Page 15 of Beach Bodies

They walk up to a table of guests. ‘Can we join you guys?’ says Shayna in a voice like sandpaper. I imagine twelve seasons of berating contestants would destroy anyone’s vocal cords. Everyone fawns.Oh my god, of course! Yes, please– what an honour—

I watch them settle. Tim, tanned and blond, is in a leather jacket– who wears leather on a tropical island?– and Shayna’s dressed in yoga pants and a sports bra, exposing a rippling bronzed midriff. I put a mental star next to both their names in the roster I’m developing in my head.

Two tables over, this summer’s Mental Wellness Consultant is holding a court of his own. Pat Burton, author ofThe Secret Mind-to-Body Equation,New York Timesbestseller, though there are rumours he bought his way on to the list. Chiselled face with a neat silver beard; white hair pulled back in a nub of a ponytail. Single earring, wide-leg white pants and an A-shirt exposing pale, toned arms. He’s surrounded by five older women, all leaning towards him like they’re trying to inhale him.

This initial inventory is slow work. I take another long sip of coffee, ignoring the restless pit jiggling in my stomach. Like Jessica’s old game with food, you have to give the flavours time to bloom into your awareness. Not rush to conclusions. Open your mind to the possibilities.

‘Bacon. Eggs with bacon, please.’ A voice, rich and masculine, draws my attention back to the omelette station. The voice belongs to an unreasonably handsome thirty-something man dressed in a waffle-weave Henley and joggers that look more suited to a woodsy lodge than a beachy resort. Still, he cuts a fine figure. Wide-shouldered, built like a rugby player, with tousled dark hair and a five o’clock shadow. I try and fail to match him with one of the pictures from the file.

‘I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have any processed meats available.’

‘Isn’t bacon … cured?’

‘I’m afraid that smoking, salting and curing are all considered—’

‘Yeah, yeah, OK. Got it.’ He takes a wider stance and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his joggers. He’s muscled, but not like a body-builder or a movie star. He’s more rugged. More natural. And obviously, clueless. ‘What about sausage? Maybe chicken sausage?’

‘Sir,’ the young chef says patiently, ‘I’m afraid that sausage is also a processed meat. Have you met any of our nutritionists?’

‘You know, it’s OK. I think I’ll just get some coffee.’

‘We have a nice assortment of wild mushrooms—’ says the chef, but too late, the guest is walking towards me, shaking his head.

I scoot aside to allow him access to the carafe. He’s so unlike any other guest I’ve ever seen. I’m having trouble taking my eyes off him.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters. He poured too fast and spilled.

‘Here,’ I offer, grabbing a wad of napkins and mopping up the spill before it can spread further. ‘I got it.’ As I complete the clean-up, he tops off my mug too. Then, we both leanagainst the counter, bookends on the small alcove, cradling our respective coffees.

‘Don’t tell my boss, but I miss bacon too,’ I admit in a mock-whisper.

‘Nothing like it.’

‘Crispy.’

‘Savoury.’

‘Salty.’

‘And so very processed,’ he adds, giving me a sidelong look.

We share a muffled laugh, followed by a strangely charged silence.

Handsome men are a dime a dozen at the Riovan, but there’s something different about this guy, and it’s not just his shameless penchant for bacon, or his stockier build. I take him in briefly, in stolen glances, and notice the curl of a tattoo peeking out from under the cuff of his Henley. There’s an intensity to this guy; a self-possession. Something… powerful. Something raw. A little tingle sweeps my skin. Not a response I should have towards a guest. In fact, not a response I’ve had towards anyone… since Jessica.

‘You’re a lifeguard,’ he says. ‘Right?’

‘What gave it away?’ I deadpan.

He grins. ‘Well. I’m an appalling swimmer, so it behooves me to be friendly with whoever’s going to be saving my life.’ He thrusts out a hand. ‘Daniel Black, by the way.’

I snort with laughter.Behooves me? Who the hell talks like that? As he folds his hand around mine and I feel the strength of his shake, I mentally turn the pages of the guest files again. I know I saw the name Daniel Black, but there were a lot of pages, and a lot of names...

‘I’m Lily.’

His gaze is both direct and disarming. As though his brown eyes can see straight through bullshit. Straight through me. Flustered, I drop my gaze and pull my hand back.

‘This is my first time doing a health trip… thingy,’ he says, his tone low, confidential, a little amused, like we’re both in on the same joke. ‘So… I hope I can keep up. Seems like a pretty intense experience.’

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