Reluctantly In Love (Emerald Cove Romance Book 1)

by Siân James

  Something about her last words sounded inside me like a gong. I’d never heard the phrase until Camille had said it at brunch a few weeks ago. Hearing it for the second time, the truth of it resonated.

  Camille arrived with the bouquets in buckets of water, and we checked that the hair pieces were an appropriate size, wished her well and left our business card and well wishes.

  We were most of the way home before Camille, who was driving, spoke. “What has you so thoughtful over there, ma cherie?”

  I shifted in my seat, unsure where to begin. “Do you believe in true love?”

  She was silent a moment. I’d learnt over the years of our friendship that Camille was a bit of a philosopher and considered her words before speaking. I appreciated this about her and tried to emulate it, though I often failed and stuck my foot in it, as I had this morning with Matt.

  Thinking of Matt and my crass suggestion from this morning made me cringe. I’d been cringing all day because he was never far from my thoughts. And when I thought of him, I either daydreamed about his fine features or dwelled on whatever recent interaction we’d had in which I’d inevitably looked like a fool.

  What had happened when I’d leaned in to give him the cheek kiss? What had he been thinking? Had he been as overwhelmed by my nearness as I’d been by his? And why was this man so … attractive to me? I had no time for or interest in such things right now.

  A text pinged on my phone, and I glanced at it, half expecting a deluge of texts and voice messages from the contractors now we were back within reception range. But full bars had been restored to my phone ten minutes past, and this was the first text. And it was from my mother.

  Hi honey. Just wondering if you’re still coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Haven’t seen you in over ages and I want to make sure you’re well. Jim is cooking his mushroom lasagne for you. Xx

  I smiled and typed a quick response agreeing to be there. Mum must be feeling anxious. Jim was a good cook who had a few specialities, one of them being his mushroom lasagne. But he preferred to spend his time in the garden rather than slaving (as he called it) in the kitchen during the summer months. For him to offer to make me his lasagne—well, I knew that was his silent message to present myself promptly, or he’d be forced to come after me to appease my mother’s worry.

  Mum was super lucky to have Jim. But I could also make a great case for Jim being super lucky to have my mum. He’d had to work hard to win her over. She’d been on her own for so long, I think she’d given up the idea of sharing her life with anyone.

  When she was sixteen, she’d fallen in love with the wrong guy, that guy being my father. He was a few years older and to my grandparent’s annoyance he’d wooed her and schmoozed her and when she was on the cusp of starting university, having been accepted into a bio-medical science degree, he instead talked her into giving up her dream of studying in Sydney to stay in Emerald Cove with him and buy a farm with the small inheritance some distant family member had left him to grow organic produce. He’d convinced her he was going to make it big, organic being the new buzz word. Unfortunately, he had no idea how hard farming would be, and when Mum fell pregnant with me unexpectedly, it was the straw that broke my weak father’s back.

  He left before I was born, selling the farm and house Mum had been living in out from under her, so she had to move back in with her parents until she could get back on her feet.

  She worked hard, so bloody hard, when I was growing up. Her dreams of travel and a life without struggle something she was only able to achieve when I was old enough to leave home and go to university myself.

  “Oui.”

  Camille’s answer broke through the direction of my melancholy thoughts, and I took a moment to remember what I’d asked.

  “Et non,” she added.

  “Yes and no? Why Camille, you just answered everything,” I teased.

  She gave me a quick side-eye before turning back to the road. “It depends on what you are really asking me, ma cherie. That is to say, I do believe in the idea of true love. I believe it is something one can achieve with passion, compassion, compromise and time.” Her tone was thoughtful, though her words were measured. “However, if you are asking if I believe in love at first sight, or in only having one true love, then no. These are just fairy tales.”

  I turned to her, surprised. “You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

  She made a scoffing sound. “Non, love at first sight is nothing but lust at first sight. If two people who have lust also fall in love as they get to know one another, that’s different. That’s where the passion, compassion, compromise and time come in. Time being the key element.”

  To be honest, I’d never given the idea much thought. The concept of love at first sight was a bit of a fairytale, but it was one I liked to think existed for a select few. I know Jim claimed to have fallen for my mum the moment he met her. He said it was her smiling eyes. She told me one evening after too much wine that it was her boobs, and I will never be able to get that image out of my head.

  “So you think the key ingredients to love are passion, compassion, compromise and time?” I quoted and she nodded.

  “Oui, it’s one thing for there to be an attraction in the first place. This is necessary. Whether it be intense or not is neither here nor there. But when the—” She waved her hand. “How do you say, la lune de miel?”

  I mentally tried to translate her words but she found the answer before I did.

  “The honeymoon time—”

  “The honeymoon period,” I supplied.

  “Oui, when this time is over, it is important for both people to evaluate whether the other person is someone they still have passion with, and if they have passion, can they also find compassion and compromise when conflicts arise. And if these are things you are willing to do with this person over time to build your own version of true love.”

