“So not insanely good-looking, then?”

I snort laughter unintentionally before resuming a straight face. “Sorry? Good-looking? Oh, well, I guess. I mean, I personally hadn’t noticed. But I suppose some might say—”

He laughs. The sound is loud and uproarious in the quietness of our surroundings, but it is a wonderful sound. The sound of life.

“As far as first impressions go I’m not doing so well, am I?” I smile up at him ruefully.

“On the contrary, you’ve complimented me twice. What more could a guy ask for?”

We hear my name called, muffled by the trees and distance, but clear nevertheless. I am being summoned. I give James another rueful smile.

“I guess I’m wanted.”

“I guess you are.”

“Shall we…?” I gesture toward the house.

“After you.”

I start walking back up to the beach and he falls into an easy stride beside me.

“Am I in trouble with Nadia for disappearing?”

He shrugs. “Who cares?”

“She’s kind of intimidating,” I admit.

“Most journalists are. The trick is to remember it’s you doing them the favor. Without you, they have no story.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Besides, Nadia’s like that with everyone. I don’t work for her magazine often, but every time I do she seems to have a new assistant.”

“So you’re freelance? That must be exciting.”

He nods. “Overseas publications mostly. I’m doing this as a one-off favor for the editor, an old friend.”

“I’m sure he’s grateful.”

He gives me a funny look. “She. Marilyn Southgate. You haven’t heard of her?”

“I don’t really read a lot of magazines. Not my thing.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Maybe you shouldn’t mention that in your interview.”

We have reached the trees and he steps back and gestures with one hand for me to go first. A gentleman. I find myself breathing shallowly, and I’m not sure whether it’s because of the physical exertion or his presence. Either way, I don’t want to go first, conscious of his eyes on me as I walk slower than someone my age should. But I don’t want to make a fuss so I smile meekly and start up the track. I hear his breath quicken as he walks behind me and it makes my senses hyper-aware. I can hear the breeze rustling through the canopy of leaves above us, and the sound of birdsong as a tui goes head-to-head in a singing competition with a bellbird. Behind us the ocean provides the backing track. The air leaves particles of moisture on my skin as I move through it and I hope fervently the dress doesn’t react badly to a little dampness; I have no desire to be in Sophie’s bad books. I have barely gone twelve steps before the heat and the thick air combine to make me feel light-headed.

“Are you OK?”

I don’t realize I have slowed right down to almost a stop until James is at my side, his voice and face betraying his concern. He reaches out to place a steadying hand on my arm and I suck in my breath sharply at his touch, as fleeting as it is before he removes it again. What is it about him that has this effect on me? I’ve never had this kind of reaction to a man before. Lacking the breath to speak, I simply lean back against a sturdy tree trunk and nod.