by Leah Ashton
And just like that the tension shifted. No longer awkward, but luxurious. Warm. Hot.
Mila re-capped her mascara calmly, placing it on the marble vanity. Then she turned to face Seb.
His gaze travelled all over her—caressing her legs, hips, waist, breasts...lips.
Mila smiled, then stood on her bare tiptoes to press her mouth against his. And that was that. The kiss was as intense and sexy and amazing and emotional as every kiss they’d ever had.
And later—with reapplied make-up and slightly rumpled clothing—when Mila walked out of the apartment building to her car she knew why she hadn’t walked away.
Because not everything had changed between them. The connection between them that pulled them together so intensely had not deviated. It hadn’t since that first kiss on the beach.
And that connection was so strong, and so unique—at least to Mila—she wasn’t quite prepared to let go of it just yet.
* * *
A heatwave hit Perth the next day.
Seb stood on the side of the pool, his toes curling over the stone edging.
The diving board was long gone, tossed out during one of his parents’ renovations. He missed it right now. He missed the way it would bend beneath his weight. He missed the slightly rough surface beneath the soles of his feet. He missed the satisfying boing noise it had made as he’d jumped.
Always one, two, three...splash!
But now he remained on the edge of the pool, perfectly dry in his board shorts, enjoying the oppressive blanketing heat against his skin. Even enjoying the way his sweat beaded and dribbled down between his shoulder blades and along the slight trough of his spine.
He’d always liked this—this getting deliciously hot and uncomfortable, knowing that the relief of the water was within his reach. The anticipation was half the fun.
Mila, of course, had always jumped right in. She’d walk through the gate, dump her towel on any available surface and leap into the water straight away. Every time. Every single time.
Seb bent his knees and pushed off from the edge of the pool, diving sleekly into the water.
It was so ridiculously hot the water wasn’t really even that cold. But it still felt glorious against his skin, washing away the sweat and the heat in an instant.
He surfaced at the far side, where it was shallow enough for him to stand. He turned, propping his back against the warm paving, and looked back across the pool. At the end was the pool house. Empty now, with his parents away on a cruise, the bi-fold doors all closed up.
It was the middle of the afternoon. All day he’d felt restless. The heat, he’d thought—although that had made no sense within his air-conditioned office.
In the end he’d rescheduled his afternoon meetings, deciding some physical exertion might be what he needed. But now he was here he acknowledged it wasn’t as simple as finding an outlet for his unease.
If he was honest, the restlessness wasn’t even new. It had been hovering for days.
Three days, actually.
Since that afternoon at the workshop.
Seb sank beneath the water, then pushed strongly off the wall with his feet, swimming an expansive breaststroke, under water, to the other side.
Nothing had changed between himself and Mila. At least, not on the surface.
They still saw each other daily. Still shared the same bed.
But things had changed.
Of course they had.
That afternoon had exposed the naiveté of their arrangement. It was all well and good to just go with the flow, and get caught up in the thrill of being ‘not just friends’—but it couldn’t last for ever. He’d always known that. But he’d been ignoring it.
What had he thought would happen? Really?
Had he hoped that after sleeping together for a few weeks he and Mila would magically morph back into ‘just friends’ again? As if they’d simply needed to get it out of their system?
How stupid. How impossible.
He’d told himself he’d been honest and up-front with Mila. She knew his position on relationships. He’d been crystal-clear.
And he’d been honest that afternoon in the workshop. He’d been unwilling to define their relationship, but he’d told her how he’d felt, how she made him feel.
So he could tell himself that he’d done the right thing. That he was still a good guy.
But he wasn’t.
Because when Mila had asked him to define their relationship she’d been telling him that she wanted more. He’d known that—of course he had.
And that had been his cue. His cue to end this—to walk away before it became even more complicated. Before he hurt her even more. And he knew he’d already caused her pain. He’d seen it in her eyes that afternoon.
But he hadn’t walked away. In the end he hadn’t been able to.
That had been as selfish as his refusal to go along with Mila’s silent plea to hide their relationship from Ivy.
He’d had no right to react the way he had. But react he had, driven by an unexpected ache—disappointment, maybe?—that Mila didn’t want the people she cared about to know about them. About the relationship he’d later refused to define.
And here he was—right amidst the tangle of contradictions that was Mila and Seb.
He couldn’t give Mila what she wanted. But he also couldn’t walk away.
How much longer could this last? How much longer could they continue to fall asleep on Mila’s couch? Or to wake up in his bed together covered only in the morning sun? How long before what they had deteriorated? Before what they had became so complicated that walking away felt impossible? And staying together felt unbearable.
How long before their lives became about history and obligation and not...?
Love.
Seb ducked under the water again. He swam as close to the bottom as he could, so that his knees and chest grazed the textured surface. When he reached the end he pushed off again, swimming another underwater lap, and then another—until his body was screaming for oxygen.
