by Nicola Marsh
He chuckled. ‘The fluff?’
Her gaze met his and it was as if he’d been dumped beneath a massive wave and couldn’t catch his breath.
‘The extra stuff that weighs us down and clouds our vision and makes us go a little crazy.’
She was something else.
Her beauty, her warmth, her wisdom.
And he’d let her go.
‘I think I had some of that fluff clouding my judgement in Capri.’
Understanding sparked in her eyes and she opened her mouth to respond just as Izzy bowled into them like an out-of-control dervish.
‘I’ve saved a sandwich for you, Uncle Arch. Come and get it.’
‘Now, how can you refuse an offer like that?’ Callie said as she ruffled Izzy’s damp curls.
Izzy’s nose crinkled in consternation. ‘I don’t think there’s any more Vegemite ones for you, Callie, but I reckon you can have a piece of my fairy bread.’
‘Sugar sprinkles? My favourite.’ Callie slipped out of his grasp to hold Izzy’s hand, but he snagged her arm before she could leave.
‘You’re amazing.’
He ducked down for a swift kiss, which resulted in a blush from Callie, an excited whoop from Izzy, and cheers from his family.
Yeah, he definitely had some talking to do later—with his dad and with Callie.
Christmas this year wasn’t looking so bad after all.
* * *
‘This place is awesome, dude.’ Trav slapped Archer on the back as they entered the supply store at the end of the tour.
He’d been hyped, taking his family around the surf school while Callie entertained Izzy—who was demanding sandcastles—on the beach.
The Fletts’ opinion of this place mattered.
He wanted them to like it. He wanted them to tell him he’d done good. Most of all he wanted them to realise he had a lot to give and was a guy of substance—not the flake they’d wrongly presumed.
‘Great job, bro.’ Tom shook his hand. ‘Torquay needs something like this, a place where the kids can hang out.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’
They shared a conspiratorial smile, remembering their own tearaway teenage days and some of the mischief bored kids could get up to at the beach.
‘I’m so proud of you, son.’ His mum enveloped him in a squishy hug, the familiar lavender and fresh bread scent clinging to her so reminiscent of his childhood he felt choked up.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
He hugged her tight, saddened by how much he’d missed over the years through the choices he’d made. Distancing himself from his family had probably hurt them, but he’d been the one to suffer the most.
They’d had each other.
He’d had no one.
He planned on changing all that.
When he released his mum, she moved over to the doorway, where Tom and Trav were deep in conversation. It gave Archer the opportunity to seek out his dad, who’d been hanging back during the tour.
While his brothers’ and mother’s opinion meant everything to him, it was Frank’s he prized most.
Over the years they’d fallen into a pattern of mutual gruffness and avoidance that seemed impossible to breach.
Every time he made the slightest effort to reconnect his dad would brush it off as unnecessary in his usual jovial way. And Archer would let him. He never pushed the issue, his pride reiterating that there was only so far he could extend the olive branch and it was up to his dad to grab it.
Frank never had, and he hated the distance between them. He’d once idolised his dad. He’d always reckoned him, Tom and Trav had been super-lucky, having a hands-on dad who took them fishing and camping and hiking. Frank had attended every one of their footy matches, had never missed a training session either.
It made what had happened later all the harder to accept, and made Archer doubt himself as nothing else could.
Tired of second-guessing himself, and buoyed by the shove in the right direction Callie had given him, he had every intention of ensuring the gap between them wasn’t irredeemable this time.
‘What do you think, Dad?’
He hated having to ask, wished Frank had volunteered some faint praise without prompting, for it signalled that the divide between them was bigger than he’d anticipated.
‘Good for Torquay.’ Frank glanced around, stuck his hands in his pockets, shuffled his feet as if he couldn’t wait to escape. ‘Though it’s a bit rough putting your name to something around these parts when you’re going to be AWOL all the time.’
His dad’s aloofness stung, but not as much as the barb behind his words. Frank hadn’t acknowledged the good thing he’d done in setting up the school; he’d said it was good for the town.
As for the dig about him being away all the time, it might be true, but why couldn’t his dad admit he was proud of him, rather than chastising him for having a school in his name?
‘I may be around more often,’ Archer said, making it sound blasé when in fact he was hanging on his dad’s response.
Frank turned away, but not before he’d seen the scepticism twisting his mouth. ‘Uh-huh.’
How two little syllables could hold so much doubt he’d never know.
Archer swallowed his disappointment. His pride in showing his family around and his hope for the future was shattered by his dad’s continued standoffishness.
If Frank didn’t get why he’d done this, couldn’t bring himself to offer one word of positive encouragement, why the hell should he keep busting a gut trying to build bridges between them?
His pride might have kept him from being truly a part of this family all these years, but they’d wronged him first. Was that a childish way to look at it? Yeah, but as years’ worth of hurt bubbled up from deep within it obliterated his intention to heal the rift between them.
‘Why, Dad?’
Frank stiffened. ‘Why what?’
