by Sofia Aves
Glass tinkled as it was brushed from clothing. Swivelling slightly, I made to stand. On the desk behind me, stood the wooden box. Wouldn’t the thieves be furious when they realised Glasses had taken the key but forgotten the box? One of the patrons who had been cowering against my counter leaned over to me.
“Looks like they left something important behind,” he said with a sad smile. I nodded, still staring at the box, lost in thought. A tiny sob broke the murmur from the hostages, and we both looked up.
The little girl stood in the centre of the wreckage, her glitter wand drooping to brush the faded carpet, covered with a different sort of sparkle.
Eyes wide, I turned to the man who had spoken, recognising him as the owner of a local grocery store.
“I think they left behind more than one thing.”
Silence fell, heavy as a shroud. Heads turned to the little girl who wandered aimlessly in the centre of the deconstructed bank, tears coursing down a face partially covered by dirty-blonde locks. Dust motes danced around the small figure in the afternoon light as brightly decorated police cars drew up along the bank front. Men swarmed toward the window.
The wand dropped to the floor.
“Daddy?”
CHAPTER TWO
MILA
FIVE YEARS LATER
The air conditioning in my car died on the hottest day of the year, so far, though it was only early spring. Inside my car was so humid, I was swimming in sweat. Dark hairs plastered over my eyes. I swiped at them, crawling forward with the rest of the traffic.
Opening all the windows to let in what little moving air there was, I glanced up in time to catch the change in the traffic lights. Heat reflected through the windscreen, the road a wavering mirage.
A hard jolt from behind shunted me out of my daze. I slammed forward, pain radiating across my shoulders, down my back. Sultry air was replaced by the hardness of the steering wheel, hidden beneath the deceitfully soft sheepskin cover Gran had always insisted I use.
I’d kept it as an extra thing to reminisce over, but it failed its main purpose. A loud crack reverberated between my ears as my forehead connected with the solid steering wheel beneath.
Time halted, and I wondered if the crack was the car or my head. I folded forward, suspended by the seat belt, pressing the heel of my hand against tender skin.
“Ow.”
It was the only coherent thought I had.
“Oh, my god. Are you okay?”
I jumped at the voice beside me, not expecting it. Still clutching my head, I peered into the wing mirror, not game to raise my chin in case it increased the throbbing that consumed me.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, staring at the long-haired man bending to look in through my window. Blonde dreadlocks framed the bronzed face of a minor god.
“Ma’am?”
A worried look strained his perfect features, and ridiculously I jumped to answer, not wanting to cause any further stress to the earth-bound deity standing beside me. I nodded energetically and immediately regretted it.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, leaning low as blood dripped from my nose. I stuffed a tissue against my nostrils to stop the flow. The heat trapped in the car thickened around me until I could barely take a breath. “Ohh.”
“Ah.”
The door to my remarkably unsexy Ford Fiesta was ripped open, screeching on tortured hinges. A slim, long-fingered hand matching the bronzed face above wrapped around my arm, tugging gently.
“Ma’am, I need to get you to stand. Can you do that?”
I nodded again, my vision blurring at the edges. My heels found the ground, and I put weight on them, expecting to stand as any rational person would do. Instead, my knees collapsed from under me. Waiting to hit the deck, I braced for the drop.
Suddenly finding myself curled on the ground was a decidedly ignominious moment. I studied my shoes. Scuffs decorated the toes of shiny, patent sandals. For a moment, that seemed the most important thing in the world.
Then the pain returned, crashing against the front of my skull with a vengeance.
Weight bowed my shoulders. I looked around with bleary eyes to find a blanket wrapped about them. Liquid, brown eyes found my green ones. I stared, lost for a moment in the golden flecks that streamed like sunlight from the centre.
“Ma’am. Are you okay?”
The blanket was warm, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Would this earthbound deity let me rest on him for a moment?
