by Nicola Marsh
She’d invited him back here to get past potential awkwardness after riding him like a bronco at the roadhouse. But there hadn’t been any and that had surprised her more than anything. Once she’d got her gear back on and he’d visited the men’s room, they’d held hands and walked out, only pausing to lock up. It had all seemed so … natural. It should’ve terrified her, but it didn’t. This was Kody. And he’d always had a piece of her heart even if he didn’t know it.
‘Come here.’ He sat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him. ‘I want to hold you.’
Her heart fluttered like a bird trapped in a cage as she did exactly that, fitting into the crook of his arm. She handed him his beer and they clinked bottles, content to sip on the boutique brew in silence. Leaning her head back against his shoulder, she stretched out her legs next to his. They fit on the sofa as well as they’d fit together at the roadhouse. Natural. Meant to be.
‘Thanks for standing by me tonight,’ he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair.
Her heart swelled but she wanted to keep this light. ‘You know Ben E. King already did a song about that, right?’
He chuckled. ‘Yeah, I know. But I just want to let you know I couldn’t have faced my demons if it hadn’t been for you.’
Now she knew why he’d wanted her in his arms like this, her back to him: so she couldn’t see his face. His voice sounded tight with emotion and she wondered if this was the right time to ask him about those demons. She didn’t expect him to answer. He’d fob her off, change the subject, get back to banter.
‘I know how much performing means to you. It’s your life. So … what really happened at that concert?’
His arm flexed where it rested on her shoulders, tension coiling through his body. ‘It’s my fault those people died,’ he said, so softly she thought she’d misheard. ‘We have a designated fireworks expert on tour who really knows his stuff. The band just wants to play music, but our managers and promoters insist on the whole shebang these days so we have fireworks as part of our second set.’
He blew out a breath and continued, ‘Our guy was sick with gastro and a few of the guys wanted to scrap the fireworks. But I insisted we deliver for our fans, so agreed for the lead stagehand, supposedly a local expert, to set everything up. There was a malfunction apparently—an accident, and not his fault but …’
He shuddered and silence stretched between them before he spoke again. ‘That malfunction caused a mini-explosion and a fire. The fans panicked and there was a stampede.’ His voice hitched. ‘If I hadn’t insisted on those bloody fireworks, seven innocent people would still be alive.’
Tears burned the back of her eyes. He’d been shouldering the blame for those deaths. No wonder he’d walked away for a while.
She half-swivelled in his arms, not surprised to find his face pale and tension pinching his mouth. Laying a comforting hand on his chest, she said, ‘That firework malfunction could’ve happened any time, at any concert. You’re not to blame for it.’
He gave a half-nod, but his lips still compressed into a line. ‘That’s what the online psych said. I poured a lot of crap out and he helped me work through it.’ He covered her hand with his, pressing it against his chest. ‘But you did too.’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘Yeah, you did. You let me into Isla’s life. You didn’t judge me for being an angry, bitter guy doing his best to push you away. You trusted me with our daughter—’ He gulped, the sheen in his eyes matching hers when their gazes met. ‘You’ve always been special, Tash, I hope you know that.’
She could say so much. She could let every wild emotion bubbling inside spill over and terrify him as much as they petrified her. But nothing had changed between them. Now that he’d conquered his stage fright he’d leave sooner rather than later, but with a watertight custody agreement in his guitar case. An agreement they had to nut out before that could happen. Better to keep things light between them. Besides, it would make Isla happy to see her parents getting along. Though the part where they’d got physical would be kept under wraps. No point confusing the poor child or giving her false hope for some kind of reunion.
‘You’re an incredible man,’ she said, slipping her hand out from under his to cup his cheek. ‘And I’m glad you’re confronting your fears. But Isla will be home in the morning and I have a feeling we won’t be able to recapture the closeness of tonight, so let’s make the most of it.’
He arched an eyebrow as she wriggled down the couch and slid to her feet. Holding out her hand to him, she waited. Surely one night of wild, wanton sex for old times’ sake wouldn’t be so bad?
When he placed his hand in hers, she had her answer.
She’d make tonight count.
CHAPTER
35
Jane worked alongside Mason for two days. Forty-eight excruciating hours when she channelled a professional persona and tried not to remember how it had felt having him curled up under a throw rug on her couch. The upside being she’d been so hell-bent on focussing on work that the bulk of the interior design was done. The shop had been in good nick and only needed a coat of paint, which the contractors did on the first day, and revamping the counter to include a glass display case. The rest of the work had been window dressing, her domain, and she’d thrown herself into it with gusto.
The wrought-iron tables and chairs in pristine white had been delivered and set up, and French movie posters hung in strategic places on the walls. She’d carried a pastel theme of mint and lemon throughout, lending the place a bright, airy feel. Once the stencilling had been done on the front glass and a sign hung, her part of the job would be complete.
The great thing about designing the interior was not bumping into Mason very often. He’d been supervising the kitchen revamp and had been on his phone for much of the week, contacting suppliers for new ovens and utensils. Betty had insisted she could get the best price from a local guy in Echuca but Mason had wanted to investigate for himself, so Betty had rolled her eyes at Jane and left him to it.
