‘No…’ Well, hell, did he make up some story, or tell the truth?‘Sometimes when your hair catches the light, and the way it’s so compact and fuss-free reminds me of a lemon shortcake crust.’And her vibrant lemony perfume or body cream she wore just added to the idea.
‘I only know of the strawberry shortcake but never had it.’
‘You’ve never had the culinary classic?’He gasped in faux horror, hand to his chest and everything.
‘You must have.’
‘It was my favourite dessert growing up.It was a sign of spring when the lemon-berry shortcakes graced the table.You’ve never had one?’
She shook her head.
‘They’re like a sweet, crumbly scone with cream.You can put this down for a bit.’He plucked the camera from around her neck and swapped it for a fishing rod.‘You might not have tasted the fine flavours of a decent shortcake, but please tell me you know how to fish.’
‘I’ve filmed plenty of people fishing.I’ve never done it myself.’Romy looked positively lost holding a fishing rod instead of a camera.
‘It’s easy.’He rested her camera on the open windowsill, then loaded up her hook with some live bait from the nearby bucket.‘Now throw your line out.’
‘Where?’
‘Out there.’
‘You do it.’She pushed the rod into his hands.‘I don’t want to lose Chook’s rod.I was never a sporty person.’
‘I bet you were the type to take photos from the sidelines at school events.’
‘That’s true.’But she observed like she did—except without a camera—as he cast the fishing line out across the river.‘Now what?’
‘You sit there and hold the line.’He dragged the stool closer, then pushed on her shoulders, making her sit.
‘Don’t forget to tell her the road rules for fishing in the NT,’ called out Chook from his stool at the back of the boat.
‘Is Chook making that up like some pirate’s joke about fishing rules?’
Stone grinned at her sarcasm.‘There are size and bag limits on the number of fish you can catch and keep.But Chook is talking about the houseboat rules, which are: do not put your arm over the sidesever.No leaning over the side-rails,’ he said, giving the sunburnt, wooden rail a tap.‘And at no time do you ever put your hand in the water.’
‘You just did the safety speech on limbs again, like you give on the helicopter.’
‘And I’ll keep saying it if it means you get to keep your fingers and toes.’Stone playfully tapped the tip of her nose, her laugh tinkling so light over the water.
‘But if I get a fish?’
‘You have to land it.And there begins the challenge of the sport.’
‘The trick is,’ said Chook, jumping off his stool, his wooden leg thudding along the deck.‘You’ve gotta beat that mob of mongrels first.’He pointed across the river where a bask of crocodiles lay on the opposite riverbank.Six of them, each easily over three metres long, were just watching them.
Romy gasped, gripping the splintery wooden rail, it creaked beneath her as she started to lean closer.
‘Uh-huh.’Stone pulled her back by the shoulders.‘Fingers and toes, shortcake.’
‘Oh, sorry.’She stepped back, yet strained her neck to look closer.‘Can I have my camera?’
‘After you’ve finished fishing.’
‘But they’re just there.’
‘No doubt sizing you up, wondering how you’ll taste.’
‘Oh…’ Timidly, she pressed her back against the wall.‘Are we safe here?’