“I’m fine,” I murmured, wriggling to make myself comfy. Maybe I could use a different word, spice up this limited conversation. Hands set me upright. I struggled for a moment, then gave up with a disgruntled sigh. “I’m fine,” I repeated myself, not certain who I was trying to reassure.
“Oh, god. You’re bleeding!”
I tried to stop his flapping hands, protesting to deaf ears. He bent down, trying to press into my side where it was covered in red. Far too bright to be blood, but he didn’t appear to have registered that.
I placed one hand on either side of his face, drawing him up to look into those warm eyes. Thick lashes surrounded them, perfectly framing an aquiline nose and strong jaw.
I desperately wanted to paint him.
His brow dipped — in concentration or concern? I lost his gaze as he refocused on an injury I didn’t have.
How come the boys always got the best lashes?
“No. No, I’m fine,” I said, yet again. Original, Mila. Then, a little louder, “I’m fine. It’s just paint.”
“Paint?” Sceptical. “From what?”
“My paints. I paint.” This conversation is not going so well. “It’s okay,” I repeated, sliding my thumb over his lips to shush him, palms still framing the art in front of me. “It’s paint. I mean, I’m an artist.”
He looked down to where the red stained my shirt and then back up.
“Paint?” It came out a trifle weak, but relief was evident in his eyes. His lips split in a wide grin, eyes twinkling. Doubt clouded them for a moment. “You’re sure?”
I nodded, my soggy shirt warm where his hand had rested. I realised how close he was and dropped my hands, taking a quick breath that strangled a little in my throat. Pain blossomed across my chest as panic began to cloud in. This perfect-looking man was a total stranger, and here I was touching him like we’d woken up together. Plus, he had rear-ended my car.
I groaned, thinking of the damage. Being late for my next appointment could be an issue — this client was very particular about tardiness. Not something to look forward to, I thought, sweat prickling my arms. I shrugged off the blanket, recalling it was a warm spring, and folded it. It was plucked from my hands as I sighed. I hated being late.
“I have to get to an appointment. Ah– shouldn’t we swap details? For insurance purposes,” I added in a hurry, lest he assume I was hitting on him.
Someone who looks like that probably gets it all the time.
I smiled into those brown eyes, surprised to see him shifting from side to side; hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes slid from mine. I took in the breadth of his shoulders, shirt straining across his chest, sleeves rolled to expose forearms that came with hours of manual labour. Pale dreads hung down his back, an errant few drifting over his shoulder.
Damn, but he was fine.
His fidgeting didn’t stop as I edged around him to glimpse the damage. My little bubble was crushed: plastic bumper crumpled, boot half ajar, one corner folded in on itself. The lights on one side dangled sadly, attached only by their wires.
“I was wondering if we might, er, keep this to ourselves? A cash job.”
I jumped, brought back to reality with a rush. I hadn’t realised he had followed me around the car. Cash job? Though his tone was light, flushed cheeks belied the casual words. He looked away, avoiding my gaze.
Super dodgy.
“You don’t have a license? Or no insurance?” I couldn’t keep the derision out of my voice as I guessed his reasons, but
I didn’t really care. It was petty; I wanted to make him as uncomfortable as I could, determined not to be taken in by a scammer. “You ran into me, remember?”
He nodded, running a hand through his dreads.
“Sure, and I totally understand how that sounds — I do have a license and insurance and all, I just don’t want work to find out.”
He half mumbled the last part. I looked over the low riding sedan: wide tyres and lots of chrome. Fresh paint made the car glow, and the heaviest looking radio antenna I’d ever seen adorned the bulbar. It looked as though it would take a Brahman bull to knock it over.
Compensating for something?
Chiding myself for being nasty, I checked my watch. Really late, now.
“Company car?”
“Sort of.”
Wow, he was really making me work for it.
“So…what do you do? I get they’d be upset about an accident, but I can’t imagine you’d lose your job over it…”
I trailed off, staring. He held out his leather wallet, flipped open. There, clear as day, was a police ID card. A small photograph in the bottom corner depicted a much younger version of the man standing in front of me.
