The buoyancy made her feet float up and flash crimson-painted toes as she moved to the seat facing the pool. Watching Owen, either something was bothering him or he’d chosen to take part in an Olympic swim and had forgotten to train. He finally stopped at the opposite end, and from behind her sunglasses she watched his shoulders move up and down with his breath until he recovered. Only then did he lift his head and see her watching him.
He swam at a more sedate pace towards her, and when he reached the side he rested his arms on the concrete beside the pool, his body still in the water.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked.
‘Not really.’ It wasn’t long before he added, ‘Your boyfriend can stay here for as long as you like.’
‘Thanks. I was going to email your mum and check though.’
‘No need, I spoke to her earlier today.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, I made the mistake of telling her I was here.’
Before she had a chance to reply, he ploughed out another six lengths – Rosie counted – just as fast as the rest. When he reached the edge of the pool again, he adopted the same position: arms plonked on the concrete, chin resting on his forearms, eyes shut as though he needed to take a break from the world.
Rosie saw her opportunity to avoid having fingers that resembled tinned prunes. She flicked the button to turn the bubbles off, stayed beneath the water to check her bikini was properly adjusted and then climbed out. Of course that was the exact moment Owen chose to open his eyes.
They locked gazes for a second before he buried his face and dark hair beneath the water and began shuttling from one end to the other all over again. Rosie climbed out of the spa and grabbed her towel. She was petite, but she still had her gripes: her legs weren’t as toned as they could be, and she didn’t like the slightly rounded tummy that Adam liked to remind her would only get worse if she kept eating all those freshly baked scones at Bella’s café. And Owen had seen enough the other day when he’d come home and shown her the pictures in the study.
‘You’re pretty fast,’ she said when Owen finally came to a stop and she was safely ensconced in the fluffy butterscotch towel beneath the cabana, away from the sun’s glare.
‘Can I grab one of those?’ Owen nodded towards the Diet Coke she’d pulled out of the fridge next to the barbecue.
‘I can get you a beer if you like.’
‘Can’t. I’m on call, and it’s way too early.’ His mouth curved into a smile.
Rosie pulled another can from the fridge then sat beneath the gazebo at the stone picnic-style bench looking out over the pool and couldn’t help but watch Owen as he hoisted himself from the water. His muscles strained to bear his weight and the water cascaded off his body. He shook his head vigorously, sending water droplets flying from side to side, and then rubbed a towel across his face and head, his top half and finally his legs.
‘Do you get fed up being on call all the time?’ She handed him the can of drink, hoping he hadn’t seen her gawping at him.
‘I don’t mind it. Everyone in the team pulls their weight.’ He glanced at the milky white skin of her shoulders. ‘You need to be careful, Stevens.’
Rosie noticed a telltale pink tinge that hadn’t been there before. She hoped it was just from the heat of the day.
‘Have you got sunscreen on?’ he asked.
‘Of course. The UV index is extreme already.’
The hairs on her arm stood on end when his arm brushed against hers as he lifted his can to take a sip. ‘How do you know stuff like that?’
‘I’ve got an app.’
‘You’re as bad as my mother, checking apps every five minutes.’
They sat for a while, sipping their drinks, letting the tranquillity of the setting fall over them, the glugging of the pool filter making the sounds of summer. Rosie looked sideways at Owen. His eyes were fixed on the water. Flick, flick, went the ring pull on the top of his can, as though it could tap into his thoughts.
‘Do you know what I wish?’ he asked, not looking her way or waiting for an answer. ‘I wish my mother knew how to have a row. I’d rather have one of those horrendous slanging matches where I’m called all the names under the sun, but she doesn’t seem to know how to let go. The quiet treatment gets me every time. I’ve no idea what she’s thinking.’
Rosie had never had a huge slanging match with her mum either. Her mum had upped and left before she’d ever got the chance.
‘Has she always been that way?’ She knew this couldn’t be the whole story, but she wasn’t sure she knew Owen well enough to delve further.
‘For as long as I can remember. It’s almost as though she detaches herself from half the things I say or do.’
Rosie waited to see if he’d add anything else, but it seemed Jane Harrison wasn’t the only one who kept her feelings well hidden.
‘I know I’m not the easiest person to live with, Stevens.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I don’t think Adam approves.’
Rosie took a deep breath. ‘You leave Adam to me.’
‘Well if it gets too much, just say the word and I’ll move on.’
‘Owen, if you were really annoying me, you’d know about it, believe me.’
‘Talking of Adam, where is he?’
‘He’s away for a few days, working.’ She looked at him. ‘What’s that face for?’
‘What face?’
‘Your judgement face.’
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Oh, I have a “judgement face” now, do I?’
‘Yep, you’re judging because Adam’s working.’
‘I’m not judging, and you’re paranoid.’
She finished her drink. ‘I’d better get ready for work.’
It was his turn to climb into the spa. ‘How about a barbecue later?’
‘Sounds good to me.’ And dizzy with the feeling of belonging, she went inside to get changed.
