Sam gave Vee’s BLT with accompanying fries serious consideration, but Vee was guarding her plate like Gollum protecting his precious ring.
“Generous and beautiful.” Sam grinned at her and stole a corn chip loaded with diced tomatoes, beans, avocado, melted cheese, and sour cream.
He continued to closed-lip smile at her as he crunched, and Nat’s heart did a sudden flip-flop. It wasn’t from Sam’s you know you love me expression, but from Isaac appearing at his side with two to-go coffees in his hands. The differences and similarities between the men were more apparent when they stood next to each other. Sam had a swimmer’s build with some serious upper-body strength, thanks to his years spent surfing and training as a volunteer surf lifeguard. His Māori heritage from his parents came out mostly in his dark hair with a deep tan any sun worshipper would envy, but his eyes were a much lighter shade of brown than his brother’s. Meanwhile, Isaac was everything Sam was but bigger, broader, darker, and able to render the entire female population of Bounty Bay unconscious with a smile. Only Nat hadn’t seen him smile in years.
Without making eye contact with Nat, Isaac said, “Hey,” in Vee’s direction and elbowed his brother. “Food’s getting cold.” Then with a jerky nod of acknowledgement at Nat he strode out of the cafe.
“Gotta run,” said Sam. “Have a good one.” He headed out the door after Isaac.
“That was interesting,” Vee said. “But not as much as, say, the warm fuzzies flying between you and Isaac.”
Nat froze with a loaded corn chip halfway to her mouth. A dollop of sour cream plopped back onto her plate. “There are no warm fuzzies.”
Vee’s mouth curved up in a sly smile. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s more like steamy, hot-for-you vibes. I never noticed until today how intently he watches you—that’s right, I saw you two eye balling each other.”
Nat would have to speak to the café owner about how much chili spice was included in these nachos, because it must’ve been the reason her face was about to burst into flames.
“Nobody was eyeballing anybody and there are no vibes.”
Vee steamrolled over the denial. “It’s like when you’re a kid and your mum tells you that the boy who’s being mean probably has a huge crush on you.”
Nat rolled her eyes on the outside, her core temperature rising even higher on the inside. Isaac, with a crush on her? Puh-lease. Aside from the man’s usual type—not that she’d had any solid idea what that was in the past five years—his last serious girlfriend had been a member of a competitive Auckland netball team and she was a redheaded stunner who was just as athletically driven as Isaac. The polar opposite of Nat.
“It’s nothing like that, because for one, Isaac and I aren’t ten-year-olds, two, Isaac doesn’t crush on anyone, and three, Isaac has never treated me as anything other than his mate’s wife.” Nat scooped up the sloppy dollop of sour cream onto her corn chip and stuffed it into her mouth.
It tasted like shaving-cream-loaded cardboard, but she continued to chew gamely.
Vee tilted her head, then laid a palm on top of Nat’s hand.
“If you want to convince me and yourself that you’re not a ten-year-old, it’s time to put this schoolyard grudge aside and start adulting. The way you adult with Sam and Owen and every other guy you know.”
Easier said than done because Isaac wasn’t like any other guy Nat knew. She finished chewing and slid her hand out from beneath Vee’s. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll add adulting around Isaac to my to-do list. Now, eat your lunch.”
“Yes, Mum.” Vee grinned at her, then her smile slipped a notch. “One last thing and then I’ll shut up. You’re a free agent who’s not married to Isaac’s mate anymore. He knows it and you know it.”
Oh, how well did Nat know she was single. She knew it when she woke alone in her bed each morning and each night when she huddled under the covers without Jackson to keep her warm. Though her head told her she was single, her heart was still bound by their vows, and the one small and one large gold wedding band in her jewelry box. She wasn’t a free agent, couldn’t imagine being free, period.
“Noted. Now, tell me about what Ruby’s been up to?” Nat picked up another corn chip and forced a pleasant expression onto her face.
The strong, I can handle it expression of a woman who definitely wasn’t attracted to her dead husband’s best friend.