“Oh.”
I couldn’t think of anything better to say. The god with dreads was a cop? A tiny giggle escaped me. He peered at me suspiciously.
“Were you on the radio? For work?”
Was that how cops worked? I had no idea.
“No, I was uh…” The shifty look back again, he cleared his throat. “I was on my phone. Texting. Uh, ex-girlfriend. I’ve been trying not to have contact with her.” He groaned when my eyebrows shot up. “That came out really bad. Break up was a shocker. I’m trying to get away from it. But if work finds out…”
He looked at me expectantly. For sympathy, perhaps? I tried, but couldn’t keep the corners of my lips from curling.
“You ran up the back of me because you were texting your ex?”
He nodded.
“And you can’t tell work because they’ll rib you for it for the next year or so?”
He nodded again, looking slightly put out. Well, he had run up the back of me, not the other way around.
“Pretty much.”
I began to laugh, a giggle at first that quickly became full-blown hilarity. He stared — concern written across his gorgeous face, likely wondering whether I’d lost it. I flapped at him, grasping my side where the paint had dried into a thin crust, itching my skin as crinkles flaked over my fingers. Still laughing, I bent over, and plopped back to the gutter, taking short breaths as pain returned in my chest, throbbing dully.
“Look, I can make it up to you,” he towered over me, “happy to pay cash and I have a mate who could fix– no, that sounds terrible. You pick the repair shop, and I’ll pay for it. I just don’t want to report it.”
He kept rambling as I stared up at him, hand to my head which was playing its own symphony of pain.
“I know it sounds bad, but I can promise you I can pay for the damage, I– oh, hell. Can I take you out?”
My mouth dropped open, staring up at the sun-kissed god leaning over me while I sat in the gutter like a trollop.
“I–I don’t even know your name,” I whispered.
The smile that graced his face turned him from beautifully bronzed to blindingly bright.
“Callum. Dane. Cal. Cal is fine.” He was stuttering as much as I was in my head.
I smiled in reply and forgot to answer. He still stared at me until finally, I remembered to speak.
“Yes.”
I arrived at the café five minutes early. Cal had messaged me a few times after we had exchanged numbers, organising for my car to be repaired. A quick and easy fix, thankfully. It was good to have my car back — I hated being without it.
Cal was happy with the results, thanking me for letting him sort it out off the books. His last message about taking me out was hesitant, and I hadn’t wanted to appear too eager in return, but my curiosity won out.
Five minutes early was a little later than I would normally turn up for an appointment, but in this case, I didn’t want to appear overly eager. And it wasn’t an appointment, really — more like a date.
Or a bribe.
Tonight was the only time I’d been able to find in my week that matched his RDOs. He’d suggested a café on the corner of Eat Street; one I’d seen in passing but never been into before.
I hesitated as I locked my car, uncomfortable in the crowd that filled the trendy area well away from the comfort zone of my own home deep in Melbourne’s suburbs, and wondered if I was doing the right thing. Recalling the golden glow emanating from Cal, his perfect face and muscled arms — I was always a sucker for those — the discomfort reduced enough for me to leave my car.
Settle down, ovaries.
Approaching the café set on the corner of two main roads, I noted couples bent over steaming cups, and small tables with their chairs tucked together to create an intimate setting. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth when I tried to swallow. It had been a long time — a very long time — since my last date. If that’s what this was. Shoving my doubts to the back of my mind, I tugged the heavy doors open, releasing a cloud of warmth.
The scent of chocolate hit me in a wave: dark, earthy tones, mingling with a fruity zest. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing it in. Cal had chosen a chocolatier, and I hadn’t even known. This was definitely a man to keep.
Get your head out of your hormones, Mila.
Looks aside, I wondered what had made the ex-girlfriend so irate. A small part of me said not to pry, but my mind couldn’t let it go. Miss Nosy Parker, I thought ruefully, scanning the crowded room for his head of blond dreads.
