit and onto the main road. I flipped the sun visor down, flinching as a catalogue landed in my lap.
A paint catalogue?
I tilted my head to study the writing. Dulux interior.
“Brainstorming, are we?” I asked. I picked up the brochure and flipped through the tiny little squares of colour.
“I’m trying to pick something to bring the lake house back from circa 1977.”
“Let me guess – mission brown and avocado?” I teased.
“What’s wrong with my mission brown trimmings?” Sean asked.