SET IN New Zealand. Not a lot of sex; a true romance.
*
CHAPTER 1
A tidal surge, not very high but loaded with power and breaking, snuck up behind the well-formed young woman looking upriver in mid-thigh deep water and flattened her. When Jess Turner regained her feet, spluttering, her bikini top was no more. Half dazed she walked from the water to hear the guy she vaguely saw walking a lead-tugging dog say, "Nice ones."
Indignant, now aware of what the grinning ape was on about, Jess felt like bawling out the uncouth Bozo. Instead, she'd recovered enough from her dunking to respond sheepishly, "Thank you for appreciating beauty."
Bozo looked at her closely, the grin gone. "Are you okay?"
Jess was aware other people were watching so she couldn't make a run for it, as her swinging breasts would attract everyone's attention. She replied with dignity, her arms folded across her chest, "Slightly shocked -- I was just dunked by a wave, tumbled over twice and stripped of my bikini top."
"Oh chute. Here take my top."
He pulled off his T-shirt and held it open for her to put her head through, giving Jess a great view of a wide, almost hairless chest and great abs. She thought about him sweating into his T-shirt but the alternative of walking topless towards people lolling on the dry sand above high-water mark was an unpalatable alternative.
The guy she now thought of as Bozo the Gentleman pulled down the back of the T-shirt and stepped back, looked at her and frowned.
"They're still there, I assure you."
She was appalled she'd just said that but he looked up from the front of the T-shirt, over-sized on her, and grinned. "You have humour."
She smiled and asked what was the name of his dog that she'd recognized as some sort of terrier. The guy said it was his mother's and was called Razor.
"What?"
"I said it was my mother's..."
She cut in. "No, I meant whoever would call a dog Razor?"
"My mother did."
"Oh, I apologise. I didn't mean to be rude," she said, flashing her best smile at him and blushed lightly when he said she could apologise to him anytime with a smile like that. "As a pup Bass had a number of close shaves so mum fell into the habit of calling him Razor. Like you, my mother has humour."
"And you don't?"
"I used to be happy," he frowned.
Jess, began walking off, not wanting to listen a tale of woe. She pointed, "I'm living in that yellow cottage over there. Come with me to the front door and I'll return your shirt."
A grin displaying very white and even teeth appeared as he looked back from the yellow cottage. "I'd like to see what you have again but no, Razor is eager to walk."
They watched the terrier pulling at his lead, confirming what Bozo had said.
"Okay, drop in around 5:00 and have a drink on the front deck and watch the people go by."
"Are you sure?"
"Why do you say that? Are you unsafe?"
A little smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Of course not. I was thinking about proprietary. You are possibly unattached and tongues around here waggle."
"Oh, so you are a local rather than a day visitor or a renter like me?"
"I grew up here and visit regularly. My mother is the beach warden."
Jess was delighted to hear that and comfortable now being well covered felt as though they were the only two persons on the sands leaving to the riverbank. "Oh, Marion Street. She introduced herself when I arrived and we talk most days. She's sweet."
"And I'm not?"
Jess turned sharply to deny that but caught the mocking smile. "You displayed minor heroic qualities to me at the water edge just a few minutes ago. How could I think poorly of you?"
Mrs Street's son coloured, nodded and was off, calling he'd think about dropping in around 5:00.
Think about it? Jess shook her head aware some men were keen to give her much more than a second glance. He must be gay. Oh yeah? She hadn't gained that impression when he was looking at her bared boobs and it seemed unbelievable that sweet Mrs Street would have reared anything other than a well-adjusted and kind son.
After showering, washing the T-shirt and hanging it out, Jess made coffee and sat at the table in front of the open sliding glass doors, once again acknowledging her affordable environment was magical and unbelievably appropriate for her present requirements.
The yellow cottage sat on a ragged line of eighteen almost makeshift riverfront dwellings built in the days of minimal building controls. Most, like hers, had been upgraded but no longer would the District Council allow the riverfront dwellings to be replaced or enlarged as the strip had been zoned to become a future waterfront reserve. Directly across the river, only fifty metres from its mouth, she faced a very long and steep, bush-covered slope that she'd expected would provide visual stimulation to brain, and that was the purpose for her being there, renting the cottage for three months to hopefully produce creative writing that would enrich her through brisk book sales.
After her literary agent, now retired, had sold her third work for treble the price she'd received for her first two manuscripts, Jess had brimmed with confidence and took the huge step and resigned from teaching nine and ten year olds to write professionally. She left the apartment she'd shared with two other professional women and returned home. But her mother was forever asking Jess to accompany her when she went out and appeared hurt when the offers were declined. Incoming phone calls proved disruptive as was her mother's preference to have moronic chatter on talkback radio at high volume. So Jess went north on a scouting trip and found the yellow cottage, available at a stiff rent. Just as she was about to say no to the letting agent she looked across the river and her mind found instant affinity with that bush-clad hillside. Jess reacted and said yes she'd take the cottage.
Well, it was becoming a disastrous change in vocation. She was lonely, uninspired and the outflow of money, despite attempts at being frugal, meant her bank account was haemorrhaging. She knew what was the problem: she was attempting to write an action romance novel when feeling not at all romantic. In Jess's mind, where her heroine should appear uplifted and entwining in romance, the fictitious Bianca was now seemingly in danger of spiralling down into a morass of misadventure, lost opportunities and gathering greyness because that reflected the mood and thoughts of her creator.
"You're going through a dark patch. Remain patient and wait for your creativity to kick back in," Jess said aloud, attempting to remain positive. She stared across at the bush and thought of Bozo Street. His image appeared, stripped to the waist, which of course was her last memory of him. Jess attempted to manipulate the image to visualise him totally undressed and facing her. But she failed and what her mind repainted was most unexpected. Bozo remained still wearing shorts but on his chest were female breasts -- she was quite sure they were hers.
"Oh God," she gulped and hurried off to the paint-flaking village store to buy a packet of potato crisps, four cans of beer and a bottle of white wine. Was there anything else? Jess wondered as she walked to the counter between narrow and crammed aisles trying not to think condoms but she did. Before she had time to mentally kick herself someone said, "Oh hello Jess. My Scott told me he met you an hour ago. He didn't know your name but described you as a cute young woman renting the Monk's cottage, so I knew it had to be you. What do you think of him?"
