by Nicola Marsh
She’d escaped relatively unscathed from her encounter with Molly’s great-aunt. However, as she tidied the counter and waited for the old woman to leave, Daisy turned at the door.
‘Oh. I almost forgot. I’m having a little gathering for Molly’s birthday and I’d like you to come. Next Sunday, five o’clock, at the Grange. Don’t be late.’
An invitation to the exclusive Grange?
For the second time in as many minutes Carissa stared at the old lady, gob-smacked.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BRODY hated parties. Socialising involved boring small talk, polite smiles and a whole load of fake exchanges with people he didn’t give a hoot for. However, Daisy had gone to a lot of trouble to organise a birthday party for Molly, and the least he could do was don his gracious party persona for a few hours.
‘Brody, would you mind wheeling the drinks cart into the garden? There are some thirsty children out there.’ Daisy picked up a tray of plastic cups and headed out the door, sending him a smile which totally floored him.
He wasn’t a fool. The old lady tolerated him because he was Molly’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. Though today, for some strange reason he was yet to fathom, she’d been warmer than a summer’s day at Bondi—smiling at him, patting his arm, even straightening his collar at one stage.
His latent cop instincts screamed that something wasn’t right, and the minute he wheeled out the cart, bearing enough cordial and fizzy drink to ensure hyperactivity in the party-goers for the whole evening, he knew exactly what it was.
‘Hi, Brody,’ Carissa said, the sound of her soft voice making him suck in air like a diver surfacing.
He’d deliberately avoided her—not willing to tempt fate since that night a spark of attraction had flared between them—though Molly had kept him up to date with her regular after-school playtime at Carissa’s. Apparently there had been plenty of fairy fun, no more mice, and no men. Looked as if her Easter Bunny had well and truly bounded away—not that he should give a damn.
She could spend time with whoever she chose. His interest was purely for his daughter’s sake. He didn’t want Molly around strange guys—guys he didn’t know.
‘Hey.’ His greeting came out sounding like a grunt rather than a word, and her face fell, making him feel like a creep.
But wasn’t that what he wanted? To push her away before she got any ideas?
‘Daisy invited me. I hope you don’t mind.’
She stood there, uncertainty flickering across her face as she stared at him with those luminous blue eyes, and he clenched his hands.
You can do this, Elliott. Just be polite.
‘Daisy can invite anyone she wants. It’s her home.’
So much for being polite. By the stricken look in her eyes he knew he’d hurt her with his gruff response. Ah, hell.
Deliberately softening his tone, he said, ‘Molly will be thrilled to see you. You’re all she talks about these days.’
His efforts were rewarded with a small smile. ‘Really? She’s a wonderful child—so bright and enthusiastic. But I guess you already know that, right?’
He nodded, watching Molly play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey with a dozen of her classmates, the centre of attention and loving it.
Yeah, Molly was special all right.
So why did it annoy him so much when Carissa pointed it out? Was she implying he couldn’t recognise his own daughter’s talents?
‘I haven’t seen you around much. Been busy?’
Busy? He was bored out of his brain now that he’d sanded and painted the house and trimmed and weeded the garden. It had been a year since he’d quit the police force, and though he didn’t miss it he wished he could find something satisfying to fill his days. Something other than dwelling on the past and wondering what might have been if he’d thrown the book at the punk who’d killed his wife first time around.
‘Yeah, renovations are the pits.’
‘Molly says you’re finished now, though?’
He managed a tight smile, wondering what else his daughter had been telling his neighbour—like how Daddy couldn’t sleep most nights, how he found himself staring out the kitchen window at regular intervals in the direction of her house, how he’d be out in the garden some mornings, hoping for a glimpse of her blonde curls catching the sunlight as she left for work.
‘Yes, all done. Guess it’s time I found a new project to sink my teeth into.’
‘Anything in mind?’ She absentmindedly twirled a curl around her finger and he thrust his hands in his pockets to prevent from reaching out and taking over the action. He’d give anything to wrap that silky golden strand around his finger, gently tug on it till her lips were mere centimetres from his…
‘Brody?’
His head snapped up, and for one humiliating moment he wondered if he’d been leaning towards her.
‘Not really. Job-wise, there’s not much around for a washed-up cop. Interest-wise, nothing has grabbed me.’
‘Well, if you want to put those handyman skills of yours to work, I’ve got plenty of stuff around the shop that needs doing.’
Great. If he volunteered to help he’d be forced to be near her—a dangerous proposition for his wakening libido. If he didn’t help he’d look like a first-class jerk. What was it about this woman that tied him up in knots?
‘Carissa! You’re here!’ Molly flew across the lawn and wrapped her arms around Carissa’s legs, hanging on tightly.
Thank you, God. Brody sent a silent prayer heavenward for his reprieve, even though he had his doubts about the big guy and the power He wielded over his life. After all, look at what a mess it had turned out to be so far. Not that he’d forgotten his bargain the other week in return for Molly being okay. He’d been trying in the father stakes, he really had. As for being nice to Carissa, he supposed he still had a way to go there.
‘Hi, sweetie. Happy birthday.’ Carissa bent down and hugged Molly, the sight of the two blonde heads so close together affecting him more than he liked to admit.