  I thought about Camille’s version of true love and found I agreed with the concept, but the idea of compromise was jarring. While I could admit compromise was essential to any relationship, my personal experience watching my mother struggle as a single mum after giving up everything was not something I wanted to repeat. Not to mention she’d drilled the idea of an education and career before boys into me with a thousand prayers and a hundred thousand sighs as I grew up. It was the mantra of my life.

  The van stopped. We were parked in the lot behind the old cinema complex and it was drizzling a soft rain that had been threatening for the last hour. I hoped our bride’s ceremony would be safe from the wet weather. A quick check on my weather app showed a brilliantly sunny afternoon forecast for the area of the winery we’d left behind.

  “Stalling?” Camille was nothing if not forward.

  “Yup.”

  “Because of Matt or because of the potential disaster we’re about to walk into?”

  I sighed. “Both,” I admitted.

  “Come on, little coward. I’ll hold your hand if you need me to.” She opened her door and waited for me to join her before linking her arm in mine. Shielding our faces we moved to the alley in the middle of the building.

  A dull light was glowing from the end of the hall and noises of industry clamored towards us.

  On the top of a trailer, a huge, white machine sat in the middle of the shop floor, electrical cords and cables extended in different directions powering three huge flood lights and various hand tools that were either in use or resting while their wielders tampered with other things.

  Aside from the machine, flood lights and extra cables, it looked like work as usual. My new carpenter saw me in the doorway and gave me a chin lift, jerked his thumb at the machine and gave me a thumbs up before going back to work.

  I studied the machine. A generator. A massive generator and I had no idea how I was going to cover the cost for something so huge. Tash and I had rented a small one when we went camping a few years back, and it had been a few hundred dollars for the weekend. This monster had
to be worth thousands.

  Anxiety wound tighter and tighter in my chest, spots appearing before my eyes, and I reached out for something to steady myself, my hand landing flat on a very warm wall.

  I turned my head.

  Not a wall. I was feeling up Matt Carter again.

  God damn it.

  I snatched my hand away.

  “You’re back.” He stated the obvious while I tried but failed to pull enough air into my lungs to stop the spots. “What do you think?” He nodded his head at the generator, and I noted the pleased expression on his face.

  The air was still frozen in my lungs so I checked over my shoulder, hoping Camille could carry the conversation while I quietly curled up in the corner and started rocking. But she had wandered into the back room where I knew the plumbers were setting up our kitchenette.

  I swung my head back to face him, and something about my expression must have alerted him to the fact that all was not well.

  He ducked his head. “Hey, are you okay?”

  One hand to my chest and one hand behind me, I shook my head and took a few steps back until I hit a wall. Crouching down, hands to the floor, I took some deep breaths.

  A panic attack.

  It’s just a little panic attack.

  No need to be alarmed, you have control, deep breaths. In, out, in, out.

  I used to suffer from panic attacks a lot when I was a teenager; they’d come back a period when I’d started the Little Flower Shop, but I thought I’d gotten on top of my anxiety.

  Disappointment in myself and shame mingled together, making the colour rise in my cheeks.

  When my vision stopped swimming and my ears stopped ringing, I was able to note the noise of industry still going on around me. Workmen continued to bang, clang, saw and drill.

  Matt was crouched next to me, his hand warm on my thigh.

  Eventually I tilted my head and peeked at him through my hair.

  There was no judgment on his face, just a genuine concern puckering a little crease between his eyebrows. “Better?” His low voice held no hint of mockery.

  I nodded and sank further to the floor, dislodging his hand and leaning back against the cool wall. He joined me and stretched his long legs out in front of him. ”You get those often?”

  I shook my head and wiped my hand from my upper lip down over my mouth. “No, it’s been a few years.”

  I felt more than saw him swallow hard and wondered if he was worrying about what kind of crazy he had partnered his business with.

  “One of my old university housemates used to suffer from panic attacks pretty bad. Always right before exams or when he had a paper due. One of the other guys and I got good at helping him through it. He’s great now though, got a great job, wife, family.” He paused as if weighing his next words. “He saw a therapist and said it helped heaps. Hardly gets them anymore.”

  I stiffened beside him and he must have sensed it because his next words rushed over themselves. “I’m not suggesting you do that of course. Sounds like they aren’t a common occurrence anyway.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry if you thought I was being—” He hesitated.

  “Pushy?”

  He shot me a sheepish look. “Yeah—”

  “Presumptuous? Rude? Pretentious? Assuming?” I continued.

  His gave me a self-deprecating side-eye. “You seem better.”

  I shrugged. “I saw a therapist a long time ago. I know how to gain control back when it happens.” Wanting to change the subject I nodded towards the generator. “What's the damage here? How much is it going to set me back?”

  I cringed, waiting for his estimate.

  When he didn’t speak, I peeked at him again. He really was sitting very close, not quite touching but the warmth from his arm radiated out towards mine, and I shivered. I was still a bit damp from running through the rain.

