by Eva Scott
He looked at his watch again. Time crawled slowly, as though it was intent on torturing him. He grabbed the novel he was reading, recommended by Melissa’s new husband—who had turned out to be likeable enough—and sat in the chair by the window, adjusting the overstuffed cushion, determined to entertain himself until the sun went down.
Chapter 5
Lexie assessed herself in the mirror, turning this way and that, trying to decide if the peach-coloured top she’d chosen complemented her hair colour or made her look sallow. Hard call.
Her phone jangled on the bed, a picture of a smiling Bea flashing up. She snatched it and answered.
‘Your timing is impeccable, as usual,’ she said.
‘Are you being sarcastic? I can’t tell these days.’
‘No, I’m deadly serious.’ Lexie tugged at the neckline of the chiffon top. More cleavage or no cleavage?
‘Don’t tell me! He’s not how you remember him at all?’
‘He’s exactly as I remember him and that’s a whole other problem.’ Lexie sighed.
‘So, what’s today’s pressing issue?’
Lexie could almost hear Bea settling in for a good gossip session. She loved this kind of thing.
‘Your category is fashion.’
‘My area of speciality. How can I help?’
‘I’m having drinks with Geoff tonight …’
‘Ooo …’
‘Shut up and focus, please. We’re only having drinks,’ Lexie snapped, exasperated at how Bea always managed to push her buttons.
‘Keep your hair on,’ laughed Bea, obviously delighted with Lexie’s reaction. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘That’s the problem. I’ve put on this peach chiffon top I’ve had for about thirty thousand years—’
‘The one you wore to Mum and Dad’s fortieth wedding anniversary?’
‘Yep, that’s the one.’ Lexie’s shoulders slumped with gratitude at Bea’s quick memory. She might drive her absolutely bonkers most of the time, but in a crisis, Bea was your girl.
‘Mmm, if I remember rightly the colour highlighted the tones in your hair. It was very pretty.’
‘Go ahead and wear it?’
‘Gosh, no. You’ve aged since then. All that sun and wrinkly skin. It might make you look like mutton dressed as lamb.’
‘What century are you from? No one says that anymore. And I am not that wrinkly. Aren’t you supposed to be helping me instead of making me feel worse?’ Lexie tugged the elastic out of her hair, letting her ponytail spill over her shoulders.
‘There’s a lot at stake here, dear sister. Who else do you have to tell you the truth?’ said Bea.
‘I worry you’re enjoying this way too much,’ Lexie muttered.
‘Are you in front of the mirror? Take a selfie and send it to me.’
‘Okay, call me back when you get it.’
Lexie dutifully took a snap of herself, trying to adopt a neutral face like the models in the fashion magazines she used to read before she became a farmer. She pressed send and the photo went winging its way to her sister.
Moments later, her phone rang.
‘Well, what did you think?’ Lexie launched straight in.
‘Would help if you smiled. Looks like you’ve got a serious case of RBF.’
‘What on earth is RBF?’ Lexie checked her watch. She had exactly one hour to find the perfect outfit and plaster some makeup on before joining Geoff.
‘Resting bitch face.’ Bea sounded like she was chewing.
‘What are you eating?’ Frustration nipped the edges of Lexie’s words, making them sharp.
‘Chocolate. Dealing with you is stressful.’
Lexie rubbed the tic that had started above her left eye. ‘What’s your verdict?’
‘It’s not as nice as Lindt chocolate but not bad for the price …’
‘Not the chocolate. For goodness sake, Bea, would you please focus?’ Lexie’s temper bubbled up over the top, spilling down the phone.
‘Calm your farm, Lexie. Honestly, you take yourself way too seriously. The peach top looks fine. Personally, I’d opt for something sexier but you’re not me.’
‘Thank God for that, on all counts.’
‘Wear it with that little black skirt, the one that makes your legs look good, and a pair of heels. You do have a pair of heels still, don’t you?’
‘I’ve got an emergency pair in the back of the wardrobe somewhere. Isn’t it overdoing it a bit? It’s only a drink on the back veranda of my own house.’ This whole thing was getting out of control.
‘Be that as it may,’ said Bea, sounding increasingly like their mother, ‘you need to look your best. We’ve talked about this. How many opportunities do you have to hook up with a sexy, good-looking guy? You’ve been a widow long enough. Time to have a little bit of fun, and who knows what might come of it.’
‘Transition man,’ Lexie muttered.
‘Exactly,’ said Bea. ‘Now, you’ve taken up enough of my time. I do have a life, you know. Call me later with the details.’
She hung up before Lexie could thank her or throttle her.
Lexie threw open her closet and dived in, digging about for her black skirt and shoes. She only kept them because a girl needed something for last-minute events like funerals, weddings or a trip to the solicitor’s office. Mostly she wore jeans or denim shorts. Glamour and avocado farming didn’t exactly go hand in hand.
She inspected the skirt for marks and loose threads or buttons. It seemed to be in good condition considering she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn it. Her shoes emerged covered in a fine layer of dust. Nothing a good wipe down couldn’t fix.