*
Owen lay back in the spa as he watched Rosie go inside. He did his best to ignore how attracted he was to this girl whom his mum was more worried about than him.
‘I don’t want to breach the agreement, Owen,’ Jane had told him after he’d surprised her with a phone call. He’d had some crazy notion that maybe if she was thousands of miles away she might be more open to discussion, and maybe if he was brave enough he could broach the subject of what she was hiding. God knows he’d found nothing around the house that could enlighten him.
‘If Rosie doesn’t want me here then she can tell me to go, but she seems to like having someone around,’ Owen had insisted. ‘I’ve been clearing gutters, watering the garden, mowing the lawn. I’ll make sure she can tell one end of a rose from another too,’ he’d laughed.
His comment had met with a deafening silence and Jane Harrison had wrapped up the phone call quickly. He’d gone out on the bike after that, the usual tonic when he was stressed, but when that hadn’t worked to clear his head, he’d returned home and jumped into the pool, thrashing out length after length. He’d begged for the coolness of the water and the struggle for breath to squeeze him back into life as he thought over and over about his relationship with his mum.
As a child he’d imagined he had superpowers to make him completely invisible to his mum. He’d pretty much felt as though she couldn’t see him a lot of the time anyway when she was physically present yet emotionally not there at all. She’d praised him when he’d done something good, scolded him when he’d been naughty, but growing up Owen had often felt as though whatever he did would never be good enough.
He tilted his head back, letting his face, forehead, nose and cheeks be kissed by the sun. He thought of Rosie lying in this same place, her silky skin and her hourglass figure that set his pulse racing every time he let it. Had he shared too much with her earlier? She was a good listener, not interrupting and not probing too much. He had a sneaky suspicion that she was better at listening to others than she was a
t confiding her own troubles.
*
Rosie buzzed through the afternoon, loving every minute of setting up for a wedding. She took delivery of exquisite flowers, found platters for the caterers to arrange the most delectable canapés, delivered champagne to the bride and bridesmaids as they got dressed in stunning gowns upstairs. She helped weave fairy lights around the veranda to create a magical atmosphere for guests congregating there for fresh air and chatter.
At home Rosie showered and changed and pulled on a thin cotton dress. Owen hadn’t fired up the barbecue yet, so she had a chance to flick on the iPad and check out her handiwork with the Magnolia House website. She’d updated their online profile and added extra photographs, and looking at it on the internet now, she was proud of all she’d achieved in her first public relations position. Once she’d viewed the website, she checked her emails and got rid of all the junk mail before she spotted one lingering in the inbox from Jane Harrison. She clicked on the email and read:
Dear Rosie,
I hope you are well and enjoying your stay in Magnolia Creek. We are managing to sort out my sister’s affairs in London, and it’s lovely to know our home is being so well looked after in our absence.
I’m writing to you because I understand my son Owen is staying there with you. I know this wasn’t in the contract, and I really wanted to make sure everything is okay with that arrangement.
If there’s a fire in Magnolia Creek – and I’m hoping there isn’t as we haven’t had one for years – could you please get in touch with me? Any time, day or night, I’d like you to call on one of the numbers I listed for you. There are some specific items on the property – personal items – that I need you to keep safe for me. I also need your word you won’t pass this information on to Owen, not under any circumstances.
Jane Harrison signed off and Rosie was left staring at the screen, re-reading the words. It was a valid request to remove certain items from the property, but to keep them from her own son?
The sound of scraping and scratching outside her window had Rosie’s attention, and she looked out to see that Owen had leant the ladder against the house and was clearing twigs and leaves from the gutters again, minimising fuel for any bushfire that threatened to come their way.
In the short time she’d known him, Rosie had begun to feel an overwhelming loyalty towards this man. But she’d also seen him that morning, riled by his mum’s behaviour, tearing up and down the pool to vent his anger. Did she really want to mention the email and stir up whatever angst there was between them?
Rosie’s own childhood and adolescence hadn’t exactly been a breeze, not by a long shot, but as she went downstairs to make a salad and watched Owen take position behind the barbecue, she felt glad there was never any mystery. Her family had been what it was. But for Owen, his family had things lurking in their past they appeared to have let mutilate their relationship with their son. She wouldn’t want to be in his position at all.
Chapter Twelve
‘I’m sorry about the barbecue last night.’ The next morning Rosie squeezed her tea bag before dropping it into the bin and sitting opposite Owen at the kitchen table. ‘I think the sun must’ve got to me.’
Rosie had made the salad and some garlic bread and they’d chatted while they ate rissoles, peppered steak and fresh prawns. But despite the amazing food Owen cooked perfectly on the barbecue, she hadn’t been able to get Jane’s email out of her head. The words had tapped into her psyche, and whether it was that or the sun, she’d ended up with a headache that sent her to bed before any dessert.
‘Did the paracetamol work?’ Owen scanned the front page of the newspaper.
‘It did, thanks.’
He looked up. ‘Are you working this afternoon?’
‘Day off.’ She sipped her tea.