There were no long-haired men in the room, though, not even a man-bun present. The last date I’d been on had turned up half an hour late, which had irritated me. The rest of the evening hadn’t gone well, either — a friend had set me up with a workmate who turned out to be rather pasty and allergic to everything on the menu.
He’d watched while I picked uncomfortably at my solo dinner until a waiter tripped over his chair, dousing him with prawn laksa. The last I’d seen of him was in an ambulance that rushed him away, red-faced and still swelling. I hoped tonight wouldn’t be a repeat.
I sighed and headed for the only empty table near a single man; head bowed over his phone. He, like Cal, sported a gorgeous tan. What was it with golden, sexy men this week? My hormones couldn’t take much more of this. I noted his freshly-shaven head; a tan line around the side of his face and neck made it evident.
As I hesitated, the man looked up, brown eyes staring into mine. He rose quickly, gifting me with a blinding smile.
“Cal?”
“Mila.”
His voice was soft, just loud enough to be heard over the constant murmur inside the cafe.
“What happened to your…” I gestured to the top half of him. His smile became a broad grin.
“Case is over. I won’t miss them.”
“Oh?”
“Mmh. Too itchy with the sand.” He grinned when I raised an eyebrow. “Lots of surfing.”
“There’s a story there, I’m sure.” I paused, studying him. Without the dreads to frame his face, he was more open, more relaxed-looking, if that was possible. Still amazing, though. Out of the sunlight, his glow dimmed, but only slightly. He still drew the eye. I tilted my head, considering. “I liked them.”
The words were out of my mouth before much thought went into them. Embarrassed, I plucked a menu from the stand in the centre of the table, sliding into the only other chair, opposite him. My knees bumped his long legs as I shifted, attempting to stuff my oversized tote beneath the table discreetly.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, sweeping hair away from my face, a little flustered. My heart rate rose, thumping uncomfortably. It was as though I couldn’t settle around this man.
“I hope you don’t mind the place…I didn’t know if you were a health food
fanatic, or–” He stopped, reddening.
“I’m not,” I rushed to fill the awkward space, noting his discomfort. “A fanatic, that is. I’m not one, I mean. Or that healthy.”
Oh, this is going great. Awesome conversational skills, Mila.
Cal grinned at me when I emerged from behind my menu.
“That’s good.”
“So…what’s the case you were working on? The one that required the dreads.” I grasped the only thing I knew about him, but I genuinely missed the long blonde hair. “They had some good length. How long were you undercover for?” Is that what I should ask? I had no idea.
Cal’s expression darkened. He placed his menu carefully on the table, pressing the edges down with firm hands.
“It didn’t quite turn out the way I wanted, though we got the result we needed. Still, the bastar– the bloke got away. Again.” He ran a hand over his head, dropping it down as though searching for dreads that weren’t there anymore. “Nineteen months, most of it wasted. If he’s out of state, I’ll have to pass it to another department.”
Well, that explained the length of the dreads.
“Okay, so you do…undercover work and um...?” I tried to piece the story together. Not much of a crime or police fan, I wasn’t sure what to ask. “It sucks that you lost him.”
“Yeah, it does. Undercover for too long…but it’s good to be back, wear real clothes again. More than board shorts, anyway.”
I imagined him bare-chested, stomach and chest rippling with muscles, and immediately wished I hadn’t. The boy was too hot to start with.
A waitress appeared beside us. I ordered the largest coffee on offer in a takeaway cup, though I didn’t think I’d need to use the emergency exit tonight. Or hoped. It was my standard order, though I eyed off a tasting platter. Would it be presumptuous to suggest it? I was too out of touch with the dating scene. I opened my mouth, preparing to jump in when Cal did it for me, even requesting extra strawberries. He shot a quick glance my way.
“I hope you don’t mind?”
I shook my head with a smile.