Wiggling out of her jeans and into the skirt, she discovered the waistband now sat on her hips instead of where it was supposed to. It was too late now to do anything about it and her wardrobe contained no alternatives. The peach top covered things nicely if she didn’t raise her arms above her head. No danger there.
The nerve above her left eye continued to tick like a metronome.
She wrenched open the bathroom drawer and retrieved her measly makeup collection: a good foundation, a blush and a pink lipstick. Her mascara had seen better days, having dried up from neglect, with just enough life in it to get her through this evening. She remembered the days when her makeup drawer had groaned, overloaded with dozens of eyeshadows, lipsticks and other essential paraphernalia. Once she wouldn’t have left the house without makeup on, but now it simply wasn’t a priority. Funny how things changed when you weren’t paying attention.
She swiped her lips with the lush pink lipstick, examining her reflection critically in the mirror. Lexie looked like what she was—a farmer dolled up for the evening. Any city sophistication she’d once possessed evaporated years ago, and she hadn’t missed it until now. What if Geoff realised that she wasn’t who he thought she was, that there was nothing special about her at all?
Her face, lined by grief and a life spent outdoors, could not be called pretty, not anymore. Her arms, strong and well-shaped by work, had resisted sagging with age. Her legs, always her best feature, had fared well but her middle had given up and gone soft, never to see the light of day again. Exactly how that had happened remained a mystery to Lexie, yet there it was.
She dreaded anyone seeing her in a bathing suit, let alone naked. Up until this moment she’d thought of Malcolm as the only man who would ever have that privilege. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, making her feel a little sick.
Maybe she should go to bed and tell Geoff she had come down with something. Better to put him off than see the inevitable look of disappointment cross his face when they finally made it to the bedroom. And they would. If she went out there and joined him for a drink, they would.
With shaking hands, she turned on the tap and filled a glass with water. She took a sip to steady herself, leaving an outline of her pink lips on the edge of the glass. What was she doing? Despite Bea’s protestations to the contrary, she was too old
to be indulging in fantasies about love. That part of her life had ended with Malcolm’s death.
She put the glass down and shook out her hair, running her fingers through the long tresses to give it some volume. It was going to be okay. She’d go out there, they’d have a drink and some grown-up conversation. Lexie would keep it impersonal, gently drawing him back to neutral subjects. She’d ask him questions about his business and his life in Sydney. Everyone liked to talk about themselves. The trick would be keeping him going. They could talk about books, music, travel. They didn’t have to talk about the attraction they shared and what happened last Christmas.
The moment when, with a gentle touch, he’d tipped her face to his …
She shook her head to remove the pictures in her head, as if her memories could be erased like the drawing on a child’s Etch-A-Sketch. She could get through this. Firm, polite boundaries. Neutral conversation. No dancing. A table between them at all times. And only one drink.
Easy.
Geoff paced along the veranda.
The solar-powered fairy lights entwined around the railings came to life, twinkling hopefully in the dark. He’d been hopeful himself, before he’d stepped out here to wait for Lexie. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
She was so damn capable and … grown up. He still felt like he was fifteen years old. An impostor, waiting for security to come and escort him from the premises. What could she possibly see in him? He’d built a business from scratch, sure, but so had she. She’d kept this place going through her grief. She knew about hard physical work. Lexie was the real deal. He’d had a clever idea, brought to life by people he employed. He’d never broken a sweat.
Well, maybe except for right now …
The cicadas serenaded him from the garden, almost loud enough to drown out his thoughts. The deep, velvety darkness of night draped over the orchard, encasing the property in stillness. The lack of city noise and motion made him nervous.
What if she rejected him? Said no, pushed him away, asked him to leave … The endless scenarios played in his head like a horror film.
Maybe he’d read too much into the situation. Yes, she’d let him kiss her last Christmas. But it was just a kiss. A long, deep, delicious kiss. Then she’d walked out on him and left him standing there.
Just a kiss … but what a kiss. Twelve months later he still couldn’t get it out of his mind. It had turned his world on its head. She had to feel the same. There was no way a kiss could turn you inside out and leave the other person feeling nothing … was there?
Geoff cracked open the bottle of Scotch he’d brought with him, sloshing two fingers into one of the glasses Lexie had put out on the table.
He’d taken the gamble that the kiss had had the same earthshattering impact on her as it had on him when he’d sent her an email booking a room for Christmas.
He shot the golden liquid straight down, wincing as it hit the back of his throat, grateful for its immediate fortifying warmth. Too late to back out now. If she didn’t sense the magic between them that night, he’d leave and never come back.
Pride had a way of growing back. Or so he’d been told.
Doubts swarmed around his head like mosquitoes, their sting just as sharp. Somehow, visualising this moment while at home in Sydney felt very different to standing here now waiting for Lexie and the moment of truth. They barely knew each other. Why did he think she’d be interested in getting tangled up with him? He didn’t even know what he wanted. A relationship … a dalliance … an affair …? He’d only ever had one relationship. How were these things conducted in the twenty-first century? Had the rules changed?