‘I’m going down to one of my properties by the beach. The tenant moved out yesterday and I want to check everything is in order, give the go-ahead for the bond to be released.’
‘Doesn’t the letting agency do that?’
He rolled his eyes as he stood to take his empty cup to the sink. ‘They do, but they aren’t quite as pedantic as me.’
‘I can imagine.’
Owen nudged her playfully but didn’t hang around to see how the feel of his touch had affected her. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. ‘You could come with me. I’d like the company, and Albert Park is a beautiful spot. The house is one road back from the beach and it’s a gorgeous day. You could bring your togs – that is, if you didn’t get too much sun yesterday.’
‘I’m fine.’ She blushed when she thought about him visualising her skin yesterday after the pool.
‘We can take your car if you like,’ he added. ‘I’ll need my toolbox in case anything needs fixing, but the pickup is definitely a work truck.’
‘Filthy, you mean?’
‘Yep.’
The idea was certainly appealing, and with Adam at work she had nothing to do here today. Grinning, she said, ‘Give me five minutes to get ready.’
*
‘I can’t believe I’m gunning towards the city in a pink car.’ Owen was glad the interior was a tasteful black. ‘The local supermarket was one thing, but this?’
‘Hey, we could’ve taken your pickup.’
‘Sure, but you’d have made me clean it first.’
She smiled at him because she knew he was right. He caught a waft of Rosie – something citrusy and fresh, shower gel maybe, or it could’ve been shampoo. When she’d trotted up the stairs that morning to get ready, his eyes had followed her, settling on her behind in a dress that clung in all the right places. He did his best to ignore the same cotton dress now, which sat just above her knees, inching upwards every time her feet operated the pedals.
‘Ah well,’ he said, ‘being a passenger has its benefits. I can sink into my seat when we get near people.’
‘I’ll make sure I put the roof down later and then you won’t be able to hide,’ she joked. ‘You’re too tall anyway. You’ve got no hope of being inconspicuous.’
He’d had Rosie down as being an overly cautious driver, or at the very least, a sit-in-the-middle-lane-no-matter-what driver. But she was neither. On the freeway she went as fast as he would've done, she did some impressive overtaking, and when they’d stopped near South Melbourne market to grab some food, she did an awesome parallel park outside the supermarket.
They’d walked around the market humming and hawing as to whether to go for stuffed olives or plain, falafels or meatballs, which was the best fizzy drink, and as Owen packed the supplies in the esky he’d lined with ice-packs from home, he couldn’t help thinking how well they slotted in with each other. The difference with Rosie was that, unlike other women he’d been involved with, he’d got to know her first, as a friend, without the relationship aspect ever being a part of it. It was a completely new experience for him.
Rosie did as promised and put the roof down before they set off towards the house, and as they overtook the green and yellow tram and trundled across the tracks paving the way towards the beach, Owen realised that travelling like this was liberating in a different way than being on the bike: he could take in his surroundings, stretch out in his seat and shut his eyes if he wanted to. Letting someone else take control for a change was better than he’d expected.
Rosie negotiated the parked cars in the narrower streets of Albert Park with practised ease, and when they pulled up outside his property, he hauled the esky out of the boot while she opened the front gate and let him through.
‘Where’s the key?’ she asked, sunglasses firmly in place with the sun beating down on them outside the cream-fronted weatherboard.
‘In my back pocket.’ He couldn’t help the curl in his lips. He could ask her to get it – he’d enjoy that – but something told him not to push. Instead, he set the esky down on the concrete and pulled out the key, sure he hadn’t mistaken a smile creeping its way onto her face too.
&nbs
p; ‘Awesome,’ he said, picking up the parking permit from the hallway floor. ‘Most tenants conveniently forget to leave these behind. They hold onto their precious beach-side parking for as long as they can.’ He scooted back to the car and stuck the permit on the inside of the windshield before he took the esky inside.
Owen unlocked the bi-fold doors in the lounge room and opened them up to a small, square rear courtyard to let the air circulate through the house, which was stifling in the summer heat.
‘It’s a lovely house.’ Rosie peeked into the two rooms off the hallway before she came through to the kitchen and family area.
‘Thanks. I had the loft space converted to make another bedroom and bathroom, and I stripped out this kitchen and the downstairs bathroom and then painted everything.’
Rosie pointed to the staircase. ‘May I?’
‘Sure, go ahead.’ Her inquisitiveness sat well with him and he followed her up the stairs. ‘This was the first house I bought as opposed to an apartment. I was worried I’d taken on too much, but this place has turned out to be a gold mine. It’s my biggest income earner.’
‘I can see why.’
‘The beach is a huge drawcard, and it’s close to the city.’
Rosie gasped. ‘Wow, you can see the sea from up here, between those two houses.’ She pointed.
At the peaked window he leaned closer to share the view. ‘I think I’d be using a fair bit of artistic licence to describe this place as having “sea views”.’ He tried to ignore the wave of pheromones coming from her hair that smelt so good and caused his voice to falter.
What Rosie Found Next Page 9
