Until I Met You

‘I’m a great grandson.’

She dropped her hefty beach bag on the floor and took a seat at the lunch counter. ‘I hate to admit it, but it’s sort of endearing.’

He went over to the same glass-fronted refrigerator as last time and returned with an extra-large bottle of water. ‘On the house.’

Samantha pulled out a ten-dollar note. ‘No way.’

The note stayed on the counter where she put it.

‘Where’s the rest of the gang?’ he asked.

‘On their way to a fun-filled day of snorkelling.’

‘You stayed behind?’

Samantha struggled with the bottle cap. ‘I thought you might need help dealing with your grandfather’s health crisis.’

He took the bottle from her and twisted the cap loose. ‘You ditched your closest, dearest friends for me?’

She snatched the bottle from him. ‘That’s not what I did.’

‘That’s what it boils down to.’

‘I don’t need this,’ she said. ‘Remind me never to do anything thoughtful for you again. Goodbye.’

‘What? You’d leave me in my time of crisis?’

Samantha lost it. ‘Roman! For the last time—’

He cut her off with a torrent of laughter. She would have been irritated if she didn’t love his laugh so much.

‘Come on,’ he teased. ‘Let me enjoy this. It’s not every day a pretty lady rushes to my rescue. Honestly, I don’t know how to act.’

She should have got on the damn bus. ‘Whatever,’ she huffed. ‘I could be snorkelling right now.’

Roman leaned on the counter, propped his chin in his hand. ‘You like me.’

Samantha turned away from him and made a big show of checking her phone for messages. There were none. She let out her most melodramatic sigh.

‘It’s more than that,’ he said. ‘You care.’

That was too much. ‘When will you get it in your head that I’m a caring, loving, selfless, stellar human being?’

‘Oh, I get it.’

She’d done it; she’d let him get under her skin. Here she was, hot and bothered and breathing fire. Meanwhile, he was supremely cool, his elbows on the counter, a wry little smile creeping to his eyes. She paused for a breath and pulled herself together. ‘Are you quite done? Because we’re not going around in circles like this all day.’

‘You’re right about that,’ he said, looking past her shoulder. A customer had wandered in. In his mid-thirties, wearing a Harvard T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, an expensive-looking camera dangling from his neck, he was the picture-perfect tourist.

‘Need help?’ Roman asked.

‘Just looking. Thanks.’ After browsing a long while, he purchased a bag of crisps. ‘Where do you keep the candy?’ he asked. Roman stared blankly at him. The guy may be a financial maverick, but customer service was not in his skill set.

‘The sign says “Candy’s Shop”,’ the tourist said. ‘I thought I might find liquorice or something.’

‘My grandmother’s name is Candace. This is Candy’s Shop.’

This was news to Samantha. ‘I’d made that same assumption. When I came in the first time, I thought you sold sweets … or something.’