Her jaw drops, and she huffs. “Oh, um, well. That’s nice.” The fake forced smile that she gives me has me fist-pumping inside. Take that, cougar.
“Right, well, thanks for the help. I’d better get back to the tribe.”
“Um. My pleasure. Good luck.”
I rush through to the checkout and then make a beeline for Willow’s.
****
Everything goes to plan.
Build the beds? Check.
Load the old shitty timber and weeds into the back of the Ute ready to take to the rubbish tip? Check.
Compost delivered, and topped up garden beds? Check.
Plants are planted, watered and fed? Check, check and check.
Finally, I fix the squeaky gate and give the hedge a cut, and load the trimmings into the back of my Ute.
Today, I totally dominated.
I’m feeling pretty fucking happy with myself. A bit of physical labour isn’t bad. And gardening, well, I actually kind of enjoyed it. Who knew? It was probably more the fact of who it was for than anything else. I followed the planting instructions to the letter, and hopefully I haven’t fucked it up.
Just before six o’clock I give the plants another water and lie down on the faded swing seat on the back veranda.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WILLOW
Pulling into my driveway I don’t know whether to be afraid or pissed off that someone has parked here. I know it’s a busy street, but in my driveway? I’m already in a mood, because I was looking forward to seeing Ryan again. He guaranteed that I’d see him again today. His words. And yet, no handsome fisherman in my café. It’s enough to make me want to scream and devour the nearest block of chocolate. I park on the street and get out to inspect the mystery car closer.
When I spy the neatly trimmed hedge out front, weeds and clippings piled high in the back of the vehicle, I let out a long breath. Perhaps this is not as sinister as the conclusion I’ve jumped to. Did Gabs organise a tradesman to tidy up? That sweet woman is always doing things for me.
I unlatch the gate to the backyard and it glides open like a dream. What the fruitcake?
What sounds like a snore or a snort, comes from the back veranda. I look around for some kind of weapon, grabbing my broom, which is leant against the back of the carport. What am I going to do? Brush them to death?
I sneak along the path, creep up the timber steps, and nearly die at the sight before me.
Holy sharks! There’s a sex god on my swing. It reminds me of Jake from Sweet Home Alabama, all mussed up, covered in grease and kicking back in his hammock.
I’ve ogled this man enough to know who he is, even though he’s wearing more clothes than usual and I can’t see his face. My straw hat, which I’d left on the swing seat, sits perfectly angled on his head, but I can still see his strong jaw covered in light stubble. Ryan is in a pair of filthy jeans and boots and a dirty white singlet top, that I’m guessing is the one he was wearing this morning. Sigh.
Let’s see if I can have a little fun here.
I toss the broom aside and kick the edge of the swing back. Ryan snorts and then flails about as he sits up and regains balance. My hat falls to the ground.
“Hey,” he growls. A deep frown forms on his brow. The lines across his forehead fade when his eyes meet my curious gaze.
I stand with my arms crossed under my chest. “What ya doing there?”
With a dirty hand Ryan wipes what I’m presuming is drool from the edge of his mouth and then proceeds to blind me with a beautiful smile. “Just restin’ my eyes.”
“You’re not trying to bed in for the night? You looked pretty comfy, if you ask me.”
“No. I assure you. I love my bed.” Okay. I don’t need that visual. On second thoughts, maybe I do. I can imagine him in bed later. When I’m alone.
“How did you find out where I live?”
He smirks. Hello, beautiful dimple. He rakes his fingers through his messy, sexy-as-anything hair.
I move my hands to my hips. “Have you been following me?”
“No, I haven’t. A certain lipstick-obsessed friend of yours gave me your address.”
Gabs. I knew she was up to something.
“So besides dirtying up my veranda, what are you doing here?”
“Been workin’.” He stands and snatches my hand. His warm fingers entwine with mine. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Hand in hand, he guides me down the steps towards the back of the yard. When we reach the garden beds, which I barely recognise, my eyes well up.