Jane stood back, surveying the room, proud of what she’d achieved. Once the electrician finished installing and wiring the new light fittings later today, she could take photos and update her website. She’d forgotten how satisfied doing a good job could make her feel. And with a little luck, when townsfolk saw what she’d done with this place they’d be more inclined to give her more work. Not that she could ever make a living out of interior design in a town this small but that wasn’t the point. She wanted to feel valued in a way she never had. Gladys had seen to that.
There’d been no more calls from her mother to Mason; or if there had been, he hadn’t told Jane. The thought of Gladys trying to sabotage this job before it had begun made her want to throw something. She had tolerated her mother’s shoddy behaviour too long, tried to shame her into having a conscience and it hadn’t worked. Which meant they needed to have the confrontation Jane had been putting off for a decade.
Not that it would change anything. She wasn’t that naïve. But saying what had to be said might go some way to soothing the disquiet within.
She’d wait until the patisserie opened then she’d arrange a meeting, for no other reason than she wanted to enjoy the happy occasion. Betty deserved all the success in the world and so did Mason. He’d given up a glam life, even if it mightn’t be for long, to return home and do this, and she wished him all the best.
Gathering her things, Jane’s breath hitched as Mason strode from the kitchen, barking orders into his mobile, before hanging up with a muttered, ‘Dickhead.’
When he caught sight of her his frown cleared. ‘You done for the day?’
‘Uh-huh. I’m done, period.’
He blinked and looked around, as if seeing it all for the first time. Crazy, because he’d been popping in and out and had given his approval for everything. But this was the first time he’d see the finished product of her labours and she yearned for his approval.
‘Wow.’ He
stood in the middle of the patisserie and did a slow three-sixty. ‘It’s perfect.’
Heat flushed her cheeks at his praise. ‘I love how it turned out exactly as we envisioned.’
‘Don’t do that.’ He wiggled a finger at her. ‘This was mostly you. You had an idea, you presented it to me, we agreed and you did it.’
‘Thank you.’ Silly that she craved his praise so much but now she had it she burned with embarrassment. Then again, she hadn’t been praised for much in her life. The uncharacteristic feeling of accomplishment was foreign to her.
‘My pleasure, though you’re paying me enough, so I had to produce something of value.’
He laughed. ‘Stop underselling yourself. You’ve got real talent.’
Increasingly uncomfortable, she leaned on a table. ‘I’ve always loved colour matching and the course I did years ago opened my eyes to how much I actually enjoy bringing a room together.’
‘Why haven’t you done more projects?’
His curiosity was natural but she couldn’t give him an honest answer. Instead she said, ‘How many people in Brockenridge do you think would want to hire an interior designer and how often?’
He grimaced. ‘Good point.’ He hesitated, as if unsure whether to continue. ‘Why did you stick around? Of all the kids at school, I thought you would’ve hit the highway as soon as the graduation ceremony finished.’
‘What does “of all the kids” mean?’
He smiled, rueful, as if she’d caught him out. ‘Come on, Jane, you were the most popular girl and owned every room you strutted into. You were confident and gorgeous—you would’ve taken any city by storm.’
Flustered and incredibly flattered, she flashed him a coy smile. ‘Gorgeous, huh?’
‘You still are, but you don’t need me to tell you that.’ His gaze swept over her from head to foot like a physical caress, leaving her feeling vulnerable, as if he’d stripped away her jeans and T-shirt so she stood naked in front of him.
‘Actually, I do,’ she said, mentally chastising herself for flirting but unable to resist after his flattering appraisal. ‘It never hurts to get a confidence boost.’
His smile faded and she could’ve sworn the air, heated a moment ago, actually cooled. ‘What happened to you?’
Uh-oh. He’d seen through her. How did he do that?
She’d have to fake it like she’d done her whole life, pretending everything was fine when on the inside she died a little every day because she had no one to depend on. No real friends, no family. It sucked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve changed a lot. You’ve lost confidence.’
He took a few steps towards her and she wished she’d left when she’d first intended to. Having this man strip away her defences could only end badly. He wasn’t a keeper. He’d leave, and she could handle that, but it meant getting a grip on her stupid crush and stop wishing things could be different.
He stepped in front of her, concern darkening his eyes. ‘Did some guy do a number on you?’
‘No.’
‘This can’t be all about your mum.’
‘You know nothing about me,’ she said, holding up a hand when he looked like he wanted to hug her. ‘So please don’t try to psychoanalyse.’
He stiffened, his expression frosty. ‘I’m not doing that.’
‘Then what’s this about?’
‘I just want to get to know you better, damn it. I know you feel the attraction between us and now that your work here is done, why are you still determined to hold me at arms’ length?’
‘Because no good can come of you and me getting involved.’ She straightened, picked up her things, and held them to her chest like a shield. Then she turned on her heel and strode towards the door, but he didn’t let her get far. His hand clamped down on her shoulder and he spun her to face him.
‘Have dinner with me.’
