‘Mmm …’ Dan took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh evening air. ‘I love this time of year. It’s still beautiful most days but the chill’s starting to creep in at night, giving us a taste of what’s to come.’

I wasn’t cold at all but put that down to all the rum. With any luck the fresh air would help me sober up a bit. And maybe the soft sounds of the waves lapping the shore might calm the dull roar in my head.

‘We’ve had really good weather recently, but there’s talk of a couple of tropical lows forming up north near Darwin and if one of them becomes a cyclone, we could be in for some stormy weather over the next few weeks.’

‘Have you been in many cyclones?’ I asked.

‘Nothing too bad down here in my lifetime; if we get anything it’s the tail end of what the north gets and by the time it reaches us, it’s usually been downgraded to a category one. All the Point ever really experiences is strong winds.’

‘Well, that’s good,’ I said, but it also kind of killed the conversation. I’d been hoping Dan’s tales of battling Mother Nature would get us all the way to the shack, avoiding any opportunity for awkward silence.

But while I couldn’t wait to get home, guzzle a huge glass of ice-cold water and fall into a deep slumber, my companion didn’t appear to be in a hurry at all. For a guy, he walked rather slow—maybe it was the thongs not supporting his feet properly or maybe he was dilly-dallying for my benefit. Even in my comfy, practical, medically sound shoes, I wasn’t completely steady on my feet. I was never drinking rum with Jedda again.

I was never drinking rum with anyone again.

Hell, maybe I’d never drink anything again.

‘You okay?’ Dan gently touched my arm.

‘Not really.’ I flinched and placed a steadying hand on my stomach. The last thing I wanted to do was throw up in front of a stranger. ‘I’m feeling a bit queasy. Guess I’m not a teenager anymore and not used to late nights out drinking.’

‘It’s only eleven o’clock. You can hardly call yourself a hedonist.’

Eleven o’clock? It felt like the middle of the night. ‘A hedonist?’

He chuckled. ‘Sorry, English was my favourite subject at school. I like variety in my words.’

‘Really? Me too.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me. I noticed your influence on the last Reporter. Don’t get me wrong, Jedda does a great job, but you edited all the community columns, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ I was impressed he could tell the difference. ‘If you like English so much, have you ever thought about helping with the Reporter? I’m sure Jedda wouldn’t knock you back.’