Ry and Julia had told her that she was their only hope. Yeah, right. So what if she and Dan had shared a few meaningful glances and some flirtation the night of the accident. He’d simply been playing his part as the slick city guy. She’d seen men like that before, every summer of her whole life, in fact.
She wasn’t going to play their game.
At eight o’clock the next night, there was a knock on Dan’s door. He figured it was Lizzie coming with more food and he was kind of glad because he had something in mind to say to her. Not that he’d worked on a big speech or anything. Just something friendly with an apology wrapped around it for the whole slamming the door in her face thing. That’s all it needed to be, a word or two, nothing more. And it was all there, on the tip of his tongue, ready to be said, when he opened the door.
‘Elizabeth, I—’
He realised he was talking to the sea breeze. There was no sign of her or anyone else. But there was food. The sensational aroma of curry battled it out with the faint waft of seaweed blowing off the beach. Dan followed his nose and looked down. There was a white box on his front door mat.
He bent carefully to protect his aching leg and picked it up, its flaps origamied together to protect what was inside. With a flip of his fingers, the folds popped open and he saw a foil container covered with a white lid. He took another glance to the street and then shut the door behind him.
A minute later, when he was tucking into the red beef curry with rice and steamed bok choy, he decided that no meal in the history of humankind had ever tasted so good. He ate hungrily and then, dozy with food and a couple of beers, he fell into bed. It was nine o’clock.
The thumping ringtone of a Cold Chisel classic woke Dan up way too early. Bright morning light streamed down the hallway, right into his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hang on to sleep. Sleep. He realised then that he’d slept all night. Like a baby. Like a baby who actually slept through the night.
Out of habit more than anything, he fumbled on the bedside table for his phone.
‘McSwaine.’ It came out with a groan.
‘Danny Boy.’ Ry. He should have let the call ring out. He just wasn’t in the mood for a fight with his best friend. It was too early and he was already too hot, even though he’d slept naked inside a tangle of white sheets.
‘What the hell time is it?’ Dan croaked, slowly opening both eyes to see if the light would hurt. It did. He fell back on his pillow and draped his forearm over his face to block it all out. The light, his best friend’s voice, the day.
‘Listen, mate,’ and then Ry’s voice became lower, conspiratorial. ‘Julia wants me to call you so I’m calling you. Play along, all right?’
Dan swore under his breath. ‘Yeah, all right.’
‘So,’ Ry said. ‘What do you think about your meals on wheels service?’
‘Yeah, the food’s…great.’ Dan assumed Ry was talking about the food rather than the particular method of its delivery.
‘Fantastic. I need to come over and watch the cricket with you tomorrow.’
Now Dan was wide awake. ‘What the hell for?’
‘Because we are two true-blue Aussie blokes and the First Test starts tomorrow. It is our patriotic duty to lie on your couch, drink beer and shout at the TV about our useless batting line-up.’
Did he really want to sit around with Ry and watch Australia lose? Better than sitting around having deep and meaningful conversations with a mate who would feel as uncomfortable about the idea as he did. He tossed it around in his head and realised that giving in didn’t actually feel like such a big deal. There could be worse ways to spend the day.
‘Bring your own beer,’ Dan mumbled.
‘Listen, Dan, we’re all really worried about you. Please let me come over so we can talk. I’m your best mate. Let me help you.’
The sudden change in tone was not lost on Dan and he figured Julia must be within earshot. ‘She’s there, isn’t she.’
‘Exactly.’
‘She can’t hear me?’
‘No, that’s right.’ Dan chuckled at the fake sincerity in Ry’s voice.
‘Fuck you, Ryan Blackburn,’ he said with a smile.
‘So, it’s a date. See you tomorrow.’ Ry pressed the screen of his smartphone before setting it down on his wide modern desk. He turned his chair towards the floor-to-ceiling windows in his city office, and looked out over the Adelaide Hills skyline with a broad grin before propping his feet up on the edge of the desk, clasping his hands behind his head.
Julia sat opposite him, one leg crossed over the other, tapping an impatient rhythm with one of her high heels. ‘So, you think he bought it?’
