After replying to Monica, I flick through the photos I took on my phone yesterday, pausing on the one of Ted. His eyes shine out from the screen, as sparkling as the jewels in his beard. He really is surprisingly photogenic, considering how little of his face is visible beneath all that hair. I shake my head, flicking the screen closed. Ted’s sparkly eyes are not relevant to any of this; I need to focus on what’s important.
Looking at all those emails, at how much work I need to do, it feels irresponsible that I’ve agreed to spend the day with Jasper, on a boat of all places—I’m about as sea smart as a camel. I shall just have to make this trip count—take lots of photos of the écréhous and pick Jasper’s brain for my article on the way. After all, if the universe goes to the trouble of presenting you with your soulmate, you don’t tell the universe that you’re busy and you have to work. That said, I do quickly reply to a few of Suki’s more pressing emails—the hierarchy of authority in my life goes: Suki, the universe, then all other worldly concerns.
When I’m finally ready to go, and I open the cottage door, I hear a voice call down from Sans Ennui. “Laura, morning!”
I turn around to see someone bounding down the slope toward me. It takes me a second to realize who it is: It’s Ted, but he looks totally different—he’s shaved off his beard.
“Hey, how are you feeling? How’s the cut on your leg?” he says, his face dancing with energy.
I stare at him, my mouth agape. Wow. It turns out, beneath the Castaway beard, Ted is incredibly attractive. I don’t mean good-looking, in a “clean-shaven suits him” kind of way; I mean he’s the real-life love child of Brad Pitt and James Dean. He has a chiseled jaw, a dimpled smile, and those dark expressive eyes stand out all the more from a cleaner canvas. He’s also far younger than I assumed him to be. When I first got in the cab, I thought he must be nearly twice my age, but now, I see he’s definitely only late thirties. He’s the real-life Benjamin Button, getting younger and younger every time I see him. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll be a teenager, heading off to the sea for a surf before school.
“Ted, you— Your—”
My mouth can’t find the words, so I finally resort to pointing at his face.
“I thought it was time to de-fuzz,” he says, stroking his jaw and then running a hand through his hair, which I swear looks styled somehow. It had been a shapeless mess on Thursday night and now it looks textured, as though he’s run some wax through it. Whatever it is, it’s hair you want to grab and— Whoa, what? Where did that thought come from?
“You look different,” I say, biting my lip in case any of the thoughts in my head accidentally fall out of my mouth.
“Different good?” he asks, holding eye contact with me until I have to look away because it feels as though someone is flipping pancakes in my belly. I have a flashback to last night, to the feeling I had as he walked me to my door. His lips look so much more accessible now. Why am I thinking about Ted’s lips? Gift from the universe Jasper is going to be here any minute.
“How—how old are you, Ted?” I ask with a frown.
Ted laughs at the question. “Thirty-seven, why?”
“It’s just, well, you had a gray beard—it’s confusing for people.”
“Well, I apologize that the follicles on my face grow a different color to the ones on my head.” Ted looks bemused.
With a silent nod, I shift my gaze out to the safety of the sea. My heart seems to be pounding unnecessarily loudly in my chest.
“Thank you for your help last night, Laura. With your system in place, the whole task feels a lot more manageable this morning.”
Words come to my throat, but I swallow them before they can emerge as sentences. Beardy McCastaway might have been easier to talk to than Hotty McFace here. Really? That’s the best nickname I can come up with?
“No problem.”
“Listen, I know we hardly got to any of the places you wanted to visit yesterday. How about we head out now, and I can take you to the southern beaches. There’s a great spot for brunch, this little café right on the sand where—”
The gravel on the drive crunches, and we both turn around to see Jasper’s red sports car drive in.
“I can’t today,” I say, feeling my face tighten into a wince. “Jasper is taking me to the écréhous.”
Ted pulls a hand through his hair and nods, his brow briefly knitting before ironing out into a smile. His face is so much more expressive now that there is more of it to see—a pulsing muscle in his jaw and these dimpled smile lines around his mouth.