Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“School?” Close to the library. “On foot?”
Five minutes later, we’re hiking over the beach, the sea barely visible under low-rolling clouds.
A wild curse has us squinting towards the sound.
There’s someone bundled on the boardwalk.
“Martha!” Damon sprints and I follow, grabbing my phone in case I need to call for help. I have a brief flashback to the day Damon pulled me from the water. Had he charged with this much concerned purpose then too?
He reaches Martha and crouches next to her. “What’s happened?”
Martha’s been around for as long as I can remember. She’s a pit-bull of a personality with the biggest heart underneath—in her eighties, with permed hair and parti-coloured eyes. She’s always taken to Damon—bickering all part of the package—and sometimes I wonder if she was the reason he decided to move here permanently.
“Nothing to get your knickers in a knot over,” she barks.
“Nevertheless,” Damon says, sparing her an equally tight look, only his lips giving hint to a grin.
Martha throws up her hands. “That damn dog ran off with my cane.”
“Where?”
“Right into the ocean. Came back dripping wet without it. Had the balls to shake himself dry all over me.”
I glance around for any sign of the dog, but the clouds are too thick. Martha spots me and beckons me closer. “Been a while since I’ve seen your cute face.”
The last time had been when I came out of the changing rooms with all Damon’s clothes. She’d been taking her daily stroll along the boardwalk, spotted me and the bundle I carried, and known. She’d nodded. “Bit of karma will be good for him.”
A cold palm clapping my cheek pulls me out of the memory, and she turns to Damon. “Run and fetch my other cane, sonny?”
Damon twists his back to her and pulls her arms over his shoulders. “I have a better idea, Mar.”
He hoists her onto his back, and she shrieks out a laugh. “Damon, I haven’t done this since I was six.”
“About time then!”
They trot off, heavy laughter mingling with light. I grab Martha’s fallen pashmina and follow. My stomach feels like a knot of feathers, weirdly ticklish as I vaguely recall Mum telling Dad that Martha had practically adopted “that boy”.
That boy piggybacks Martha to the community hall, where they hold town meetings and bingo nights. He sets her down gently at the ramp railing, and I wrap the pashmina over her shoulders. She smiles, but when a gaggle of elderly women gathers round, says sharply, “Enough fussing. You two have places to get to.”
Places indeed.
I decline Damon’s predictably cheeky offer to have a turn on his back, and we part two minutes later—him to the school; me to the library.
It’s one large room with a focus on holiday reads, a small section on gardening and fishing, and Tai the librarian, with his killer dimple and all the town gossip. There’s a little sign next to his counter: Friends don’t let friends use apps, friends make friends use matchmakers.
Tai looks up from his book and flashes his dimple as I slink to the counter with a nervous twitch. I’ve never . . . done this sort of thing before. Neither the app, nor the face-to-face variation thereof.
“Kia ora, Leon. Long time, no see.”
“Oh. Ah. Yeah. You look exactly the same.”
“Is now a bad time to catch up?” Tai asks, noting my nervous jittering.
“No. Yes. We should meet over coffee soon and catch up properly.”
He smiles, calmly. “Is there something else you need?”
I blurt it all out. “I-have-a-friend-who-wants-a-boyfriend.” It’s a good thing the library is barren and no-one else is bearing witness to this.
“A friend.” That grin deepens. Tai pulls out a long grey box and flips the lid. Inside are dozens of cardboard slips—those old ones that used to be in the backs of books. They’re separated by coloured markers. Orientation and preferences, perhaps. “There’s someone in here for everyone.”
He pulls out a blank slip and tips a pen to one of the lines. “What interests does this friend have?”
“Um.”
“Does he like music?”
“Yes!”
“What type, honey?”
“Whatever comes on the car radio?”
Tai looks at me, and moves on to the next question. “Other hobbies? Interests? Favourite TV shows?”
“He sews.”
“And . . .?” he gestures for me to continue.
“He’s had a million adventures?”
“Intriguing, what kinds?”
“Those found in the pages of books?”
“Leon, mate, how about I jot down likes to swim?”
Along with anyone who comes here. I nod miserably and Tai claps a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure your friend is quite the catch.”
I laugh-groan. “You know it’s me.”
He just smiles. “What’s your idea of a romantic gesture?”
“Gosh, no idea. If he makes me laugh on a regular basis I think that’s pretty much perfection.”
He scrawls, makes him laugh.
“Do I really have a match in there?”
“I’ve never failed to provide one before. Although, most of my pairings are for short term flings. A boyfriend, you say?”