Disgusted, Archer shook his head. ‘You know what.’
‘Frank, come take a look at this.’
Archer glanced at his mum. Her worried expression was a dead giveaway that she’d sensed tension and was trying to avoid a messy confrontation.
Uncertain, Frank hesitated.
With disappointment warring with his bitterness, Archer said, ‘Go.’
Which was exactly what he intended to do on Christmas Day, as planned.
Go back to his life, far from Torquay and the ghosts of the past haunting him.
* * *
‘Come back to bed.’
Archer slid his arms around Callie from behind, resting his chin on her head.
‘Just let me finish this.’ She’d like nothing better than to slip back into his arms, but she had less than a day to get this website done and she didn’t want to leave any loose ends.
Once Archer left she wanted a clean break. No contact.
It might be idealistic to hope for a stress-free resumption of their previous working relationship, where they e-mailed each other as needed, but she had a feeling Archer wouldn’t mind.
Since Izzy’s surf lesson and the impromptu Flett picnic at the beach this morning he’d withdrawn. Nothing overt, but she could tell.
She’d been here before.
In Capri it had been that silly joke she’d made about proposals in the Blue Grotto. Now she had no idea what had prompted his emotional shutdown.
From what she’d seen this morning he’d been closer to his family than he had all week. He’d been demonstrative and open and carefree—in his element.
Something must have happened during the tour of the surf school, because when they’d met up afterwards the tension between him and his dad had been so thick she was surprised it hadn’t clouded the sky.
And he refused to discuss what was happening on Christmas Day with his family, despite her subtle prompting this afternoon. She had plans of her own to make, and the least he could do was let her in on what the heck was going on.
The Christmas
holidays might not be a big deal for him, considering he lived his life on the road, but his youngest brother was getting married, for goodness’ sake—surely this Christmas would be different?
‘We’ve got all tomorrow morning to work on the website.’ He ducked down beside her and kissed her cheek. ‘Now’s the time to play hooky.’
‘Won’t you have to do last-minute Christmas stuff before the wedding tomorrow night?’
Shadows darkened his eyes to indigo. ‘Not really. Like you, I do all my shopping online, so stuff will get delivered direct to the family tomorrow.’
Knowing she was treading a hazardous path, she pushed away from the laptop and swivelled to face him.
‘Don’t you do other stuff?’
‘Like?’
‘Help your mum chop veggies for the roast on Christmas Day? Set the table? Fill stockings? That kind of thing?’
He stared at her as if she’d suggested he dress up as Santa and prance around Torquay lugging a sack for the day.
‘I don’t do that stuff.’
‘Why?’
A part of her was dying to know, while the realistic part knew he’d never divulge the truth in a million years.
Guys like him didn’t share deep, dark truths. They hid them away beneath a veneer of charm and practised wit.
She should know. Her dad had been the same.
A quick smile and a clever quip for everybody. Loving the world, but not staying put in one place long enough to form any real emotional attachments to anyone.
Including his own daughter.
She’d thought Archer was like that too until she’d seen the way he’d connected with those teenagers on the beach. And Izzy.
He genuinely cared about people, willingly gave of his time expecting nothing in return. That generosity came from within. It wasn’t something you could fake; kids—especially teenagers—picked up on that kind of thing. She had with her dad.
Seeing that side of Archer, giving himself freely to those teens on the beach, had opened her eyes to his deeper facets—the ones he kept hidden. And it had made it pretty darn impossible to resist him.
Even with his complicated family history, why didn’t he want to show that side of himself to them?
‘I’m not around enough to warrant that kind of involvement in the rituals,’ he said.
His jaw was clenched so hard she was surprised she couldn’t hear his teeth grind.
‘I fly in each year, stay a few days, then I’m outta here. Why disrupt their routine?’
‘Maybe because they want you to?’ She kept pushing, her previously undiscovered sadistic side wanting to prod an obvious wound. ‘I know it’s tough on you, after what you told me at the party, but your family light up when you’re around.’
His sceptical glare indicated that he didn’t believe her for a second. ‘Prodigal son syndrome.’
She touched him on the arm. ‘Why do you do that? Pretend your family isn’t important to you?’
‘That’s bull.’ He leaped to his feet as if she’d electrocuted him. ‘They know how I feel about them.’
‘Do they?’
She stood, wanting to see his reaction when she continued peppering him with bombshells. ‘From what I’ve seen, Travis hangs on your every word, Tom looks out for you, and your folks think you walk on water rather than surf it.’
She reached for him, but he stepped away on the pretext of shutting a window, when in fact he was shutting her out.
‘It’s like they’re vying for your attention and you don’t want any of it.’
A tiny vein pulsed just below his ear, in the spot she loved to kiss. By his formidable glower, kissing was the last thing on his mind.
‘You’ve met my family only a few times. A few more than any other woman I’ve known. What gives you the right to judge when you don’t know them?’
Or me. The words hung unsaid between them and she resisted the urge to rub her chest where his barb had hit.
Because it was true.