Her heart leapt at the thought of a real date with Mason but she’d been right a moment ago: no good could come of this. She needed to stop creating fanciful notions in her head, scenarios that involved the two of them together for longer than a fling. Because that’s all she could ever be for him. That’s all guys were ever interested in with her. They saw blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs, and instantly thought ‘easy lay’. The fact she’d played up to the stereotype for a while to embarrass her mother was all on her. She’d done herself no favours and in trying to reinvent herself in a town this size she knew it would be tough.
People gossiped about her. Even though she’d never been as bad as they thought she was, and no matter what she did now they still judged and found her lacking. Maybe it was time to move away? Have the final confrontation with her mother and move on? She hadn’t done it before now because she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of winning. Because that’s exactly how Gladys would view Jane leaving Brockenridge; that she was the victor.
‘If you have to think that long and hard about having dinner with me, I’m guessing the answer is no?’ He didn’t sound put out, more amused.
‘Isn’t the electrician finishing the light installation tonight?’
‘We can be back in time for that.’
‘We?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Here’s a newsflash for you. Just because your job here is done doesn’t mean you don’t get to be a part of it. You’re responsible for this. You’re friends with my mum. Don’t you want to see the whole thing come to fruition?’
She’d love nothing better but the longer she spent in his company without the excuse of business between them, the more likely she would be to fall for him.
‘This is your dream, but we’re done here, and I don’t want to complicate things by hanging around because I like you.’
His lop-sided grin infused her with warmth. ‘You like me?’
‘Yeah, go figure.’
‘As it so happens, I like you too. A lot. But I thought you already knew that? I don’t sit through Notting Hill under a throw rug with just anybody, you know.’
‘Actually, I don’t know, and that’s half the problem.’ She sighed. ‘I have no idea what’s going on here, Mason, but I’m done with flings. So if that’s what you’re after—’
‘Stop. We haven’t even been on a date yet so aren’t you jumping ahead a little?’
‘I don’t want to set up false expectations.’ Because if he did put the moves on her she knew she’d be powerless to resist. Tall, blond, rugged and the guy could bake—resistance was futile.
‘Dinner. Tonight. You and me. No expectations. You choose the restaurant.’
She should say no. She already liked him too much to be good for her.
But they’d worked well together and deserved a treat, so she found herself reluctantly nodding. ‘I know just the place.’
Jane took Mason to the roadhouse because it was the least romantic place in town and guaranteed to be packed. After his probing questions and insight earlier she didn’t feel like facing any deep and meaningful conversations, so the raucous vibe of the The Watering Hole would be perfect.
He didn’t seem fazed by her choice of venue and, as they entered, he greeted several familiar faces like long-lost relatives. People flocked to men like Mason because he exuded a genuine charm; no BS, no ego, just one of their own returning to Brockenridge to start a new business. Many asked him about the patisserie and he invited them all to the grand opening the following week.
Several people cast Jane curious glances. She’d tried to slip away to organise a table but Mason wouldn’t allow her, taking hold of her hand instead, leaving inquiring minds in little doubt that they were more than friends. Not entirely true, but it was easier to go with the flow than make a big deal out of it.
By the time they made it to their table, her face ached from smiling so much, something she rarely did when interacting with townsfolk these days. Then again, she never mingled with people the way Mason had just done. Because she expected judgement, she kept any chatting to a minimum, of
fering nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement and an occasional smile. Maybe if she shrugged the chip off her shoulder and started opening up a little more, people wouldn’t stare at her with wariness.
‘You okay?’ He touched her hand across the table, a brief graze of his fingertips against the skin on the back of it, and her body flared to life. Ridiculous.
‘Fine.’ Her response came out high-pitched and he raised an eyebrow.
‘Just hungry,’ she clarified, snatching up a menu she could hide behind.
Mason didn’t call her out on the lie. But after they’d placed their orders, mushroom risotto for her, honey-glazed lamb rack for him, he studied her with that all too astute stare.
‘Interesting choice of venue,’ he said, his lips curved in amusement. ‘We’ve already eaten here so I was hoping for something different.’
‘Harry serves the best food in Brockenridge, so why go anywhere else?’
He leaned forwards, resting those strong forearms on the table. ‘For a little privacy? So we could actually hear our conversation without having to shout it?’
‘This place is great. Maybe you’re too used to posh Parisian cafés and restaurants?’
He waggled a finger at her. ‘Stop making me out to be a snob. Brockenridge will always be home to me.’
The guy had to be crazy. Paris or Brockenridge? No comparison.
‘How long do you think you’ll stay?’ Inquiring minds wanted to know, mostly hers, as his gaze darted away, almost furtively, before he refocussed on her.
‘If it wasn’t for Mum busting her arse, I never would’ve made it to Melbourne let alone Paris so I owe her, and I want this patisserie to be a successful adjunct to the bakery. That means I’ll be around for a month or two until it really gets off the ground and I can show her how to make the fancier stuff.’
Jane’s heart sank. Four to eight weeks and he’d be gone. While she’d known he wouldn’t stay, it hurt more than it should to hear him say it.