Okay … how to open the conversation … keep it neutral until he could get an idea of her feelings. Ask about last year’s harvest and how this year’s crop was going. God, it was hot tonight … He loosened the collar of his shirt with one finger. Maybe this was a dumb idea and he should get in his rental car and drive to the airport …
Then he saw her.
Lexie stood by the doorway, uncertainty outlined in the tense lines of her body. She hesitated, her eyes refusing to meet his. He forgot his own nerves, washed away by a desire to assuage hers. He didn’t want her to be scared. All he wanted to do was keep her safe and make her happy.
Geoff held out his hand.
She looked at it, then at him. For one long, agonising moment she looked as if she might turn and bolt. Again.
Then the impossible happened. She stepped across the threshold and took his hand.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said for want of something better.
‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Please, take a seat.’ He sounded like the host. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Shouldn’t I be doing that?’ She laughed, the sound shattering the tension.
‘I was just thinking about how I’d taken over.’ He moved to the drinks trolley, a beautifully crafted mid-century piece he coveted for himself. ‘Do you mind?’
She shook her head, ribbons of light rippling across her silky hair. ‘No, not being in charge is kind of nice.’ She settled into her chair, crossing her ankles with ladylike demureness.
He fought to keep his eyes off her legs and on the task at hand. ‘Scotch okay?’
‘Perfect. I’ll fetch some ice.’ She disappeared into the kitchen, and he suspected it was with some relief. The energy between them proved to be as intense as the first time they met, only this time the intent had changed. At least on his side.
Lexie reappeared carrying a silver dish filled with ice, which she handed to him without a word. He took it, their fingers brushing lightly, a little shaft of lightning igniting between them. Her eyes met his in a startled instant. She felt it too, this thing that bridged their very different worlds, drawing them to each other. Something inside him loosened, relaxed.
He offered her a smile. She held his gaze for a heartbeat before he sensed a shift, a softening, and she smiled back.
Relief swept through him, making his knees a little unstable. ‘Shall we sit?’ he suggested, more for his own comfort.
‘How was your trip? I forgot to ask,’ she said.
Small talk. Good place to start.
‘Fine, thank you. Nothing special to report.’ He sat opposite her, the table offering a safety buffer between them. ‘How’s your business been?’
‘The B & B or avocados?’ She quirked an eyebrow. He’d always wished he could do that.
‘Avocados first.’ He took a sip of his drink and settled in. This might be easier than he thought.
‘Good harvest last year, reasonable price. This year is shaping up nicely. As long as the weather holds we’ll do fine.’
Yearly report in a teacup. He’d been hoping for a little more. He’d ask a question and she’d answer it, and they’d still be on the subject in thirty minutes.
‘And the bed and breakfast?’
‘Slower than I’d like. The problem with building that side of the business is its potential to interfere with my core business. Farming takes a lot out of a girl.’
‘The tipping point,’ he said, ‘is that moment when your business shifts from manageable to needing extra staff. The situation can get tricky. Get it wrong and your new expenditure can sink the ship.’
‘If the incoming isn’t sufficient, right?’
Look at them—sitting around talking business as if they did it all the time.
Before he knew it, half an hour had indeed passed by talking about business. He delighted in being able to offer ideas and solutions based on his own experience. He knew about staffing difficulties, the horror of payrolls and superannuation, the need for different types of insurance and how to factor all that into a profit margin.
‘I am so relieved to talk to someone about this stuff,’ Lexie said as she leaned back in her chair, glass empty. ‘I muddle along by myself and I think I know what I’m doing but I find it hard to be sure.’
‘You don’t talk to other farmers about this part of the business?’ He
had no idea how these communities worked. He didn’t talk to other businesses in his field; everyone was too busy guarding their competitive edge.
‘Oh, they’re helpful and friendly enough. The truth is no one has the time. Everyone is running on a shoestring so they all do a great deal of their own labour. Not much room for socialising.’ She smiled and held up her glass. ‘Your visits seem to constitute the entirety of my social life.’
He took her glass, shocked. ‘You mean for the whole year?’
‘Yep,’ she said. ‘Sad, huh?’
Geoff laughed, relieved. His one nightmare had been the idea of Lexie dating random, good-looking farming types. Men who had more in common with her than he did. ‘Can’t say I’ve been out much myself.’ He dropped ice cubes into their glass. The sound of them chiming against the crystal cheered him. ‘Unless you count my ex-wife’s wedding.’ He unscrewed the Scotch bottle and raised it in a mock toast. ‘That was a fun event.’
‘I can’t believe you went.’ Lexie sounded stunned.
He shrugged. ‘She asked me, and I had no reason to say no.’ The golden liquid splashed against the ice cubes, causing them to tinkle some more, a sound that never got old. ‘Despite everything, we are friends. It’s just …’
‘Life got in the way,’ Lexie said softly.
Geoff nodded as he screwed the lid back on the bottle. ‘Yes, life had other ideas.’
‘Life does that.’
‘You want to know the hardest bit?’ He sat back down, the wicker chair creaking under his weight.
‘If you’re comfortable telling me.’ She clutched her glass, as if braced for the worst.
‘Melissa asked me to be the godfather to her baby girl.’ The bitter-sweetness of the fact shuddered through him.
