The Pearl Farm – Part 2: Night Tide

"I'd like that," said Hannah. "Very much."

The kiss tasted of salt and warm evening. Luke's hand, still rough from rope and shell, cradled her jaw. She laughed softly, slid her arms around his neck, and held on. The jetty creaked gently. Beyond the dark bay, a distant light blinked on a passing ship.

"I'd like to show you something," he said. "If you're not too tired."

"I'm not tired at all."

He led her along the jetty and up the path to a tin-roofed bungalow on stilts, with a wide verandah and a ceiling fan turning slowly. Frogs sang in the mangroves. The air was warm and smelled of frangipani and the sea. He lit a single lantern and poured two glasses of cold white wine.

"It's not much," he said.

"It's perfect."

They sat in canvas chairs, shoulders touching, as the stars came out in thousands over the water. The Milky Way arched from one horizon to the other. A shooting star fell and vanished.

"Did you wish?" asked Luke.

"I did. You?"

"I think I got mine already."

The bedroom was small and open to the night, with a mosquito net drawn around a wide bed and a soft breeze moving through the louvres. They undressed slowly, laughing at salt-stiff shirts and tangled laces, and found each other under the net with a tenderness that was unhurried and sure. The fan turned. The sea breathed. Outside, the tide went out and came back in.

In the morning, the sun rose pink and gold over the bay. Hannah sat on the verandah with coffee, holding the silver-pink pearl up to the light.

"I'm going to make something with this," she said.

"What?"

"A ring, I think. A very simple one." She turned and smiled at him. "I'd like to know your size."

Luke laughed, delighted. "We'll have to take a few more measurements. Possibly at length."

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