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But how would Arissa feel about headlines like that?
As he finished scrubbing his hands in the sink, she appeared at the edge of the door. ‘Almost done?’
He nodded. They’d finished work for the day and made plans for dinner. For the first time he was going to see the inside of her home as Arissa had offered to teach him to cook some traditional Malaysian dishes.
Her curls were loose and bouncing on her shoulders, she was wearing flat shoes and a red shirt dress that complemented her skin tone and dark eyes.
He gave a quick nod. ‘Let me change my shirt. I brought another with me.’ She raised her eyebrows and smiled as he strode towards the staff room. His cream short-sleeved shirt and jeans were sitting in the corner along with his antiperspirant and aftershave. Two minutes later he was ready and stood next to her as she locked up the clinic.
‘It was a good day today,’ she murmured.
‘It was,’ he agreed. The research study results were remarkable. He’d seen a patient today whose leg ulcer had almost completely healed in a few short weeks—a leg ulcer that he’d had for more than four years. The ointment really was working wonders.
Arissa’s hand brushed against his as they walked down the main street. ‘I’ve still not heard from the professor of my new hospital,’ she said absent-mindedly.
‘Isn’t it less than a week until you go?’
She nodded. ‘I fly out on Sunday. I’ve filled in endless amounts of paperwork for the recruitment agency and the hospital HR people. It doesn’t usually take this long to sort out. I’ve had a deposit down on my accommodation for the last four months.’
They crossed into the nearby grocery store. Arissa had already pre-ordered supplies so Philippe just paid for them and carried the brown bag. ‘Maybe it’s just an administration thing. Some places aren’t as organised as others. Have you tried to call them?’
She gave a shrug. ‘Only about a dozen times. No one seems to answer their phones. I sent another email today though. If I don’t get a reply I’ll try again tomorrow.’
They turned down a street that ran parallel to the beach. It was lined with small bungalows painted in a variety of colours. Arissa stopped outside a pale yellow one and pulled the keys from her pocket.
‘This is a fantastic location,’ enthused Philippe. ‘You’re only a few steps from the beach.’
Arissa nodded. ‘Yeah. I love it. This was my parents’ house and my grandparents’ before that. Most of the houses in this row are generational properties.’
He looked around the bungalow as he stepped inside. From the outside there were two large windows at the front. One was in the main room, which was small but contained a comfortable sofa that gave a great view of the beach, and the back of the room opened out into the kitchen with a small dining table.
Arissa waved over to the left. ‘My bedroom and the bathroom are over that side. There’s another room that’s literally just a broom cupboard. That used to be my bedroom, but I use it as a study now.’
‘You never wanted to move?’
She waved a hand towards the view. ‘Who wouldn’t want to live on the beach? My mum and dad could have moved to a bigger house a number of times over the years, but the beach and the view kept them here.’
Philippe walked over to a framed photo on the wall. It showed a much younger Arissa, between an older man and woman who were both beaming down at her with their arms around her shoulders.
He asked the inevitable question. ‘Where are they now?’
She moved towards him, holding out her hands for the brown paper bag. ‘Let’s just say I was a late—but much-wanted—baby. My mother died of breast cancer a few years ago, and my father had an accident when he was out on one of the fishing boats a few months later.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
She gave the briefest nod of her head; one hand reached up and traced over the figures in the photo for a second. ‘I was lucky to have them as long as I did. They were proud of me. Saw me through medical school, and they were the proudest parents in the room at my graduation.’ He could see the love on her face, the admiration for two people that at one point had been her whole world.
He watched her for a few moments as he realised how big this was for her. She’d invited him back to her house, to see a part of her that most people wouldn’t know. It made the fact he’d been less than straightforward with her rest heavily on his shoulders.
She took the bag and carried it over to the small kitchen. Philippe moved beside her. ‘So, you’ve never wanted to sell up, even though you don’t stay here permanently?’ He was curious. She only got to spend around six weeks a year here, and he could imagine that over the years this small bungalow had become prime property.
She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I sometimes rent the place out to some of the visiting doctors—but only if I know them. Otherwise, I just look forward to getting back here five or six weeks a year.’
He turned and took another glance at the view. A burst of yellow sand, followed by endless turquoise ocean. It really was a prime view. The beach was sheltered, in a little inlet, with no other property overlooking it. ‘I can imagine you’ve had offers for a place like this.’
She nodded as she emptied the chicken, noodles, herbs and spices out onto the counter. ‘From the developers? Constantly. Particularly since we own not just the bungalows, but the beach too. But the rest of the people in the street feel the same as I do. Staying here is like a family tradition to me. I get to call this piece of paradise mine.’ She put one hand up to her chest. ‘I might not be here all year round, but it’s here whenever I need it.’ She met his gaze with her dark brown eyes. ‘You can’t sell a part of yourself.’
There it was. The connection. It practically zinged in the air between them. Arissa could probably make a fortune if she sold up and moved. But her heart was here. He could see that. She was grounded here. Even though her family were gone. She loved her island—just as he loved his country.
Nowadays so many people were indifferent about where they stayed—flitting about from place to place, prioritising money over so much else. It was refreshing to meet someone who had as much commitment to their home as he did.
‘Family traditions are very important where I come from too,’ he said softly. He should tell her. He should tell her now about who he really was. But he didn’t want to spoil this moment or time between them.
This was the closest he’d felt
to someone in, well, for ever. She didn’t know him as a prince. She didn’t want anything from him, and he liked holding onto that thought. That feeling.
She blinked and licked her lips, before lowering her eyes as she rearranged the ingredients. ‘You’re the first man I’ve invited back here in years,’ she said slowly.
The air around them seemed heavy. Every breath a little more laboured than the one before. There was a slight tremble in her hands. She was nervous. He was making her nervous.
But somehow he knew it wasn’t a bad nervous. Because he felt exactly the same.
‘I’m honoured to be here,’ he said simply as one of his hands moved over hers. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’ The touch of her warm skin against his sent a little buzz up his skin. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
The aroma of freesias drifted towards him. Perfume. She’d put on perfume when he’d changed. His heartbeat quickened.
He wanted to move closer. To slip his hands around her waist and turn her towards him. But it seemed too forward. Too presumptuous.
Arissa’s hand moved from under his and she stepped to one side, giving him a smile over her shoulder. Was she deliberately putting a little distance between them?
He wasn’t sure. But what he was sure about was that he didn’t want to put a foot wrong. He didn’t want to step anywhere she didn’t want him. She pulled out a wok and sat it on the hotplate. ‘Okay, before we start, no allergies?’
He shook his head; he was happy to take her lead. He’d agreed to make her dinner. That was exactly what he would do. ‘No allergies, why?’
She grinned. ‘Because I like peanuts with my chicken.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Peanuts?’
She nodded and pointed towards the chopping board and knives. ‘Peanuts. Okay, grab your tools and let’s get started. I’m famished.’
He looked at the array of ingredients in front of him. He wasn’t quite sure where to start, but the chicken seemed like a safe bet so he started chopping that.