Ry’s eyes were alive with mischief. ‘Oh, yeah. Totally. I played to his weaknesses. Beer and cricket.’
‘What about his weakness for women?’ Julia teased.
‘We’re working on that too, remember?’
Julia smiled. ‘I love you, Ry Blackburn. You are a very smart and devious man.’
‘I knew he wouldn’t be able to say no. And if he’d tried, I would have kicked his door down anyway. I mean, it’s Australia versus England.’
Julia rose from her chair and walked around his desk, slowly, making every sway of her hips count. Ry’s eyes raked over her as she lifted his feet from the desk and dropped them to the ground. She moved into him and he spread his legs, wanting her closer. When she leaned over to grip the arm rests of his chair, he pushed it back and pulled her close.
‘I like the way you think,’ she whispered, her lips close to his ear.
‘I’m just a man with a plan.’ Ry’s eyebrows quirked. ‘And Dan is probably cursing me right now, calling me the most pussy-whipped man in Australia. Maybe even the world.’
‘Oh, you are.’ She leaned closer. Her breasts were almost in his face and he grabbed her, twisting her into his lap. The chair wobbled and they clung on to each other as they laughed.
‘And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Julia glanced at her wrist. ‘I’ve got fifteen minutes before I meet with a very important client.’
‘It’s a deal.’ Ry touched his lips to hers softly, warm and tender at first, and then searching for more. Julia pressed into him and returned every inch of the kiss.
Ry was glad the door to his office was firmly closed.
When Dan opened his front door at lunchtime the next day, Ry barged right in with a six-pack of beer.
‘Danny Boy, what’s the score?’ He took time to slap Dan’s shoulder as he passed him. ‘I need to stick the beer in the fridge. It’s been sitting on the backseat all the way from Adelaide and I refuse to drink warm beer when we’re playing England. It would be unpatriotic. Like some kind of bad omen.’
Ry swung open the fridge door and stopped. ‘This is it?’ He looked back at Dan with contempt. ‘Vegemite, two apples and a dead cucumber? You really do need meals on wheels, don’t you?’
‘Ever heard of online shopping, you dick? I get what I need.’ Hell, it wasn’t much of a comeback but it was a start. Dan had been anxious about today, had felt pounded by the pressure of creating a happier version of himself to stop Ry from pushing, from probing. Creating that person was exhausting.
Ry stashed the beers in the freezer instead of the fridge. ‘I’d better tell Lizzie to keep up the deliveries.’
‘Mate, about that. You don’t have to.’
‘Oh, shut the fuck up, Dan. It’s the least I can do.’ Ry looked him in the eye. ‘In ten minutes, those beers will be cherry ripe. Now, turn on the telly. I need a score.’
In the big glass house next door, Lizzie sat barefoot and cross-legged on one of the white sofas, a champagne glass in one hand and a dip-covered water cracker in the other.
‘Really, Jools, it’s fine. It’s no trouble. I just put the food on the doormat, knock three times and leave.’ More like run. She crunched down, hoping the basil pesto dip didn’t fall onto the leather. It splattered on her knee instead.
Julia spluttered and clapped a hand to her mouth to stop the bubbly spray. ‘You do what?’
‘Don’t look at me like that. I promised you and Ry I would take Dan something to eat every night and I’ve kept my promise.’
‘You just drop and run,’ Julia said, disbelief in every word. ‘Without even saying hello?’
‘I said I would take him food, not sell him insurance.’
‘God, Lizzie, he can’t be that scary.’
‘I’m not scared of him,’ Lizzie scoffed. At least not in the way you think.
‘So why the knocking and running? Don’t you think he might just want a little conversation or a “how’s the weather”?’
‘Dan? Conversation?’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘Those two words don’t go together, Jools. He’s made it pretty clear that he wants to be left alone.’
‘All I know is that if I was still footloose and fancy free, I’d be knocking at his door every few minutes just to get a look at him. He’s about six kinds of handsome, don’t you think?’
