Hold On to Me

by Victoria Purman

  ‘The coffee here is fantastic,’ Stella lifted her cup to them to emphasise her point and force them to look at her. ‘Do yourself a favour and grab a cup. Enjoy your stay at Middle Point.’

  One of the blondes turned to the other, without even an acknowledgement of Stella, and said rather loudly, ‘Darling, do you think they have soy lattes?’ And they waltzed off.

  Stella shook her head. They were such wannabes. She’d seen real money. She’d seen Sydney money. These women would be minnows in that pond. She enjoyed the image of the two of them being devoured by sharks.

  The clatter of a coat hanger falling to the ground took her out of her revenge fantasy.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ A young woman bobbed up and shot Stella a look of wide-eyed shock. She hurriedly returned one of the kaftans to the rack and took a step back as if she were about to disappear.

  ‘Don’t worry. They’re a little fiddly and I’m only here temporarily so these makeshift racks will have to do. Is there anything I can help you with?’ It was the polite thing to say but Stella couldn’t quite believe this young woman would be interested in the clothes she had on display.

  ‘No thanks. I’m just looking.’ It was a nervous smile, which Stella found amusing. There was nothing timid about the young woman’s outfit. She was wearing a retro eighties tribute. Coloured leggings—leg warmers, for god’s sake—a huge baggy jumper with appliquéd slashes on the front and a scarf tied on top of her head. She must have been studying old music videos on YouTube. And she’d done very well. It looked exactly right.

  ‘Your outfit is incredible,’ Stella said with real appreciation.

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ The young woman beamed. ‘I love op-shopping.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Stella blinked. She suddenly recognised the girl—she hadn’t realised, seeing as she looked much more grown up in her own clothes. ‘I’ve seen you before. You were outside my shop the other day on your way home from school.’

  ‘Yeah, that was me. I’m Molly.’

  Stella held out a hand and they shared a firm handshake. ‘I’m Stella. Very pleased to meet you.’

  She couldn’t stop staring. Molly could have been her, twenty years earlier. She looked about fifteen, give or take a few months. Medium height and short hair that she’d spiked up with some industrial-strength hair gel. She looked like she was about to grow into herself: still a tender mix of self-consciousness and confidence. Stella admired her spunk. She’d not only searched the charity shops, making a virtue out of recycling, but had the confidence to totally rock her look in a beachside town where surf gear, short shorts and bikini tops were the uniform for most of the kids her age.

  ‘Your outfit is fabulous. I love the idea of recycling fashion. Always have! But I can’t actually believe you’re interested in the kaftans. Not someone your age, surely.’

  Molly giggled. ‘They’re not exactly my style—no offence. It’s the colours I love looking at. See this one?’ She took one of the pieces of the rack and held it up. ‘It’s the blues and oranges and yellows. They kind of remind me of a sunset. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I agree with you.’ Stella leant in. ‘I stock that one specifically to remind my customers of their wonderful summer holidays on the south coast. It’s one of my best sellers. It almost walks out the door.’

  ‘I really love your shop. I’m so sorry about what happened.’

  ‘Thank you. But it’s almost all fixed and I’ll be reopening soon.’

  ‘I look at your window displays all the time. I loved the one you did last Easter with the old dinner plates—the blue and white ones?’

  Stella remembered it well. She’d found some pieces of blue willow dinnerware in the charity shop, enough to create a display with white-wrapped eggs and blue jewellery. ‘You remember that?’

  ‘Of course. Your shop is the best one in Port Elliot, I think.’

  ‘That’s really sweet of you to say, Molly. I have an idea. Would you like to come to the official reopening of Style by Stella?’

  Molly looked like she’d just been given the best Christmas gift ever. ‘Really? I’d love to!’

  ‘Come by the shop next week and I’ll give you an invitation.’

  ‘Thanks, Stella, that’s awesome. I’ll see you next week.’

  As Stella waved the girl away, she felt the beginnings of a brilliant idea brewing in her head.

  CHAPTER

  16

  ‘You want a coffee?’

  It was Monday morning, over a week since the fire, and Summer was expecting a busy day with clients in her massage studio, so Stella was taking the chance to nip down to the café and grab some coffee.

  ‘Soy cappuccino,’ Summer called.

  ‘That is not coffee. That is something other than coffee,’ Stella teased. ‘I’ll be back in ten.’

  December was well under way and the weather had put on a show. The sky was a brilliant blue and the light breeze coming up off the bay wasn’t enough to cause anyone a chill. Stella picked up her pace as she crossed the train line. In the distance, she could already see Luca’s truck out the front of her shop and a frisson of something shimmered through her. She hadn’t seen him or talked to him since his invitation the previous Friday afternoon to go to the wedding. Perhaps she’d pick up a double espresso for him and drop it off on the way back to Summer’s. That would be the polite thing to do for a co-worker, right?

  As she got closer, she noticed him already waiting for her on the footpath. She’d know his body anywhere. Tall, slim hipped, big work boots. The flop of dark hair that he pushed back from his forehead. At a distance, in shadow, it looked like a wave. She’d been anticipating this moment, had been thinking of seeing him again all weekend. His words from Friday night had swirled in her head and stuck there like catchy song lyrics: I think my luck has changed already.

