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“You got a table then?” Her eyes don’t quite meet mine. “Just. It’s a popular place.”
“I never expected The King’s Port to be the eating establishment it is, but here we are.” Zennor has a forced chuckle in her voice. “Drinks?”
“Red again?”
“Please.”
I order, and we head to our table and hope the bumpy chitchat is out of the way.
We’re seated at the far end of the extension, but we do have a view outside. The edge of the cliffside and the water below provide a great backdrop and watching the swell of the waves quietens the little nerves that have started to pipe up.
Zennor follows my gaze and sips her glass of wine.
“So,” I start. “We didn’t get a chance to catch up properly the other night. How about we start over.”
“Sure. But I’m going to take a look at the menu and find out what all the fuss is about. I’m sure they’ll be able to rustle you up some chips, though.” Her comment pulls a genuine smile from her lips, and something eases in my chest.
“I hope so. Whoever heard of a pub that doesn’t sell chips?”
We order, and I try and steer the conversation back to finding out what Zennor’s been up to for the last twenty years.
A part of me wants to ask her outright why she never got in contact. Or if any of my postcards even made it to her. But I take my time.
“Is your sister still here?” I start with something less personal.
“She lives just outside the town.”
“And obviously, your mum is still here.”
“Yep.”
“But you left.”
“Moved to London, actually. Not many computing jobs in Cornwall.”
“No, I can imagine. What do you do now?”
“Well, a few different things. But I kind of want to find out why, after travelling the world, you’d want to come back here?” She tilts her head like she’s trying to read me.
She did this last night. Avoiding questions with a question of her own.
“I’m not getting any younger, and surfing at the level I was, has an expiry date. Especially when you get a run of bad luck.” The beer has a bitter taste all of a sudden, but I ignore it. “So, I changed it up. I needed to find another focus.” Or I’d kill myself.
“Yes, but why here?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Why not? This may surprise you, but I’ve been back here a couple of times over the years. The surf has always been great, and the place is laid back and isn’t oversaturated. You’re in business, right. You must understand that.”
“And what exactly is your business?”
“I bought the surf shop and live upstairs, but it’s being remodelled right now. Plus, I have a few other side hustles.” I smile, not wanting to be the complete open book I think I am when it comes to this woman.
Our food arrives, and we eat. Zennor is right, and there are, of course, chips, which I still enjoy.
“Are you back for good then? From London?” I ask.
“I don’t have any definite plans just yet.” She pushes the salad and fish around her plate. “I need to see how my next venture pans out.”
“Do you have family?” She’s on a date with me, and there’s no ring on her finger, so I’m assuming there’s no boyfriend or husband.
