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“That’s keen.”
“Yeah. I was pretty fit.”
“You still are,” Poppy says. “You keep yourself in good shape. Do you still run?”
I like her throwaway compliment. “Yes, but slower, and not for as long. And I do weights to keep the muscle tone up. It’s not the same though.”
“No, I get that. But then you wouldn’t have been able to maintain that level of fitness into your thirties, I wouldn’t have thought. As we age, we become more prone to injuries, less bouncy. It takes more work to keep up that level of fitness.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you resent getting older?” she asks. “Are you going to buy a red sports car and have affairs with women half your age when you get into your forties?”
That makes me laugh. “I don’t think so. I guess I just thought I’d be somewhere different by now.”
She glances over at me. “Married and with kids?”
“Maybe. And perhaps a captain or a major in the Army, eventually. I’d have liked that.”
“I can call you sir, if it would help.”
I glance over at her. She raises her eyebrows.
“Don’t tempt me,” I tell her.
She smiles. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came out of the Army. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise. And then we wouldn’t be having all this fun.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” For a fleeting moment, I think about the fact that, if all goes according to plan, she’ll be pregnant, and then the fun will be over. But what’s the point in worrying about tomorrow and not enjoying today? Carpe Diem, Fitz.
She takes the turnoff for the Ark and stops outside the main building. “Okay,” she says, “I’ll see you later.”
“Sure.” I hesitate and meet her green eyes. I want to lean forward and kiss her. But she’s not my wife, and she’s not my girlfriend. I don’t know what she is. The thought makes me uncomfortable. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I give her a brief smile, then get out of the car and watch her drive away.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, put her out of my mind, and go into the main building.
*
I’m relatively successful at not thinking about her for a good part of the day. Ashton keeps me busy, and there’s lots to do. In the morning, we walk around the site, talking about the plans for the rest of the buildings, and I tell him about some of the issues we had with drainage runoff and laying pipes, and how we overcame those problems. We go over the plans together, spreading them out in his brand-new conference room, on the floor because he doesn’t have any furniture yet. And we talk about sourcing materials and building contractors, amenities, and the cost of actually getting the place up and running. Ashton’s around my age and we get on well, so the morning passes quickly.
By one o’clock, we’re both ready for a break. We order a beer and a sandwich at a bar five minutes down the road and sit outside, in the shade. We’re not far from the river, and as the waitress delivers our food, a Labrador comes bounding past us, soaked through where he’s obviously been for a swim.
“That’s Sandy,” Ashton explains. “He belongs to Terry, the bartender. He’s always in the river.”
I chuckle. “My Jack Russell hates water. When it’s bath time, he makes a right fuss.”
Ashton grins and has a long swallow of his beer, then takes a bite of his sandwich. “Terry’s wife jokes that Sandy’s half dog, half dolphin. I’ve seen the dog leap into the water from the bank. Mel gives him scores as if he’s in the Olympics.”
My heart judders to a stop. I have a mouthful of sandwich, and for a moment I’m worried I’m going to choke. I take a sip of beer and force myself to chew a few more times before I swallow. “Mel?” I ask as casually as I can.
“Yeah,” Ashton replies. “Do you know her?”
“I don’t know, possibly.” We used to live in Napier, but Hastings isn’t far away, so it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that she moved here. There must be lots of Mels in Hawke’s Bay, though. “What’s her name short for?” I cross my fingers that he’ll say Melanie.