  She’d spent all Saturday night thinking about Luca at the wedding, even while she tried to occupy herself planning the reopening. She’d wondered what colour suit he’d worn and exactly how good he’d looked in it. She’d turned her mind to the little details: what colour tie had he chosen? Had he loosened it at the end of the night? Had he shaved or embraced the rugged three-day-growth look? Who had he been sitting with? Were they old friends or family? How did he possibly survive all those courses at an Italian wedding without bursting out of his trousers?

  Oh, who was she kidding? The burning question that had her tossing and turning all night was whether he’d met anyone. Specifically, whether he’d slept with anyone. Just how gorgeous and young was the woman who’d had her hands all over his body? Who’d had his delicious mouth on hers and his strong fingers sending her to heaven? Whose name had he whispered when he came with a shudder?

  When she was a couple of metres from him, it became easier to interpret the look on his face. He looked thunderously angry. The clench of his jaw and the slow and deliberate rise and fall of his shoulders sent her heart leaping into her throat.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Stella looked into her shop. She had to squint a little to adjust her eyes to the semi-darkness, hoping something might give her a clue. It was empty, except for Luca’s sawhorse and his circular saw set up on another makeshift table. There were sheets of Gyprock leaning up against the back wall and, on the north, sandstone had been exposed where they’d almost finished chipping off the damaged plaster. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Except that everything looked out of the ordinary.

  When he didn’t answer, she stared at him, perplexed. ‘Luca? Has something happened?’

  ‘No, not in there.’ Luca’s voice was low, too quiet.

  She looked him up and down. Noted his crossed arms. His blazing eyes. His non-existent smile.

  ‘So, what’s up with you? Did you have to go home all on your own on Saturday night?’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she went cold. Then hot. Then cold again. She wanted to rewind those ten seconds and take them back. She had stupidly hinted at exactly what she’d been thinking. There was n
o escaping now. His eyes were boring into hers and when he reached out an arm, then pulled it back, she knew he was being serious.

  ‘We need to talk. Not here.’ Luca didn’t wait for her but stormed inside first, then turned and waited.

  She followed him, slowly.

  ‘I need to talk to you about your …’ he paused ‘… official reopening.’

  ‘You did get my invite, didn’t you? I sent a whole bunch on Saturday afternoon and I’ve already had so many RSVPs. It’s going to be a fantastic party.’

  Luca planted his hands on top of his head, linking his fingers together and pressing down. He looked like he was trying to stop the top of it from blowing off. ‘What the fuck, Stella?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Really? You went ahead and picked the day without even asking me. I’m the project manager here. We’ve got a million things still to do not to mention, you know, me having an actual life of my own and buying a house: you can’t expect me to cancel all that just so you can throw some kind of fucking party.’

  Stella hesitated. ‘It’ll be done by the 19th, won’t it?’

  ‘You know how much pressure this puts on me?’ He dropped his hands, started pacing the empty space. ‘Look at all this. It’s still a mess. What if I don’t get the job done on time? What if there’s a delay with one of the other tradies? What if it isn’t finished and we get to the date and people are queuing up outside to come in and drink champagne? What are we going to do then?’

  Stella remembered why she’d sent the invites out on Saturday night. She’d been trying to keep herself busy to avoid thinking about him. She’d needed a distraction from Luca and his invitation and his eyes and his body and his youth and from the way she was feeling about him. Hot and bothered feelings. Longing feelings. Completely inappropriate feelings.

  She clasped her hands together. Her stubborn independence had blinded her to the fact that she and Luca were a team. ‘You’re right and I’m sorry. I should have checked with you.’

  Luca’s expression transformed from indignation to something else. Something plaintive, almost pleading. When she realised what it was, she felt sucker-punched. He didn’t want to let her down. That’s what his anger was about. He had pride in his work, in his commitment to her to make the new Style by Stella better than the old one. And her hasty party-planning had thrown a spanner in those works.

  ‘Yeah, you should have.’

  How could she explain to Luca why she’d done what she had?

  She went to him, put a hand on his shoulder, meaning it as a reassuring gesture. ‘I’m really sorry. I’ve just been so buzzed about how fast things are coming along here, how fantastic your work is, that I got a little ahead of myself and forgot to check with you. I’m so used to doing things on my own, that sometimes … sometimes I find it hard to get out of the habit.’

  She removed her hand when he glanced at it.

  Luca let out a long slow breath and rubbed a palm over his chin. ‘When I took on this job, Stella, I told you I wanted it to be a partnership. I can’t do it unless you remember that. We have to act like a construction crew on a building site. We both have to know exactly what the other person is doing or we’ll fuck it up and it won’t be finished. And that will ruin my reputation in this town and hit your business.’

  Her business. Stella pulled herself up. It was good to remember that. She felt chastened and she hated that. But she deserved it. She’d let her excitement about progress on the shop get in the way of what was safe and what was practical. And, most importantly, what was doable. She’d let herself down and it ached.