The garden beds I’d been too busy to give attention to have been replaced with new timber. They sit higher than before, which means more good soil and room to grow. This has been on my to-do list since I got here. I’ve been dreaming of how I could potentially become self-sufficient, at least in the herb and vegetable department. I want to be able to produce more of my own organic produce.
I move a step closer and take in a deep breath of the earthy smell of wet dirt and straw filling the air around us. To say I’m impressed with Ryan’s handiwork is an understatement.
“So, whaddya think?” he asks. I cut my gaze to him, and he’s standing there, thumbs hooked into his belt loops, his chest out proud. He rocks back and forth on his heels and smiles as bright as the setting sun glaring behind him. This man … sugar.
“Ryan, it’s …” I stumble for what else to say. No one has ever done something like this for me. This man, who I barely know, has surprised me by doing something that has truly touched my heart. I’m so passionate about our little café and my food, and Ryan has cut right to the thing that means so much to me. But not only that, Ryan has given me more hope to believe that there’s somebody out there for me. He could very well be it. My future.
“Thank you,” I whisper, as tears trail down my face.
I take two quick steps towards him and jump up, throwing my arms around his broad, sweaty shoulders. He catches me and his strong arms wrap around my waist, lifting me off the ground. The mad thumping of my heart compels me into action—I kiss him hard on the cheek and squeeze him with all my might.
Sugar.
What am I doing now? Literally throwing myself at him?
I move my hands to his chest and push back. “Um, sorry,” I mutter.
He loosens his hold on me and I glide down the front of his body, and yes, I notice the bulge in his jeans. Boy, do I notice. He rounds his hands over my shoulders to steady me and drills me with those chocolate-brown eyes. I lick my lips. Mmm. Remnants of his salty skin tease my tastebuds with the hope of more. His eyes focus on my mouth and a hearty chuckle rumbles up his throat.
“Don’t be sorry, Blondie. I’ll take a thanks like that any day.”
He traces his thumbs over my cheeks, the playfulness in his eyes now gone. “But no tears, ’kay?” Aw. What a sweetie.
“They’re happy tears, Ryan. I promise.” I give him a soft smile. He dips his head and rests his forehead on mine.
“Good to hear, because I never wanna be responsible for any other ones.”
I can’t imagine you would be.
I reach up and wipe my lip-gloss from his cheek. Even though I like the look of it there. I slip my hand into his and pull him closer to the plants.
“Come on, tell me about my garden. Are you much of a gardener?” Seeing him all dirty like this leads me to believe that this man has more talents than merely working on a boat.
“Let’s just say that after today, I know a bit more. I can’t take all the credit, though. Some bird, Sharon, helped me get stuff in season.”
Oh no. Sharon Pitman. Otherwise known as Town Gossiper. Void of morals. Renowned boyfriend/husband stealer. Needless to say, she is not my cup of tea. I shudder at the thought of Sharon all over him. She wouldn’t have been able to hold herself back. Fresh meat in town is too enticing. I’ve heard the stories. Given half the chance, she’d have taken him out the back and given him a blow …
“What did you plant?
” I ask, diverting my thoughts. Surely Ryan wouldn’t be attracted to someone like Sharon? I look into his warm eyes, which are focused solely on me. No. I can’t see it.
He grips my hand and leads me to the far row of planting, where a few timber stakes are positioned with plants close to the base. Straw is spread around, no doubt to keep the moisture in. I’ll have to make sure I keep the water up.
“I stuck all the planting guide thingies at the end of the rows so you know what’s what. We’ve got truss tomatoes at the end here, capsicums, shallots, and some other stuff and herbs. I made sure I used all organic fertiliser stuff, too.”
“Just the kind of plants I wanted. There’s nothing like the flavour of home-grown tomatoes. They taste a hundred times better.”
Our hands swing as we walk between the beds, inspecting the seedlings. He’s really done an incredible job. What did I do to deserve such a thoughtful … friend?