So what if he was? Hell, Lizzie knew he was. But that didn’t mean he was uncomplicated. Lizzie shrugged her shoulders. ‘He’s all right, if you like that gruff, red-blooded, wild man thing he’s got going on.’
Oh God, don’t think of that!
Julia angled her head in the general direction of Dan’s house. ‘How do you think it’s going in there? Do you think he’s opening up to Ry?’
‘Your fiancé hasn’t come back yet, so I figure that’s a good sign.’
‘God, I hope so. Ry’s in serious need of some male bonding. If he tries to talk batting averages with me one more time, I might have to distract him with sex.’ Julia reached for the bottle and lifted it with a question on her face. ‘Another one?’
‘You bloody beauty!’ Ry threw his arms into the air. ‘Another century to the captain. And England – you call that fielding? I’ve seen better cricket played by ten year olds on the beach across the road.’
This was a familiar scene. As soon as the cricket season began, Ry became a ranting maniac, both perplexed and triumphant at Australia’s approach to the game. Australia had made a good crack at its first innings, the Poms’ bowling was all over the place like a dropped pie and Dan had been relieved when Ry had simply talked about the match. They’d spent the afternoon shooting the shit about tactics, spin versus fast bowling and exactly how silly mid-off should be. Dan realised he didn’t actually have to say very much. Ry’s commentary had been more than enough to fill the afternoon.
Hours later, when Ry jumped the fence to go home, Dan stood at his front door, telling him good-naturedly to piss off and go home to his ball and chain.
‘Don’t worry, mate. I’ll be back for day two,’ Ry called from his front yard. ‘We could wrap this thing up in three days if our bowlers do what they’re paid for!’
Dan waved him off and then let his gaze wander over the low dunes to the white-foamed caps of the water and the horizon beyond. He’d been feeling antsy the past couple of days, housebound. Like a prisoner. He needed to get out of the house and go for a walk. But not now. Not until it was dark. Until then, there would be people around and he might run into one of the locals and be obliged to say hello, make small talk. Everyone seemed to know who he was and what had happened, even though he had no clue who they were. He didn’t want to face the inevitable, ‘So, how are you?’ questions from total strangers, no matter how well meaning.
So he’d stayed off the beach during the day when the tourists were in town, and at dusk when the locals emerged with their dogs. He walked at night, once the sun had set, when he could roam the beach in solitude after the tide had come in and swallowed most of the beach. The dim streetlight didn’t shine as far as the sand, so it was always as dark as a dog’s guts out there. And that suited him fine.
Dan checked his watch. He wondered what tonight’s delivery would bring. While he waited, he flipped open his laptop, connected to the world and caught up on some news. He read the online cricket coverage and the analysis of the play so far. He ordered some groceries and then checked the Blackburn and Son Developments website. Just for old times’ sake, he clicked on the ‘About Us’ tab and was slightly relieved that his name and photo were still there, right next to Ry’s profile. Looking at that smiling man, sharply dressed in a navy suit, crisp white shirt and burgundy tie, felt strange. He hardly recognised himself, hadn’t been that person for months. Maybe this alternate Dan still existed, and was living back in Adelaide, enjoying the pre-accident life he’d walked away from.
He closed his laptop. He hadn’t even brought any of those clothes with him when he’d moved down to Middle Point. They were all in storage, had been since he’d rented out his Adelaide home a few months back. He’d brought only the barest of essentials with him to suit this simplified, pared-down new life.
At eight o’clock, he found a white box with veal Parmagiana, parsnip mash and a sourdough roll on the doorstep.
On the fifth night of the home delivery service, it was twice-cooked pork belly with steamed rice. That particular meal went to the top of Dan’s charts.
Night six was freshly caught Coorong Mullet with tossed salad and balsamic vinaigrette.
By night seven, Dan was hungry at about a quarter to eight. Hell, he was starting to act like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Every minute until eight o’clock seemed like an hour. He sat quietly, waiting to hear footsteps. Nothing. So without waiting for a knock, he opened the front door at eight o’clock on the dot. No one was there and disappointment skittered through him.
He looked down at the doormat. This time, there was a note inside the box, written by hand, restaurant messy with a big loop on the ‘g’.