  ‘I get it, Luca. Thank you for thinking about my business. That means a lot to me.’ She smiled at him and his eyes softened. That wasn’t hard, was it? she thought. Owning up to her mistake? Stella felt like they’d jumped a hurdle together and survived.

  She scuffed her sandal against the concrete under her feet. ‘We haven’t even thought about what we’re going to do with the flooring. What do you think?’

  Luca glanced around at the shop, from front door to the rear wall. ‘We could paint the concrete, maybe. It’d be cheap and simple. What colour do you think would work with the stone wall?’

  ‘Maybe a deep cream colour, or a taupe to highlight the sandstone. It wouldn’t show as much sand that way. You wouldn’t believe how much of the stuff gets trekked in here.’

  Luca inspected the floor. ‘That could work. Shall I suss it out and see what finish might work best in a high-traffic area like this?’

  ‘That would be great,’ Stella replied. ‘I was actually on my way to get coffee. Double espresso, right?’

  Luca rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yeah, thanks.’

  She had reached the doorway when he called her name. She looked back over her shoulder nonchalantly.

  There was the slightest hint of a smile in his eyes. ‘About the wedding.’

  ‘Did you have a good time?’

  He held her eyes for a long moment. ‘Just for the record, I went home alone.’

  Stella opened her mouth but couldn’t think of a word to say. She got out of there as fast as she could.

  CHAPTER

  17

  The next two weeks flew by for Stella. Every day was a blur of second and third fix on the construction work: tradies, painting, electrical, fittings, stock placement, nervous exhaustion and sheer, thrilled-to-her-toes excitement.

  Finally, after all their hard work, it was done.

  Stella stood in the middle of her shop, directing traffic. It was T minus two hours and she’d roped in everyone available to help with the official reopening of Style by Stella. The Middle Point pub had donated the champagne, wine and beer, courtesy of Ry and his manager Lizzie. The bottles were sitting in tubs of ice, chilling. Anna had prepared enough canapés and hors d’oeuvres for a hundred people and they were set out on long narrow tables on either side of the shop. Her stock was hanging stylishly, set in colours and hues around the room. Jewellery was displayed under lights and beautiful shoes and handbags had been strategically placed around the room on low shelves.

  Stella couldn’t believe what she was seeing. In just three weeks, her shop had been transformed from a waterlogged mess into this. She wanted to pinch herself. The best thing was it was so much better than the shop she’d had. With a final glance around the room, Stella decided it was finished.

  Now, she had to get ready. She’d been adding all the final touches and overseeing all the deliveries in a pair of boyfriend jeans and a simple white T-shirt. With a glance at the time, she determined she had just enough time to go home, shower and change into something befitting the owner of a fabulous beachside boutique, and be back when the guests were set to arrive at seven. But before she did, she couldn’t resist one thing. She flicked the switch at the power point near her front counter and the room was lit up with decorative globes strung from wall to wall.

  ‘Check that out,’ Stella whispered to herself in awe.

  The place looked like a wonderland. Spotlights were trained on her displays and in the front window strings of fairy lights made it look like it really was Christmas. They’d done it. She’d set a crazy deadline for herself and Luca to get the work done and they’d risen to the challenge. We make a fantastic team, she thought, not for the first time during the past month. He wasn’t just the brawn to her brain, either. His ideas had been strokes of genius and the shop wouldn’t be looking like it was without him. There had to be a special way to thank him and she’d been doing a lot of thinking about what that might be.

  Behind her, the front door opened. There were footsteps on the freshly painted floor—they’d decided on taupe—and Stella gripped her keys tighter in her fist. She knew that stride. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

  ‘Hey.’ His smile was brighter than all the lights in her shop and the look of pride in his face at what he was seeing set her heart thumping.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ The more impor
tant question was how on earth was she going to keep her hands off him when he looked like that? Luca was wearing a black, slim-cut suit, with a shirt as white as his teeth and a black tie highlighted against it. His hair was pushed back from his forehead and he was clean-shaven for a change. His dark eyes shone at her. She really wanted to run her fingers across his jawbone and touch his lips.

  Or perhaps put him in the window display.

  ‘This looks incredible.’ He took slow steps inside and looked around. ‘The way you’ve arranged the racks, the clothes, the mirror behind the counter. Stella … this is …’

  ‘It’s Style by Stella, Luca.’

  He laughed. ‘It really is.’

  She was so glad to see him she had to hold herself back from throwing her arms around his neck. ‘You’re a little early.’

  ‘Thought I’d see if you needed a hand with anything. Here. Congratulations.’

  Luca held a cellophane-wrapped bottle towards her. The clear wrapping couldn’t disguise the label underneath. It was expensive, wonderful champagne.

  She gasped. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Yes, I should have. It’s to celebrate.’ Luca went to her, looked into her eyes. He kissed her on each cheek. ‘You’re back in business. That’s definitely worth celebrating.’

  Stella shivered. Her shop was about to have its official opening. She’d had so much love and support from her friends and the whole town. And this man. The one who’d made it all possible. Luca in a suit. Champagne. The whole night in his company when he looked like that, when he was looking at her the way he was.