  “You don’t have to cover the cost of the generator. Oh shit.” His voice was strained. “Did this give you the panic attack?” He groaned and dropped his face into his hands, but I was stuck back and his first comment.

  I sat up, my hand on his arm. “Wait, what?”

  He pulled his face out of his hands, remorse etched in every line. “I’m so, so sorry Iz. I had no idea you—I should have texted or called you about it. I wanted to surprise you. If I’d known—”

  I waved his comment away impatiently and ignored the tingle in my belly when he called me “Iz”. How could he have known I’d have a panic attack?

  “You said I don’t have to cover the rental for the generator.” It was a statement but I wanted confirmation.

  He shook his head. “Of course not. I didn’t clear it with you. This is my building and my mistake. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to help. And I was able to get a deal last minute on this one because of a friend of a friend.” He waved his hand. “Though that’s beside the point. The point is our contract covers this. My insurance covers this. You have no responsibility.”

  I was having trouble processing his kindness. “But—” My mouth was still dry from my panic attack, so I licked my lips “But what about the other leaseholders? I didn’t see anyone else working.”

  He shrugged. “They all got the message in a timely fashion and cancelled their contractors. I called around and told them I was able to supply a generator for some work but no one was interested. They all had other plans.”

  His words made me feel like a failure. I was the only one who hadn’t gotten the message. He’d given out a letter, for goodness sake. How had I missed it?

  We sat in silence for a while, watching the workmen come and go. Camille rushed past, phone to her ear and gave us a quizzical glance before lifting her hand in a wave and dashing out the door.

  Matt asked about the wedding, and we laughed when I told him about the dragon-in-law. He shared a story about a friend’s in-laws, who were both a nightmare and conversation flowed until I couldn’t suppress my shivering anymore.

  Rain fell properly outside now. The sticky humidity weighed the air down, making the cavernous interior of my shop premises feel smaller, more intimate.

  “Well, I’d better get going.” I made to stand but Matt leaped up first and offered his hand. I hesitated then took it, feeling the strange fissure of energy and desire zip from his palm to mine again. I started to pull my hand back but he held firm. Not so firm it was weird, but if I’d followed through with pulling my hand away it would have been.

  Unable to hold his expressive stare, my eyes dropped to our joined hands. Mine, smaller and pale in his, big and tanned.

  For some reason the intimacy of holding hands longer than necessary gave me the courage to say what I’d be meaning to say since he told me he was covering all costs of the generator, essentially saving me a worthless day in which I’d have lost money paying contractors who had expected to work but couldn’t.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, my heart thumping in my throat. Why I felt so exposed over expressing gratitude, I didn’t know. I guessed because it felt as if I was giving him a piece of me. Never mind I was doing it willingly, it was still scary as hell. I took a breath and said it again, louder this time, “Thank you for everything you’ve done today. You could have just left me to deal with it, but you really went out of your way to help me, and saved me a ton of money in the process. I really don’t know how I can thank you enough.”

  When he didn’t immediately respond I lifted my eyes from our joined hands to his and holy cow.

  My belly swooped.

  He was watching me with such intensity, his eyes were doing that smoldering thing again but this time it felt different, more determined.

  His eyes dipped to my lips. “There is something I’d like.”

  Oh. My. God.

  Was this really happening? Was I in a twilight zone? I didn’t think this sort of thing happened in real life. I mean, unless I was mistaking his meaning …

  Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

  Don’t get ahead of you
rself. It could be completely harmless, let the man speak.

  “Yes?” Whoa, was that my voice? It sounded all breathy and seductive.

  His eyes lifted back to mine and something in my expression made the corner of his mouth tip up in an incredibly sexy half-grin. My swooping belly began to flutter. “Or two things really. But we can start with one, and you can choose.”

  “I can?” I squeaked.

  He nodded. “You can.”

  I licked my lips, anticipation building as his eyes dropped back to my mouth. “Originally I was hoping you’d let me take you out for dinner—”

  I had to admit, the way we’d been circling each other I wasn’t altogether surprised at his request, but still. And there went my traitorous pulse racing like I was the heroine in a romance novel.

  “But now I’m hoping we could start with a kiss.”

  “A kiss?” And why did my damn voice keep squeaking?

  He nodded firmly. “A kiss.” His eyes blazed, his hand closing tighter around mine. “I really want to kiss you Izzie. Will you let me?” His eyes dropped back to my lips and the low buzz that had been humming through my veins since he first sat down beside me made a beeline for my mouth.

  His perfectly formed lips were surrounded by blond stubble, which was now much closer to being a beard. I’d literally dreamt about those lips on mine, soft and gentle, then hard, devouring kisses. Would the reality be as good as the dream? I really, really wanted to find out—

  A loud clanging sounded from the shop floor only a few steps away, and I jumped back, snatching my hand from Matt’s. Without my realising it, we’d leaned into each other until our bodies were almost flush. I glanced around to see one or two curious workmen shooting glances our way, but aside from that, what had almost transpired between Matt and I had apparently gone unnoticed by anyone else.