The bond between Carissa and Molly had been instantaneous, and any fool could see that the two had grown amazingly close in such a short time. Molly’s behaviour had improved dramatically since she’d been spending time with his neighbour, and he’d also noticed more subtle changes: the French braids tied in rainbow-coloured ribbons, the new pink lace-topped socks, and a delicate bracelet of fairies holding hands that Molly never took off.
Carissa was good for Molly.
And she’s good for you, some part of him acknowledged—if he could ever let go of his guilt and move on with his life.
‘Is that for me?’ Molly’s eyes grew wide as she spied the huge gold box tied in fairy ribbon behind Carissa.
‘It sure is, sweetie. Want to open it now?’ Carissa glanced up at Brody, as if second-guessing whether or not she’d done the right thing.
Was he that much of an ogre?
Considering the way he’d been treating her in the hope that he’d push her away, the answer was a no-brainer.
He nodded and managed a smile, her answering grin sending the blood roaring through his veins.
‘Oh, boy!’ Molly said, ripping the paper with frantic hands, eager to get to the goodies beneath. ‘This box is big!’
‘I hope you like it,’ Carissa said, straightening and rubbing a spot in the middle of her back.
Let me do that, he wanted to say, but bit back the words. Was it finally time to move on with his life? To put the past behind him and take a chance on the future? Molly loved this woman, and he knew he could fall for her given half a chance.
But what if you lost her? What would that do to Molly? To you?
For as long as he could remember he’d associated love with loss. He’d loved his mum, and she’d died of pneumonia when he was ten. He’d loved his dad, and he’d died a few months later of a heart attack—a broken heart, more like it. His uncle Claude, who’d raised him after his parents’ death, had died when he was eighteen.
>
And then there was Jackie.
Could he go through the pain of loving and possibly losing again?
‘Wow! A doll’s house.’ Molly jumped up and down on the spot, clapping her hands. ‘I love dollies! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Carissa.’
‘You’re welcome, sweetheart. Your daddy can take it home and set it up for you, okay?’
Molly pouted. ‘But I want to play with it now.’
Once again Carissa looked at him uncertainly.
‘Molly, your friends are waiting for you to cut the cake. Why don’t I pack all your presents in the car, and that way they’ll be ready for you to play with at home later?’
By the mutinous expression on Molly’s face, he expected a rebellious tantrum. She hadn’t had one in a while, but back in Sydney her erratic behaviour had worried him. He hated giving in to her, but if it kept the peace—an often fragile peace—he’d do it.
‘That’s a great idea,’ Carissa said, and just like that Molly smiled and ran away to join her friends.
He should have been ecstatic that a potential scene had been avoided, grateful that Carissa was so good with his daughter.
Instead, an irrational petty jealousy filled him that this woman could enter their lives and in a short space of time have such an impact. He’d been trying for years to be a good parent, yet Carissa seemed to have more of an instinct for it than he did.
‘That gift is way too extravagant,’ he said, pointing at the doll’s house. ‘What are you trying to do? Buy her affection?’
Carissa took a step back as if he’d struck her, the hurt in her eyes making him feel like the biggest louse in the world.
‘I thought Molly would enjoy a doll’s house. She keeps talking about her dolls all the time.’
Running his hand through his hair, he knew he had to make amends for that last comment. He’d been way out of line, his inane jealousy making him more of a social misfit than ever. However, before he could utter a word, she wheeled around and walked away.
‘Carissa—wait.’ He laid a hand on her arm, silently cursing when heat sizzled between them. This wasn’t the time to acknowledge his growing attraction to her; it was time to make amends. And fast. She deserved his thanks for the marvellous job she was doing with Molly, not some nasty comeback because he couldn’t handle his own insecurities.
She shrugged him off, staring at the spot where he’d held her as if he’d branded her. ‘If you think that giant chip on your shoulder excuses your rude behaviour, you’re wrong, Brody. I’m going to spend some time with the kids. At least I might get a civil conversation out of them.’
‘Look, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Wouldn’t you rather stick around here with the grown-ups?’
As far as an apology went it was completely inadequate, and he knew it. But he had to start somewhere, and hopefully she’d listen. Not that he’d blame her if she didn’t. She was right. He did have a chip on his shoulder, and he used it to push everyone away.
He didn’t want pity.
He didn’t want affection.
Getting close involved pain and loss and devastation, and he couldn’t go there. Though maybe, just maybe, having Carissa in his life could change all that.
‘Grown-ups?’ She looked him up and down, wrinkling her nose as if he were the last man on earth she’d want to spend time with. ‘When you grow up, let me know.’
And with that she headed into the garden, where the kids cavorted and trailed after her like the Pied Piper, reinforcing how popular she was with everyone. And what a low-down grouch he was.
‘You’ve lost your touch, sonny.’
He jumped, wishing Daisy wouldn’t sneak up on him like that. She’d always done it, even when Jackie was alive, pronouncing her view on the world—usually the opposite of his—as if he was interested.
‘My touch?’ If he played dumb, perhaps the old bat would leave him alone.