Margaret Crawford texted Nat while she stood in line to buy new paintbrushes at the hardware store.
Mr. Ngata has the board’s approval. I’ve just spoken to him and he’s accepted the position. First practice this Wednesday at 3.30. Notice going out to interested girls this afternoon. Please confirm your attendance.
Nat typed I’ll be there in the text box and hit send. Great. She’d have to call a truce with Isaac earlier than she’d planned.
She glanced outside to the bleak gray sky and spits of rain that continued to grow heavier, streaking down the store windows. It wasn’t like she could get any painting done this afternoon. As the mum to a typical procrastinating teen, she would for once take her own advice. Get the worst stuff over with, then you can relax. Though writing a three-page social studies essay was preferable to dealing with Isaac head on, she sure as hell wasn’t going to surprise him at practice two days from now and have twenty-something girls witness the fallout. Including Olivia.
Nat paid for her purchases and drove to Kauri Whare. Her spine ratcheted straighter as she crossed through the showroom to the retail counter.
The young man behind the counter smiled a blinding white smile at her—definitely one of the Ngata family. “Welcome to Kauri Whare. How may I assist you?”
“Is Isaac around?” she asked. “I’d like to have a quick word with him.”
“Sure. He’s either checking the new building or in his office. I’d go check but I can’t leave the counter unattended. Go on back, third door on the right. You can wait for him there if he’s not in.”
Rumor in town was that the new building being constructed behind the main showroom was to be converted into three separate workshop/showrooms for other local artisans to rent. Being that Kauri Whare already had a stellar reputation, with flocks of tourists visiting every day, the competition to claim one of the three spaces would be fierce. Fortunately from her point of view, unfortunately from Vee’s, the rent would be way out of their league. Nothing could be worse than working right next door to the Ngata brothers. One in particular.
“Thanks,” she said.
Nat walked over to the ‘Staff Only’ door and opened it, stepping into the corridor beyond where the construction sounds were much louder than the distant thumps she’d heard in the showroom. Small muscles pinged around her shoulder blades and the rapid-fire thud of blood pulsing through her head drowned out the hammering next door. The third door on the right was open, and before she reached it she spotted Isaac at his desk, his broad shoulders hunched, his hands cupped near his ears.
For a startling second his posture flung her mind back to the small cemetery in Whangarei where Jackson was buried. Two months after his death she’d stumbled onto Isaac there, sitting awkwardly on the grass beside the plot, shoulders hunched and shaking, head in his hands, his face wet with tears. She’d never before nor afterward seen in him such grief. Such guilt.
And she’d lost it, the audacity of his grief when hers overflowed within her from every cell, every pore of her aching body. She’d yelled at him—screamed, really—and shoved at those big broad shoulders, somehow falling to her knees beside him. She wept until her chest hurt, until she couldn’t tell up from down or damp grass beneath her knees from the warm, strong arms wrapped around her. He’d held her until he correctly judged she needed her solitude, then slowly climbed to his feet and, with the walking cane she hadn’t noticed, limped away.
Nat stood outside the office doorway, the memory throbbing inside her like an attempt to ignore a toothache. Isaac moved slightly in his chair, the change of position revealing th
e phone pressed to his ear, his other hand trying to block the sound of the outside noise.
“I’ll call you back,” he said and tapped his phone, disconnecting. He tossed it on the desk in front of him and spun around in his chair, freezing as his gaze fell on her.
“Natalie.”
The rasp in his voice as he said her name triggered a shivery, hot response throughout her system, melting the soles of her boots to the floor so she couldn’t run, even if she’d wanted to.
“You’re here about the girls’ rugby team,” he added when Nat continued to stare at him.
She tucked her handbag closer to her side, the reassuring weight of it grounding her in the here and now. “Yes. Margaret Crawford sent me a text to say you’d accepted the position of temporary coach.” She hadn’t meant to emphasize the word temporary, but that’s the way it came out of her mouth.
