THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(34)

She smiled as the road narrowed, changing from a quiet suburban neighbourhood into a bustling harbour. Cars were parked on both sides of the road, and there was a trendy bar and restaurant on one side, already busy even though it was only just after six. A blackboard out the front announced ‘private function.’ We turned the corner, past the bar, to see lines of cars parked with empty boat trailers behind them. I drove past them and around the corner a little bit.

“I’ll be two minutes,” I said, unfastening my seatbelt. “I phoned the order through earlier, just have to pick it up.”

“Okay.”

I left her in the truck and made my way across the car park to the old wharf building. The nerves I’d been fighting so hard with began to make their presence felt. Not so much butterflies in my stomach, as a flock of birds inside my chest cavity. What the hell was I doing? I hadn’t been on a date in nine years, and here I was, arranging this elaborate evening for a woman I barely knew? I was turning myself inside out, and for what?

I stopped, leaning back against the side of the building and drawing in deep breaths. A couple of people gave me strange looks as they passed me, but I didn’t care. I had to get a handle on this. I had to decide. Either I was doing this, or I wasn’t. Which was it to be?

I thought about the way she looked in that red swimsuit. Or the way her lips were perpetually rose-bud red and leaned toward the glossy side. Or the way she had let me hold her hand in the car earlier.

Jesus Christ, this wasn’t helping.

Or maybe it was.

I pushed myself away from the side of the building. It was fear, that’s all it was. It’d been a while, and I was scared of making a fool of myself. Perfectly normal behaviour. Except that none of this felt normal.

From out of nowhere, a conversation Em and I had years before came flooding back.

I’d told her I was sick of worrying about stuff that no one else seemed to care about. I just wanted to be normal.

“Normal is over-rated,” she’d said. “You need to aim higher.”

And then she’d kissed me.

Maybe she was right. Maia was probably as nervous as I was. She’d said it had been a while since she’d done this, too. One of us had to take the lead here, and by rights, it should be me. I was the one who asked her, after all.

I made my way past the refurbished boat shed, now home to a pottery shop, shoe shop and second-hand furniture shop, along with the Wharf Shed restaurant itself. The salty scent of the harbour wafted in on the breeze, and out on the water, boats were coming and going, in all shapes and sizes.

Dinner was ready and waiting, and I collected it from the pick-up window and made my way back to the car park. As I rounded the corner and saw her sitting there, in my truck, an unsettling sense of déjà vu settled over me. It was almost like I’d lived this moment before.

I shook it off, climbing back into the truck beside her with our dinner inside two large, horizontal cardboard trays in brown paper bags.

“Can you do me a favour?” I asked, piling the two paper bags on top of each other. “Can you open the cooler bag for me? There’s an empty one inside there I’ll put this stuff into. Don’t want the hot stuff getting cool or the cool stuff warming up.”

She unzipped the bag and handed the empty one folded up inside over to me. “You really have thought of everything haven’t you?”

“I’ve tried to,” I said, as I carefully laid the paper bags of food on top of each other inside the empty bag.

I handed the bag back to her and she put it in the foot well.

“Food: check. Ready for the venue?”

She smiled, complete with dimples, and nodded.

We pulled out of the car park and made our way back along the waterfront and through town. Conversation came easier, and the truck’s cab filled with the delicious aroma of freshly cooked seafood. She didn’t ask me what it was, and I got the feeling it didn’t matter. Whereas just minutes ago I had been scared out of my wits, now it felt more like anticipation. And it wasn’t so bad. I found myself cocooned inside a natural high I couldn’t remember feeling for a very long time.

Ten minutes later, we turned off the main road and down a gravel one, winding down the side of the hill towards a place that held special memories for me. I hoped she’d like it as much as I did. I pulled into the gravel parking bay in a tiny cove that overlooked the beach and one of the most amazing views in the area.

I led the way down the path threaded along the shore, through shrubs and bushes, until we came to a small inlet and a grassy flat area, just above the shoreline. The ocean spread out before us, waves lapping gently on the beach just a few metres away.