“Forgive me?”

I felt a surge of relief and I imagined the purple elephant popping like a balloon. “Of course,” I said. “We’re good.” I even let myself believe that.

*

Nothing could have prepared me for the scenery as we approached Milford Sound, not travel guides or even eleven hours of Peter Jackson’s epic tourism commercial.

The road cut through a narrow valley, its floor a carpet of low shrubs, mostly green, but some in a dull yellow. The slopes rose steeply either side of the valley, some tenacious plants clinging to the rockfaces. Mountains in a steely grey climbed into the sky, roughly hewn and inhospitable. I kept my eyes peeled for falling rocks, as if the mountains would spit them at us for trespassing. It was both awe-inspiring and a little terrifying, so I was relieved when we pulled up to where the boat was docked, unscathed.

If I’m honest, it looked like a fishing boat—a super-fancy fishing boat, granted, but I wondered if it had been bought from a fishing company and made over. Maybe it would smell like fish. It had two-and-a-half storeys—decks?—and what looked like a third row of smaller portholes close to the waterline, perhaps where the crew slept. Three tall masts promised some actual sailing, which I hoped we’d get to do.

The crew was lovely when they welcomed us aboard, and a steward took our carry-on bags and led the way to our cabin. I only hoped in my hasty packing that I hadn’t left anything I needed in my suitcase. If I had, I wouldn’t see it until the next day; it was in the boot of the car.

The interior of the boat was far nicer than I’d thought it would be, and it didn’t smell like fish—always a good thing when it comes to accommodation. Our cabin was cosy, but we had a queen-sized bed and our own bathroom. The décor was what I would call “Hugh Hefneresque”—lots of heavy fabrics in dark colours. The steward placed our bags on the bed—pretty much the only flat surface available—and welcomed us again. I was prepared with a cash tip and beat James to it. A funny look crossed his face, but he didn’t say anything.

Oops—perhaps that was a faux pas.

I still hadn’t been able to pay for anything. He’d insisted on picking up the check at dinner the night before, which wasn’t overly surprising considering how the evening had played out, and he’d paid for lunch in Te Anau when I went to the bathroom, but I wanted to contribute to the trip somehow. Based on his reaction, however, tipping the steward was not the way to do it.

“Shall we go out on deck and watch our departure?” I asked, brightly. His smile returned.

“Absolutely.” I turned to leave the cabin, and he caught my arm. “Wait, come here a moment.” I looked up at him, his serious eyes sending a jolt of panic through me. You’ve changed your mind. A gentle smile turned his lips up at the corner and reached his eyes. Or, maybe not. “I just haven’t kissed you today. Not properly, anyway.”