“You fixed my gate, too, and the hedge … I almost didn’t recognise the place. Thank you. It’s a beautiful thing you’ve done.”
“No worries,” he says, humble as anything.
“I don’t know how to thank you.” Maybe I could offer to kiss him stupid? Gabs would be most pleased. It certainly wouldn’t be a chore, in fact I’m sure it’d do both of us the world of good.
He squeezes my hand and tugs me closer to him, just like he did at the beach the other day. I press my other hand to his chest and look up at him. His pec muscle jumps beneath my hand. Sweet holy cupcakes. I imagine running my hands up and down and all over this gentle giant.
“I think with that smile you’re wearing, we can call it even.” The dimple returns.
Gulp.
“I’m serious, Ryan. It must have cost hundreds of dollars, not to mention your time when you could have been at work. At least let me make it up to you with coffee and cookies?”
“Have you eaten?” he asks, ignoring my offer of caffeine and sweetness.
“No … I was just going to rustle up something easy.”
“I’ve got something on in the slow cooker at home. Why don’t you come back with me to my place, and we can eat? I’ve made more than enough.”
He cooks? Seriously? Next thing he’ll be telling me he’s got superhero powers and fights crime in his spare time. Hmm. A vision of Captain America comes to mind. Really, Ryan and him don’t look that dissimilar. Big mussies.
I shake off the thought. I really have to stop watching so many movies.
“What’s on the menu?”
“Beef stew.”
“How do you know I’m not vegetarian?”
He frowns, as if he’s disappointed, and that it’s something he should know about me. “Are you?” he quizzes.
“No.”
He chuckles low in his throat. “Then what the hell are you worried about, then?”
I shrug. I’m running out of excuses. Dinner with Ryan. My friend, Ryan.
“Okay. I’ll follow you in my car.”
He frowns. “It’s easier to go in my car. I’m happy to drive,” he offers.
“I have an early start again tomorrow. Thanks, but I’ll drive.”
He huffs out a forced breath through his nose. “Whatever makes you happy, Blondie.”
You make me happy, Ryan.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RYAN
The aroma of a home-cooked meal hits me head-on when I open the apartment door. Success.
“Holy sharks, that smells incredible,” Willow says, when she walks into the kitchen.
I chuckle. “Sharks?”
She purses her lips in some kind of warning. “Have you got a problem with sharks?” Her hands move to her hips.
I like that I’m getting to see this side of her. A bit more fight. I’m beginning to see that maybe she’s not as fragile as I’d first thought, particularly after she ran out of the café that day. The whole ‘sharks’ thing is cute as hell. It’s not every day you meet a girl that doesn’t swear. It’s refreshing. She’s the kind of girl you’d take home to meet the … yeah, parents. My mother would find her adorable. They could talk about their gardens and cooking and then Mum would slam her with questions like ‘Is your uterus ready to house my grandchild?’. Cass would likely take her under her wing, and treat her like a long-lost sister. What kind of bribe will it take to keep Cass quiet about my not-so-angelic past?
“Well, do you?” she prompts, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Only the unholy ones,” I offer.
She laughs and walks into the kitchen beside me. I pause with my hand on top of the slow-cooker lid. If this dish has turned to shit, then this night might just head in that direction too.
“Come on. Show us what you’ve got, Brown-Eyes.”
I lift the lid and she moves in close to inspect. I poke the meat with the wooden spoon and it melts apart like slicing a hot knife through butter. Great success.
“Mmm. Where are the plates?” she asks. Her beautiful eyes light up and she licks her lips. What I’d do to be eating her instead of stew.
I clear my head of thoughts of going down on her, spreading those legs wide and lapping at her wet … fuck. I need to focus. I need food. I’m about ready to pass out from hunger.
I clear my throat and point Willow in the direction of the corner cupboard.
She takes a few plates and some cutlery from the drawer and assembles them on the bench. I spoon some stew onto a plate.
“Say when,” I say after two large spoonfuls. I load up the spoon again and motion towards the plate. Surely she wouldn’t eat more than that? How much do chicks eat?