In the corner of Isaac’s mouth a small crease appeared. “That’s right.”
There was a flurry of hammering and the sudden metallic whine of a skill saw starting up, drowning out whatever he said next.
“Pardon?” she asked.
“I said”—he raised his voice above the noise—“are we going to discuss it in the hallway or in here? Privately.”
Out here with lots of open space and ten feet between them was just fine, but adulting, remember? She hardly wanted to have a shouted conversation with the man. So she stepped inside his office, her gaze immediately drawn to a large leather four-person sofa positioned along the back wall. What exactly did the man get up to in here?
She didn’t realize she’d been gawking at it until Isaac said, “I like to power nap in my office. Why don’t you take a seat?”
On his sofa where he stretched out that big body to recharge his batteries? Where maybe some of the female groupies who chase sportsmen like hunters lust after prized bucks still found him worthy of a sofa quickie in his office?
“I’ll stand. I won’t take up much of your time.”
He shrugged, with a no skin off my nose turn of his mouth. “Up to you. But you’ll need to come closer so I can hear you.”
Come closer, Little Red Riding Hood. Come see what big ears I have. What great big teeth.
Never should’ve read that bloody story to Olivia when she was little. No wonder it gave the kid nightmares—like the flash of Isaac’s white teeth as she edged closer to his desk would give Nat nightmares. Or dreams of another kind altogether.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. Muscles bunched impressively under the sleeves of his button-down shirt, not that she paid close attention to his stupid buff physique.
“Margaret told me your recommendation swung the board’s vote,” he said. “Guess I’ve got you to thank for their sudden high opinion of me.”
It was said deadpan. Underneath his serious layer was another constructed of pure smartass; she’d always known it. “You’ll be a good coach, and I said as much. My opinion shouldn’t have mattered.”
He tilted his head. “You’re not used to people asking for your thoughts and actually listening to them, are you?”
She’d been background noise. Transparent.
That’s how she’d felt growing up in different foster families and on occasion—ouch—with Jackson. Which was understandable, of course. The All Blacks squad were the living, breathing gods of rugby in a country mad on the sport. Wives and families would never truly be part of their world.
“The people who’re important to me ask and listen,” she said. And she was so not going to let this brief conversation stray from professional courtesy into personal. “I’m here because Margaret asked me to sit in on the practices for a few weeks, and I wanted to…” What? Warn him that he was being babysat and probably on probation? Prepare him for the intrusion of her presence twice a week? “…let you know,” she finished lamely.
“Margaret told me when she called.”
“Oh, well, good.” She cleared her throat, racking her brains for something else to say. Dammit, Isaac wasn’t making this any easier with his bullshit-stripping stare that made her want to wriggle out of her skin and run, just to get away from it. “Why did you offer to do this?” The words fell off her tongue moments after the possible answer popped into her brain. “Did Livvy make you?”
One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “Nobody makes me do anything.”
Yeah, yeah, the alpha male in him was offended at the thought of a female, any female, having that sort of power over him. Yet Isaac had loved Olivia once. That she was sure of.
“So out of the goodness of your heart you offered to walk back onto a rugby field again? After all this time?”
“Something like that.”
An image of Isaac nimbly dodging and weaving down Eden Park to the roar of the crowd, passing the ball to Jackson at the last possible moment for his mate to score a try, popped into her mind. For a big guy, he used to run with the grace and speed of a big cat taking down a gazelle. No—big cats normally hunted alone, and Isaac had always been a team player. Jackson said Isaac was happiest being part of a well-oiled machine. It wasn’t the spotlight he craved—“unlike me,” her husband had joked.
She shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t care, but… “Won’t it be hard for you? Pulling on your boots, going through the drills, watching the girls play when you can’t?”
She hadn’t meant it to come out so bluntly, but Isaac didn’t flinch. The whine of the skill saw started up again, and while it screamed at its highest pitch, he considered. The man did that a lot—thought through what he was going to say before he said it, an introvert quirk of Isaac’s that used to drive Jackson nuts. He would often finish Isaac’s sentences for him, which in turn drove Isaac nuts. Nat expected his eventual answer to be a denial, a typical tough-guy response of never admitting he had feelings.
