Free Take a Chance on Me by Debbie Flint Page A

then licked his finger. She blushed slightly then reached into her makeshift clutch for a tissue.
    â€˜Did the other bag survive its swim?’ he asked.
    â€˜Bag will live, but can’t say the same for the phone! Strange being without it. My mother will think I’ve run off with some weird man!’
    â€˜Not yet, but the night is young.’ He relaxed back on the bench.
    â€˜It wouldn’t matter – she’s a bit weird too,’ she said, looking up at him expectantly. ‘Yours probably thinks the sun shines out of you.’
    â€˜Actually, I never really knew my mum,’ he replied. She made a ‘poor you’ face. ‘Oops, sorry, we said no personal details, didn’t we?’ he added. ‘It’s sweet that yours cares so much though. Bet she misses you while you’re away.’
    â€˜Yes and my daugh …’ Sadie stopped herself mid-sentence. She corrected herself quickly.
No personal info.
‘My door … key – I lost it. Mum might have been needing to ring me to tell me she … found it.’
    â€˜Rrright. Well, you’d better remember to pack your “waterproof mobile” next time.’
    â€˜Thanks so much for rescuing my bag for me. Are you always such a hero?’
    â€˜Of course!
Drowning handbags
, run of the mill.
Damsels in distress
, a speciality!’
    â€˜Well, if I’m ever in distress, I’ll give you a call!’
    â€˜Dis-dress, dat-dress, you look good whatever,’ he said, then cringed. Bad joke. Old habit. He really was stepping back in time tonight.
    She whacked his arm. ‘Ha-ha, funny man. Well, thanks anyway. I’m glad you were there or it’d have been
me
needing waterproofs.’
    â€˜That’s okay. You were the best thing to walk down my gangplank all day.’
    â€˜I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.’
    â€˜Listen, just ’cos I’m a sailor doesn’t mean I have a girl in every port.’
    â€˜Hmmm,’ said Sadie, smiling up at him while sipping her drink.
    â€˜Seriously – too busy – been there done that. You know how it is at our age – you start to want different things. Time to move on.’
    â€˜To a new era.’
    â€˜To a new era.’ They toasted again.
    â€˜And to making your own luck.’
    â€˜And to making your own luck, Samantha Businesswoman.’
    They paused mid-toast, and the air sizzled between them. ‘I hope I didn’t disturb you too much today. Did you finish your … erm … What were you doing anyway?’
    â€˜Oh, just a spot of maintenance. Pump problems.’
    â€˜And did you finish mending your pump … thing?’
    â€˜No, my pump thing has had to be replaced. It’s seen too much action in recent years.’
    She raised her eyebrows. ‘
Has
it now?!’
    He laughed and leaned nearer to her on the soft seat to continue the banter.
    An hour flew by. Quips about Monaco – the place, the people, her opinions about the Grand Prix – or the ‘car race’ as she called it with ‘
rich posers flocking in to watch expensive lumps of tin go round and round in circle
s’. She’d get on famously with Captain Wiltshire, for sure. Favourite foods, sports, pastimes and, of all things, he was surprised to find out they were both board game fans – traditional games, none of the new digital stuff. She shared his love of nostalgia – Boggle, Rummikub, Monopoly. She even seemed genuinely interested in the history behind his precious Tank watch. He’d replaced his usual Rolex with an inter-war, leather-strapped, rectangular timepiece. Battered and unassuming, you wouldn’t realise it was an antique.
    â€˜You should get it valued,’ she joked. ‘You might be a millionaire!’
    â€˜I did,’ he said. ‘And one thing’s for sure – I’m not a millionaire.’
    She made a big