Tagliatelle with Blue Swimmer Crab in a tomato sugo. In case you’re allergic to shellfish. Green salad.
He wasn’t. This time, he didn’t eat it out of the takeaway container. He’d grown tired of that. It made him feel like a uni student again, when he used to consume mountains of plastic instant noodles straight from their polystyrene cups. He found a clean dinner plate and tipped the pasta out onto it. The aroma was unbelievable. He poured himself a glass of water and moved to the table, sat down like a grown-up. He looked around the room. Silent, empty, lonely.
For the first time in months he wished he had someone to share it with.
Lizzie was feeling quite proud of herself. She had the whole meals on wheels scheme totally organised and everyone at the pub had slipped into her routine without a hitch. By seven-thirty each night, she would give the order to the chef. Twenty minutes later she would collect the food, sealed in foil-lidded containers and packed in a box, and head off. Her short walk from the pub to home was only slightly altered via the small detour to Dan’s place.
She’d meant it when she’d told Ry and Julia that Dan would need space and time. She’d worked out the delivery schedule so Dan got to maintain his privacy in a respectful and dignified way. The fact that she didn’t have to look into his eyes was not a deciding factor in her plan. Not one bit.
Lizzie stepped over the low fence in Dan’s front yard and walked over the grass. The crunch of the gravel on the driveway would have given her away so she’d developed this little detour to slip in unnoticed. This wasn’t sneaking around, she told herself. Or avoiding him. Nothing at all like that.
When she reached the veranda, she carefully placed the food parcel on the doormat. With a self-satisfied smile, she stood up, brushed her hands together and took a quick look at the front door.
Dan McSwaine was staring right at her.
CHAPTER
3
‘Elizabeth.’
‘Oh…Dan.’ Lizzie tried to hide the catch in her voice. So much for playing it cool. Seeing him standing there, his arms crossed against his chest, looking down at her with those piercing green eyes, had given her the shock of her life. She couldn’t even summon up her usual indignation at the way he used her proper name. Maybe it was something in the way he said it, gruff and deep. A
nd while Lizzie had just two syllables, Elizabeth had a full four. Twice as much time to hear that voice. Oh no. Her heart picked up speed. She dropped her eyes to the box of food at her feet, anything to stop herself from really looking at him.
‘Sprung.’ Lizzie shrugged her shoulders and then looked up.
Worst. Idea. Ever.
He was kind of half naked. No, not kind of. Mostly, definitely, half-naked. In the desperate hope that her sunglasses were hiding her blatant appreciation, Lizzie took care to move only her eyeballs and not her actual head as she checked him out. His smooth chest was dusted with hair from nipple to nipple and was framed on either side by strong, muscled shoulders. And as she glanced lower, down his flat stomach, there was another smattering of hair leading to… Lizzie propped her hands on her hips for support and gulped. It led to loose, black boardshorts, only just clinging to his hipbones, so low slung that she wondered what was keeping them up.
Oh God, don’t think of that!
‘You’re right on time,’ he said.
She tore her gaze back to his face and noticed something happening to his lips. Although half-hidden by the rock star beard, there was a movement and yes, they were shifting at the corners, just the tiniest bit. In an upward direction.
‘Elizabeth, I want to thank you for—.’ The voice, like melting chocolate, seemed to stumble.
She held up a hand. ‘It’s no trouble, Dan, really.’
He pushed his midnight-dark hair back from his forehead. All kinds of muscles Lizzie didn’t even know the names of moved in his upper arms and broadened his chest.
‘The food has been amazing. I can see why Ry bought the pub.’
‘Fantastic,’ she sighed, totally distracted by his body, all hard ridges and muscles. He might have dropped a few kilos during his recovery but, upon closer inspection, Lizzie couldn’t seem to figure out where. ‘Err…good. Great. I’ll tell Ry. I don’t know why but he seems obsessively interested in your eating habits.’
‘That’s a change.’ Dan chuckled and the sexy sound of it flipped her insides. ‘He’s always been more interested in my drinking habits.’ When he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his boardshorts dropped lower still.
Someone Like You Page 3