When he broke the surface he was gasping for air. He hauled himself out at the side of the pool and rolled immediately onto his back, water streaming from his body to cool the red-hot paving.
He looked up at the sun, right in the middle of the sky, blinding him so that he blinked and squinted.
This wasn’t about love.
This was about finally doing the right thing by the women in his life.
He’d let Stephanie down—so badly. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. He just couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He needed to do the right thing by Mila.
He needed to end it.
* * *
As Mila twisted the red and white sign to ‘Closed’ two familiar faces walked up to the glass shop door.
April and Ivy.
And Nate, in his pram—invisible beneath a canopy of muslins.
‘This is an intervention,’ Ivy said in her big sister voice, crystal-clear through the glass.
Mila didn’t really want to, but she opened the door. She’d been dodging Ivy’s calls, so this was not unexpected. ‘I suppose you’d better come in,’ she said.
‘We should,’ April said, deliberately cheerful. ‘And, look—I brought doughnuts. Let’s go upstairs.’
A few minutes later they were settled with cups of tea at Mila’s dining table. Nate sat on an old hand-made quilt that had once been Mila’s, sucking happily on a cracker that Ivy had produced from her handbag.
April had carefully sliced each of the different types of glazed doughnut into thirds, so they could all try each flavour. Unexpectedly, that simple, typically April gesture of kindness made Mila’s eyes sting and fill with tears.
She blinked them away,
annoyed with herself. What was she even upset about? But she wasn’t fast enough.
‘Oh, honey,’ Ivy said, scooting her chair closer so she could wrap her arm around Mila. ‘Please tell us what’s going on. You had to know you couldn’t get away with avoiding us for ever.’
April must have located her box of tissues, because they appeared on the table before her. Mila grabbed a couple, balling them together in her hands.
‘I don’t know why I’m upset,’ she said. ‘I don’t have anything to be upset about.’
April raised an eyebrow. ‘You sure?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Then, ‘No.’
Dammit. She was supposed to be in control. Of what was happening with Seb. Of her emotions.
‘If it helps,’ Ivy said, ‘April and I are confident that Sebastian Fyfe has not suddenly taken an interest in traditional pottery techniques. We’ve made an educated guess as to what’s going on.’
‘I’d hoped I was more convincing the other day.’
Ivy laughed. ‘Mila, I practically had to fan myself when I walked in the door. Nate knew that Seb wasn’t there to play with clay.’
Mila raised an eyebrow. ‘He actually is pretty interested in what I do.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ said April, with a smile. ‘But he’s more interested in you.’
Mila’s cheeks were warm. ‘Okay...’ she conceded.
‘So why the secrecy?’ Ivy asked. ‘This isn’t like you.’
Mila took her time selecting a doughnut piece, and then a bit longer to eat it. Even now her sisters knew something was going on with her and Seb, it was still difficult for her to articulate what, exactly.
‘Because we’re not going out,’ Mila said. ‘We’re just sleeping together. Neither of us saw the point of telling anyone about something so temporary.’
‘Is it temporary?’ asked April.
Mila nodded.
‘Is that what you want?’ asked Ivy.
She shook her head.
‘Ah...’ her sisters said, together.
Mila shrugged. ‘So that’s it. But it’s okay. I know what I’m doing.’
After a few moments Ivy said carefully, ‘And what’s that?’
‘Look,’ Mila said firmly. ‘You really don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’m not being stupid.’
‘You’re never stupid, Mila!’ April said, raising her eyebrows.
Mila rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, come on—you both think I’m stupid every time I answer one of Dad’s phone calls. And you both thought Ben was a massive loser, long before he cheated on me.’
‘Not stupid,’ April said. ‘Impressively optimistic.’
Mila’s lips quirked upwards. ‘I’m not being optimistic this time. I know Seb isn’t desperately in love with me.’
She’d meant it to sound light, like a joke. But it hadn’t really come out that way. Instead it had sounded like a statement of fact.
Which she supposed it was.
Oh.
Why did that hurt? As if this was a stunning realisation?
‘If he doesn’t, then he’s the stupid one, Mila,’ April said. ‘And—’
Ivy interrupted. ‘Does he know how you feel about him?’
Mila shook her head. How could he? She didn’t really know either. She just knew she wanted more than he was willing to give. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I think it does,’ Ivy said, all authoritative.
‘No,’ Mila said, equally definitely. ‘He’s made it clear. He doesn’t want a relationship with me. It doesn’t matter what I say.’
She didn’t really want to focus too much on what she felt. It would only make everything that much harder.
And what were the options, anyway? For how she felt? They weren’t in high school any more. She couldn’t like him, like him.
But could she love him?
No.
‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ Mila said firmly. To herself as much as to her sisters. ‘I’m going to end it soon. Before it gets even more complicated.’
‘Good idea,’ said Ivy.
‘What a shame,’ April said at the same time. ‘It would’ve been kind of nice to end up with your first love.’
