He laughs. “In that case, guilty as charged. Born and bred city boy, I’m afraid. But before you completely write me off, I don’t really enjoy living in the city. Too frantic for me. I much prefer the pace out here.”

“You’ve redeemed yourself slightly, then.”

“That’s why I bought a small place out here four years ago. Initially as a holiday home, somewhere to escape the rat race for mini breaks. But the more time I spend here the more I like the idea of making this a permanent base.”

“It gets under your skin, doesn’t it?”

“Small-town life?”

“Yes. There’s a real sense of community here. We look out for one another.”

“I’ve noticed.”

As we walk, the sun sinks lower and the world takes on a gentle hue: muted, softer. Occasionally joggers pass by us on the path, smiling a greeting as we shuffle to one side to let them past. Two old men are camped out on deck chairs on the sand, rods in the water, beers in hand. I can hear the laughter and shrieks of children at the playground near the main jetty, fifty meters or so behind us. Their voices carry easily in the still air and bring a smile to my face. There is a general sense of calm and serenity. I immediately feel regret for all the nights I have wasted, sitting inside watching Friends reruns at this precise time, instead of being out here enjoying the refined elegance of dusk.

“So,” James continues. “How good are the locals at accepting outsiders? Do I have a chance, do you think?”

“Mm.” I pretend to think about it. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you mind everybody knowing your business.”

He shrugs. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Then you’ll be fine. Just lend a hand when you’re asked, accept a drink when it’s offered, and stay out of the feud between the mayor and my mother.”

“Your mother has a feud with the mayor?”

“Going on ten years now.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s really not, but if you insist on knowing I’ll explain it all, at a later date. Right now I just want to know if you intend on eating that food tonight or if we’re just taking it for a walk.”

He holds up the paper-wrapped bundle. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you hungry?”

“Starving. And this close to going feral and ripping it out of your hands.”

“I really am intrigued by this story about your mother and the mayor, though. What if, in my ignorance, I make a faux pas and incur her wrath?”

I sigh. “Look. Just promise her you’ll vote for the opposition come election time, whether you intend to or not, and everything will be just fine.”

“OK.” He smiles. “We can eat now. How about here?” He points to a picnic table under the shade of a large pohutukawa tree.

“Here will do just fine.” My stomach rumbles audibly. He laughs and places the food down, teasingly unwrapping it slowly. I sit on the side that faces the ocean and shuffle over as he sits beside me instead of opposite. I eagerly reach for a piece of golden battered fish and yelp when he smacks my hand away lightly.