He continued to wait for a few moments until the saw noise died down. “Yeah. It’ll be pretty rough.” Man of few words that he was, he dipped his head, adding, “And you? Will it be hard for you watching Olivia play?”
Not as hard as watching her daughter move steadily through the stages of grief while Nat seemed to get bogged down in the quicksand of anger and what might’ve been.
“Yes,” she said. “But I’m kinda hoping it’s just a phase she grows out of.”
At that, Isaac’s stern features softened and the corner of his mouth ticked up. Not quite a smile, but almost.
“Rugby’s in her blood,” he said, “and if she loves the game, it’ll remain there for the rest of her life.”
“I prefer the phase idea.”
Because she’d eaten, slept, breathed, and rearranged her life for rugby after marrying Jackson. As supportive as she’d been with his continual absences, to the point she’d often jokingly referred to herself as a ‘rugby widow,’ she was done with that world. She didn’t drive five hours to Auckland for the big international matches. She didn’t watch coverage on TV or collect the All Blacks trading cards that used to come in cereal boxes. And up until Olivia had mentioned playing rugby at school, she and her daughter had never so much as played a game of touch rugby at the beach.
“Do you really hate it so much?” he asked.
His voice was more curious than defensive, but it still bugged her.
“I hate the idea of her coming home with bumps and bruises. I hate the risk of broken bones and dislocations, concussions if a tackle goes wrong. I hate the idea of her grades sliding and her becoming as obsessive about the sport as her father was and never having room in her life for anything else.”
“Jackson had room in his life for you and Olivia,” he said quietly. “You were the best things that ever happened to him.”
Were they? Nat closed her eyes. Every now and then in her darkest moments she wondered if Jackson had loved his family as much as they loved him.
“Thank you,” she said.
Which was probably a dumb response, but what was the right one? She never knew the right thing to say to Isaac now. Noth
ing came out the way it was supposed to, came out easy and uncomplicated like it did back when it was her and Jackson and Isaac and Olivia just hanging out on their back deck on a summer’s afternoon.
“I should let you get back to work,” she added.
“Yeah. I’ll see you at practices, then.” He dipped his chin at her. “And you’ll want to be wearing more practical clothes than that. Sports shoes, T-shirt, track pants or shorts, and a water bottle.”
Natalie’s stomach plummeted to the soles of her cute ankle boots. “What? I’m not playing on Wednesday, I’m observing.”
“Not while I’m coach. You’ll do what the girls do. It’ll build some team spirit and unity, and set a good example.”
She caught a flash of white teeth and then they were gone. Could’ve sworn that was a smile. Good example, my ass. Nat set a good example by not stomping over and wiping that almost-smile off his smug face.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
She spun around and removed herself from the temptation by speed-walking out of his office, the soft rumble of his chuckle chasing her down the hallway.
Funny, was it? Well, the joke was on him if he thought Natalie Fisher would balk at getting a little bit down and dirty with him. She jerked to a halt in front of the showroom door, her pulse slamming through her veins. That sounded so, so wrong. She’d meant getting a bit muddy with the girls at practice, that’s what she wouldn’t balk at. It didn’t mean her subconscious had suggested other ideas.
Wicked, bad-girl dirty ideas.
Chapter 5
Isaac couldn’t have asked for a better Wednesday afternoon.
The sun was shining—autumn in the subtropical Far North was still warm—the school playing field beneath his running shoes was firm, the grass freshly mown. He’d timed his arrival to coincide with the last PE class of the day and the kids evacuating the locker rooms in a chaotic rush. Once the last of the students had streamed toward the school buses or to their homes within walking distance in Bounty Bay, Isaac used his newly acquired key to unlock the equipment room.
Mend Your Heart (Bounty Bay Book 4) Page 5
