They sat in the far corner of the beach bar, arms resting lightly on the wooden poles that ran around the perimeter. Fortunately there’d been an empty table. Mark knew how busy this place could get. Sam faced him, sipping a Coke. Mark studied the young man in front of him. Mark was twenty, so that made Sam approximately twenty-three. He’d got it right on Saturday: those blue eyes were stunning. But now that Mark had the opportunity to really look at him, there was a vulnerability in Sam’s expression that he hadn’t spotted previously. What goes on in that head of yours, hon? The server arrived with their lunch and all such thoughts were forgotten as Mark dug in enthusiastically. The sea air always made him hungry. Sam ate at a more sedate pace, looking out to sea at the sailboats and yachts which were making their way slowly around the eastern coast of the island. There were always more boats around the island during Cowes week, when it seemed like half the world’s yachting fraternity descended on the island for the boat races and speed trials.