She didn’t really know him.
They’d connected for a brief seven days in Capri, but that had been mostly physical—as articulated by the man himself when he’d walked away.
As for their time together here... She’d fallen into the old trap of believing physical closeness implied intimacy, when in fact Archer didn’t want to share anything with her. Not the stuff that mattered.
She wanted him to open up to her about what had happened earlier today to make him retreat—wanted him to trust her enough to do it. She’d thought they’d made major inroads in their developing relationship when he’d divulged the truth about his family at the party.
She’d been wrong.
For all she knew nothing had happened with his family during that tour this morning and he was deliberately closing off to her.
Maybe she’d been getting too close, and this was his way of cluing her in that come Christmas Day, when he dropped her home, they were finished.
Well, newsflash, surfer boy. She already knew they were over, but this time she wouldn’t walk away with a whimper.
‘So I’m supposed to be grateful you let me meet your family?’ She slow clapped. ‘Well done. You took the monumental step of letting a woman get closer than your bathrobe and a kiss on the cheek on her way out the next morning.’
Stricken, he paled, staring at her as if she’d morphed into a monster, and she knew she’d gone too far.
He was so infuriating, standing there in his emotional cocoon, holding everyone at bay when all they wanted to do was love him.
Her included.
Damn, she loved him.
Fine time to realise it. Her shock mirrored his.
‘Sorry, that was way out of line. I’m just so mad at you for—’
‘What, Callie? For walking away from you in Capri? For blackmailing you into being my date for the wedding? For sleeping with you again?’ Anger radiated off him like a nuclear cloud. ‘You’ve been mad at me since the day I stepped into your office.’
He jabbed a thumb at his chest. ‘You’ve done such a great job of dumping home truths on me, why don’t you take a look at yourself?’ He took a step towards her, the air crackling with tension. ‘Go on—admit it. You’re still mad as hell for something that happened eight freaking years ago.’
She shook her head, close to tears. ‘It’s not that...’
He gripped her upper arms. ‘Then tell me why you’re so mad.’
She could have lied, could have made up some lame story, but that was what she’d done in Capri. Put on a brave face and lied when he made light of their week together.
Not this time.
‘I’m mad at a lot of things, most of them beyond my control, but I’m mostly mad at myself.’
Confusion creased his brow and his grip on her arms eased now he was convinced this crazy woman wouldn’t slug him. ‘Why?’
‘For being a hypocrite. For making light of what we share now, for calling it a fling and pretending I’m happy with it.’
Archer stiffened as she’d expected when she confronted him with the truth.
‘I’m mad I let you walk away in Capri belittling what we’d had. I’m mad at you for not trusting me enough to tell me what’s going on with you now. And most of all I’m mad as hell you’re going to do the same thing this time around.’
Shock slashed his brow. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
Saddened that even now, when she’d laid it on the line, he couldn’t open up, she touched his cheek. ‘That’s the problem between us, isn’t it?’
Fierce determination lit his eyes as he hauled her close. ‘Callie, I don’t know what you want me to say because I’m clueless here. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, but I can’t change who I am.’
‘I’m not asking you to change.’
Though inadvertently she was, and that wasn’t fair. She didn’t want Archer to give up his life.
She wanted him to love her the way she loved him.
That was when it hit her how alike the two really were. On the surface Archer appeared to be more giving of his time, but only with those not close to him. Why, she had no idea and she wouldn’t waste time figuring it out.
How many years had her mum wasted trying to decipher her dad? How much time had Nora spent hoping Bruno would change, that he’d actually commit to something, even if it were only regular visits with his daughter, before being disappointed repeatedly?
She’d hated being second-best in her dad’s affections, and no way in hell would she put herself through that with another guy who couldn’t commit.
She’d finally told Archer the truth and, while he did care, he could never be the guy she wanted him to be.
So she had two choices.
End things now and spend the next day and the wedding being miserable.
Or make the most of their remaining time together.
Her mother’s ‘seize the day’ attitude flashed through her mind.
‘I’m not expecting anything from you.’ She stepped into his personal space, almost treading on his toes, to whisper against his mouth. ‘But it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and I have a few wishes I need to come true.’
Archer was too smart to buy her excuse completely, but she knew he wouldn’t push it. She’d given him an out from the heavy, confrontational stuff and he’d take it. No doubt.
‘Want to be my personal elf?’ he said, a moment before he kissed her.
She loved this infuriating, emotionally repressed guy, and she’d be anything he wanted for the next twenty-four hours.
For come Christmas morning they’d be saying goodbye, and this time she didn’t want to have any regrets.
CHAPTER NINE
ARCHER spent the morning at the surf school.
He’d always done his best thinking at Winki Pop, his go-to place when he’d been a kid. It was like home.
He owned property near Mavericks in Northern California, Pupukea on Oahu’s north shore near the Pipeline, and Jeffreys Bay on the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Perfectly nice houses situated near the world’s surfing hotspots—houses where he chilled at regular intervals.