“I didn’t say when yet,” she chastises. I’m pleased to know she’ll eat a decent-sized meal.
I unload the third spoonful and then return to the cooker for more.
She leans in close, placing her small hand to my bicep. Her simple touch makes my muscle flinch. Damn it, when this girl touches me it gets my body in a tailspin. Like in her garden, when she threw herself at me like that—Christ fucking almighty, it took all kinds of restraint not to wrap those legs around my waist and pin her to the nearest vertical surface.
“When,” she whispers.
“Ah, yeah. Got it,” I mumble.
I add the same amount to the remaining plate and put the lid back on the cooker. Keep my second serve warm.
I take our meals over to the dining table, and Willow takes a seat opposite me. Then I realise that I don’t have any wine or beer. A glass of red would be the shit right now. Didn’t really plan that part of tonight, did I?
“Water?” I offer.
“Please,” she says.
I take a couple of glasses from the cupboard and a cold bottle of water from the fridge. Willow waits patiently as I pour us each a glass.
“Don’t wait for me, Blondie. Dig in.”
She picks up her fork and has a taste. I load up my fork and shovel it in. The rich meat melts and the sauce teases my tastebuds with the intense tomato and herb-flavoured sauce. The carrots and potatoes are soft and squishy too. Just the way I like them.
“Sweet cupcakes, this is incredible. I haven’t had anything like this since—” She stops short, and closes her mouth.
I raise an eyebrow. “Since?”
The smile that darts across her face is clearly forced. Her eyes don’t crinkle at the sides, and her shoulders stiffen.
“Since I lived at home,” she finishes.
“Yeah, been a while for me, too. So your parents aren’t local?”
“No.”
“You see them often?”
“No.” Another curt, one-word response. Hmm.
“They still together?”
“Yes. They’ve been married for more than thirty years.”
“Sweet, mine too.”
Willow takes in a deep breath, and leans her fork on the side of her plate. “Can I ask you something?”
“Course.”
“When you were making this meal earlier today, did you think you’d have c
ompany?”
I can’t resist winking at her, so I do. “I had every hope.”
She chuckles softly to herself. “You know, I wasn’t entirely happy when I got home today.”
“How come?” Is she not happy with what I did? That wasn’t the impression I got when she jumped me earlier.
“It didn’t help things that I was already in a bit of a mood.”
“Tough day?”
“Yeah, it was, but … it’s silly, really. Never mind.”
“Come on. You can trust this pretty face, can’t you? Why were you in a mood?” I ask, and then realise that maybe it’s that time of the month or something, and she doesn’t wanna share those details. That’d kind of be awkward.
Her cheeks flush. Whatever it is, it’s got her flustered. “I was expecting another visit from you … in the café.”
Fist pump.
“Ohhhh, I see,” I say. “So you were cranky with me, huh?”
She shrugs, and smirks.
“I never said I’d be back in the café, did I?”
“No, I guess you didn’t,” she says and rolls her eyes.
I dig in for another mouthful and so does Willow. For a minute or two we both eat in silence, sharing the occasional smirk, eye roll, and wink. Well, I’m the only one doing the winking. I can’t help it. Every time I do, her blush deepens again. It’s like I’ve got a new toy to play with. If I can affect her like that with a simple wink, imagine what state she’ll be in when I finally work her with my mouth.
Willow places her fork down on her empty plate and takes a sip of water. “So, you met Sharon, huh?” she asks.
“Um, yeah, well if you mean I got manhandled and she rubbed herself on me like she was marking her territory, then yeah. We met.”
She frowns. “Oh, really?”
Hmm. Do I detect a hint of jealousy? Interesting. “Relax. She’s harmless, but if you hear a rumour that I’m married with triplets and another one on the way, it’s come from her. She asked me if I was single, and well, I figured if I fed her that line it might be my only chance to get out of there alive.”
Willow laughs out loud. “You know you’ve given the ultimate ammo to the town gossip queen.”
Sting Page 9