‘With the ladies. You’ve been hiding behind your grief for far too long, and it’s high time you shrugged off that hair jacket and moved on with your life.’ She folded her arms and nodded emphatically, almost dislodging her blue-rimmed spectacles in the process.
‘Tell me what you really think,’ he muttered, not in the mood for this lecture. Not that he’d ever be in the mood.
‘I usually do—not that you listen,’ she said, knocking on his head with a bony knuckle. ‘Mmm, not hollow, which means you have got half a brain in there. When are you going to start using it?’
Daisy pointed at Carissa, currently on all fours, with Molly clambering on her back. ‘See that young lady down there? She’s a gem, and what’s more she’s crazy about your daughter. And, by Molly’s constant chatter, the feeling is mutual. So what are you going to do about it?’
He watched Molly shriek with laughter as Carissa bucked like a bronco and his daughter tumbled onto the lawn, taking Carissa with her.
‘Just what I’m doing now. Encouraging their friendship.’ And working through my own warped feelings.
Carissa was a warm, caring woman, and the last thing he wanted to do was build false hopes. He knew a woman like her would demand it all—one hundred per cent emotional commitment—and so she should. She deserved it, for he’d yet to meet anyone with a kinder heart than his neighbour.
However, right now he could barely offer her ten per cent of his screwed-up emotions. The icy wall he’d built around his heart years ago might be slightly thawing, but it would take time. And courage to face the demons that the thaw had awakened.
Daisy shook her head and cast him a pitying glance. ‘Jackie wasn’t exactly the best wife and mother, yet here you are, using her memory to push away a woman who could help heal you and bring joy to your daughter’s life.’
‘I don’t want healing.’
Not until he was sure he could face all the possibilities that healing might entail—like a possible relationship, a possible reopening of old wounds, a possibility of letting himself love and be hurt again.
Daisy patted his arm. ‘No, you don’t want healing. You need healing. Just don’t take too long in making up your mind where Carissa’s concerned, because I have a feeling a smart girl like her won’t wait around for ever.’
‘Daisy, butt out.’
‘Gladly, my boy. Just remember what I said.’ With one last squeeze on his arm, Daisy walked away to join the party, leaving him with a distinct urge to run as far as he could in the opposite direction.
So the old dame thought he needed healing? Maybe she was right. But it scared the hell out of him.
Following in Daisy’s footsteps, he plastered a smile on his face and picked up Molly, swinging her high in the air till she squealed with delight.
There’s no maybe about it. Daisy is right. You need something in your life, someone to heal the scars, to make you live again.
Until now he’d thought he had that someone. Molly was all he needed. But what if he needed more?
What if he needed Carissa in his life too?
He had to make up for his Neanderthal behaviour, and he silently vowed to show her just how grown-up he could be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CARISSA flipped the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’ and reached for the lock as a shadow darkened the door.
‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Prince Charming,’ she muttered, switching the lock and glaring at Brody through the glass.
He rattled the doorknob and looked at her in surprise. ‘Hey, aren’t you going to let me in?’
‘No.’
She folded her arms and gave him her best don’t mess with me look, while trying not to notice how incredible he looked in a navy polo shirt and khaki shorts.
Face it, girl. You’d think he looked good in anything.
What was she thinking? She was mad at this guy—madder than she’d ever been with anyone. All she’d done was extend the hand of friendship to both him and his gorgeous little girl, and he’d treated her badly. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his accus
ation that she was trying to buy Molly’s affection, and when he’d come knocking on her door after the party yesterday she’d pretended to be asleep.
If he wanted to apologise she wouldn’t make it easy for him. She was done playing Miss Nice.
‘You should let me in. I come bearing gifts.’
Her heart kicked at his sexy smile, but she shook her head anyway. ‘No.’
‘It’s food.’
‘No.’
‘Chocolate and banana croissants. Your favourite,’ he tempted.
Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled, but she held firm. ‘No.’
He held up the bag from Michel’s Patisserie and swung it from side to side, as if trying to hypnotise her. ‘Call it a peace offering.’
Thankful that the glass shielded her from the tantalising aromas she knew would be creeping out of the bag, she took a step back and shook her head. ‘You’ll have to do a lot better than that.’
‘I’ve got my tool belt in the car. How about I tackle all those odd jobs you need done around here?’
She thought about the loose door hinges, the creaky shutters, the faulty tap washers and the leaky pipe in the back room handbasin—and the croissants in the bag—and flicked the lock.
Okay, so the guy didn’t play fair. What was a girl supposed to do?
She’d always had a thing for tradesmen, finding the whole big, brawny, overall-wearing, tool-belt-slinging, capable man a major turn-on. Combine that little fantasy with the thought of Brody Elliott in a tool belt and, well…she was a goner.
Opening the door, she waved him in. ‘You’ve said the magic word.’
‘But I didn’t say open sesame?’
‘No, you went one better. The words “tool belt” will get you in every time.’
‘Oh, really?’ He leaned in the doorway, a knowing smirk on his handsome face, and for one crazy moment she forgot how mad she was supposed to be with him and stifled the urge to haul him into her shop by his lapels, lock the door and create a little magic of her own.
