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climbed onto the water taxi, the boat rocking slightly as each person climbed aboard. Christie stared unseeing out into the bay, focusing her anger on Blake, silently asking him furious questions in her mind, oblivious to the conversation of the other passengers.
    “Ready to go, Christie?” She turned around, saw Ian looking at her, nodded politely. Soon the boat was skimming over the bay and despite Blake’s unexpected presence Christie started to relax, captivated by the scenery and watching for the approach of the tidal estuary that she knew they would turn into before stopping at Freshwater Landing. Although the water taxi was small, Blake had ignored her after lifting her into the boat and setting her down; she could see him talking to another passenger, his back turned, his casual tramping clothes not detracting from his tall, powerful frame. Other passengers recognised her as being part of the hotel staff and Christie was soon drawn into a discussion about the national park and the Mason Bay area.
    “Incredible that the park is 85 percent of the island, isn’t it?” one tourist said. “And the entire beach at Mason Bay is 19 kilometres long.” Christie smiled politely, listening to the tourist continuing to recite facts and trivia about the area, thinking of her own plans for the next two days. She had purchased a detailed map from the information centre, confirmed that she could walk right down the beach to what the ranger had described as a wild and desolate area known as The Gutter.
    Christie was determined to put her heartbreak aside and make the most of the trip, thinking back to the many trips she had enjoyed years ago as part of the university tramping club, the weekend camping trips with her parents as a child that had fostered her love of the outdoors. And then she had met Paul, both of them focusing on their careers, the cocktail parties and networking, the business dinners. And so I stopped tramping , Christie said softly  
    to herself, her face set, realising what she had sacrificed as she looked around the vast landscape. Suddenly she could not wait to get to Freshwater Landing, to start the tramp and explore Mason Bay.
    Soon the water taxi was turning into the estuary and Christie looked ahead, watching for the jetty. “It’ll be a while yet.” She heard Blake’s voice, turned her head, striving for a neutral expression. Blake stood there, perfectly balanced against the angle of the deck. The sight of Blake’s thin woollen top moulded to his toned, lithe torso made her catch her breath; she watched as he folded his lightly tanned arms across his chest, fighting a wave of longing she couldn’t define.
    Christie nodded briefly, anger at Blake’s presence on the water taxi still smouldering. He seemed unaware of her emotion. “A world away from inner city Auckland, isn’t it?” he continued, uncannily mirroring her own thoughts. Reluctantly, she raised her face to look at him, was unable to read anything in his face. “Yes,” Christie said, unaware her enthusiasm about the trip was showing on her face. “I went tramping a lot at university,” she said suddenly, almost unwillingly, Blake thought. “But not since?” Blake asked. “No,” Christie said, seeming preoccupied. “It’s good to be outdoors again.”
    “Yes,” Blake replied. “Especially since your pack is so much lighter now.”  
    A reluctant smile curved Christie’s mouth as she heard his words. Paul never teased me like that. The thought was gone before Christie fully acknowledged it. “If I’d known you’d be here, I’d have made sure it was heavier,” she retorted, unable to keep the edge from her voice.  
    He grinned down at her. “And still not let me carry it.”
    Still needled by Blake’s unexpected presence on the water taxi and unnerved by his casual reference to Auckland, Christie spoke vehemently, overreacting to his words. “So what if I don’t? I don’t need you to treat me like some sort of