‘You knew?’ Mila said, genuinely stunned. April and Ivy, to the thirteen-year-old Mila, had seemed so much older. It hadn’t been until her late teens that she’d started to share her romantic dramas with them both.
‘Of course—’ began Ivy, but then she was distracted by a thud.
Nate had crawled over to the couch and tugged Ivy’s bag to the ground. He happily sat with the strap in his mouth, the detritus from within the bag spread around him—lip balm, tissues, a nappy, Ivy’s purse, crumpled receipts...
‘Oh, whoops,’ Ivy said, getting to her feet. ‘I’d better give this to you before I forget. I found it shoved down the side of Nate’s pram this morning.’
Ivy came back to the table, handing Mila a slightly chewed package delivery card that Nate had presumably pilfered.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ivy said. ‘It’s a few weeks old. Hopefully whatever it is will still be at the post office.’
It was most likely supplies, so Mila wasn’t too worried. Instead she focused on the still mostly uneaten doughnuts—and changed the subject. ‘So, April,’ she said, ‘I saw you were making all your followers insanely jealous about a new watch today. New sponsor?’
* * *
Mila’s phone rang as she was setting up a new window display. The shop was closed, although the sun hadn’t quite set—the days were long now, as Christmas approached.
She fished her phone out of the front pocket of her apron, expecting it to be a customer who’d planned to call her back about a commission.
Instead, the number on the screen was international, and Mila’s heart sank. She knew it was her father. She recognised the number she’d allowed to go to voicemail only a few weeks earlier. She hadn’t listened to his message—only enough to verify that it was Blaine before promptly deleting it.
It had been easy to ignore Blaine then, amongst the drama of that first night with Seb. And it should be equally easy now—but then, he’d never called her this regularly before. And it had been unusual for him to attempt to contact her sisters...
She answered the call. She needed to let him know not to contact her again.
‘La-la!’
Of course this was the one time her father had called her without the unnecessary help of his assistant. Regardless, she had no qualms about telling him to go away.
‘I don’t want to talk to you, Blaine.’
‘Blaine?’
‘Yes,’ Mila said. ‘I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t want you to contact me again.’
Her voice sounded strong, but the words were still so hard to say. She had to force them out, focusing on each word, one after the other.
‘But, Mila, I have some wonderful news!’
That didn’t matter. She should hang up.
‘What, Dad?’ she said on a sigh, not quite able to be the ice queen he deserved.
She immediately realised her mistake. Blaine—not Dad. Blaine. She gritted her teeth, furious.
She was so busy being annoyed with herself, Blaine’s words didn’t sink in at first.
‘Pardon me?’ she said, certain she’d heard him wrong. ‘Wife?’
‘Didn’t you get my message, La-la?’ Blaine said, with a self-satisfied chuckle. ‘I got married! To the most amazing woman!’
So it would seem that since she’d last seen him he’d married a woman Mila had never heard of, let alone met. Mila rubbed her temple, just wanting this call to be over.
‘But that isn’t why I called, of course—because the news is now even better! I wanted you to be the
first to know, La-la—after my lovely wife and myself. Ha-ha!’
‘First to know what?’ Mila asked slowly, as horrid realisation began to dawn.
‘Can’t you guess? I’m going to be a daddy again, La-la! Isn’t that amazing? A new brother or sister for you and the girls!’
Oh, God.
‘I’m just so excited. I can’t—’
But Mila had hung up on him, unable to stomach another word. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to process the news somehow, to deal with it in a calm and rational manner. Because, really, why did she care what her deadbeat dad was doing on the other side of the world? Why should she care if he was having another child for whom he’d just shown more interest, excitement and affection than Mila had received in twenty-five years...?
She turned, needing a glass of water or something. But as she turned her hand clipped one of the tall, elegant vases she’d just put in the shop window. It tipped over, instantly creating a beautiful multi-coloured set of dominoes as each vase smashed its neighbour.
She could probably have saved most of them if she’d reached out and caught one of those subsequent vases. But she hadn’t. Instead she’d just stood there, allowing weeks of her work to be destroyed, until she’d found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor, with the remnants of her vases surrounding her and tears streaming down her cheeks.
* * *
The shop was empty, new ceilings and fresh plaster now hiding the electrical and plumbing work of the past few weeks.
Seb stood upstairs, standing in the long rectangle of fading light thrown through the street side window. The floors were still raw wood, waiting to be polished. A new kitchen waited to be assembled in the corner, in a collection of beige cardboard boxes.
Seb really liked this part of the building process—when the wooden skeleton was dressed in plasterboard and the interior began to take shape. Although he wasn’t really walking around his shop to admire the workmanship of his builders.
He was stalling.
Mila was expecting him in a few minutes. He hadn’t seen her since his swim—and his decision—because she’d cancelled their plans for yesterday after being invited out for dinner with her sisters.
He hadn’t minded. He didn’t mind delaying the inevitable—and he certainly didn’t mind delaying hurting Mila.
