The Twenty-One (Emerald Cove #2)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  He ushers us into the cool room, rubbing his hands with glee. A smile creeps over my lips. It’s hard to stay caught up in my family drama when a man as sweet as this is so obviously thrilled about, erm, cheese.

  We reach the deep fridge, but just as Bruno puts his hand inside to bring out a sample, Colin interrupts. “Actually, Bruno, would it be okay if we do the sample in the garden?”

  Bruno pauses, a slight frown marring his brow, then plasters that ear-to-ear smile back on his face. “Of course!”

  Minutes later, I sit outside the cheese factory at a wrought-iron table-and-chairs set. The morning sun beams golden through the trees, and I shrug off my woollen jumper, enjoying the rays on my skin. I close my eyes, letting the perfection of this moment settle over me. If only this were life. Cheese tasting and sunshine ...

  “I thought we’d make a morning of it.”

  I blink open my eyes. Colin stands in front of the table, a bottle of Bollinger and two champagne glasses in his hands.

  “What?” I ask, scrunching up my nose.

  “It’s leftover stock. You know Sharon doesn’t drink, and we are here for a cheese tasting ... I figure, why not?” Colin sits down and places all the glassware carefully on the table. “Besides ... I’ve noticed you’ve been a little stressed lately.” He reaches across and places a clammy hand on my arm. “You could relax a little.”

  I smile, warmth settling in my chest. “Thanks.”

  Soon, Bruno delivers a plate of different cheeses, and Colin and I drink and snack the morning away. It’s one of the most pleasant shifts at work I’ve had, and I smile. I can’t wait to brag to Hope about my day. Compared to the usual long hours and minimal pay, this is a pleasant change.

  Colin refills my glass more than his, which I guess makes sense. He does have to drive, after all. Thirty minutes, one bottle of champagne and countless slices of cheese later, my legs feel deliciously giddy, and my heart sings in my chest.

  “So are you finally going to tell me what had you so uptight?” Colin asks. He stands and walks behind me, then places his hands on my shoulders.

  I stiffen, my body rigid in the chair. This is unlike Colin.

  “Relax, Ellie,” he whispers in my ear, then starts kneading the muscles along my back. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  His rough hands scrape against my skin, the pressure intense as he massages. It’s far from the relaxing activity it’s supposed to be. I squirm a little in my seat, and Colin laughs.

  “That kind of hurts,” I say, but my voice sounds floaty and weak. Maybe I have had too much to drink. I guess I didn’t eat breakfast, and I have had ... I narrow my eyes at the bottles—no, bottle of champagne on the table.

  “You can take it, Ellie.” Thumbs press against my lower back, and I arch in protest. “I know you can.”

  His hands move lower. They’re right above my butt, pressing and digging. His breath is hot against my neck, and I no longer care if this is Colin, a man I’ve worked for two years and known since I was fifteen, when he and Mum started hanging out. There is something creepy about all this touching, and I’ve had enough. I jump up from my seat, and leap away. Only my limbs are slow-moving and everything is hard, so I end up tumbling forward and landing on my hands and knees on the grass.

  Colin laughs, a loud, braying sound. I scowl, examining the palms of my hands for any scrapes.

  “Oh, Ellie.” He sighs and walks over, extending his hand to help me up. I look up at him. His face shows nothing but mirth. He’s the glasses-wearing, brown-slacks owning Colin, who is married, and about twenty years my senior. He colour codes his socks; he’s not the sleazy type.

  “That hurt.” I grumble, but extend my hand and let him pull me up.

  Colin cocks his head to the side, frowning. “You should have told me to stop.”

  “I didn’t want to offend you ...” I trail off and shrug.

  “Well, you never could. You know I have grand plans for you, Ellie.” Colin muses.

  I manage a smile. This is the Colin I know. The one who plans on taking over the world, one business at a time. “Oh yeah? Life after picnic baskets?”

  Darkness flashes across his face, and he stills. “You’re a very talented young woman. I know you’re going to make it big some day.”

  “Well thanks.” I stretch my arms above my head, my shirt rising up a little as I do. “But for now, I’m a very sleepy young woman who’d better get home and start on the invite list for Mum’s next event.” And check on my sister. My buoyant heart sinks with a heavy thud.

  “Okay.” Colin stands up too, and I turn to walk toward the car only ... tree branch. Ankle.

  Ow.

  I topple forward for the second time today, my arms flailing, and then Colin is there, catching me. His arms loop under mine, his chest holding mine up.

  “Sorry.” I laugh and move to stand back, but he tightens his grip.

  His breath is heavy in my ear. Is he ... is he hitting on me?

  Then he lets go, and I pull away and inhale again. Air rushes down my throat then pours out with relief as I give another small giggle. I’m an idiot. Colin wouldn’t creep on me. He has a wife. And he’s friends with my mum.

  My phone beeps, snapping me out of my thoughts. I fish for it in my pocket, reading the message as I stumble back to the car.

  Zy: Have your sister safe in bed. She’s promised to lay off the drink. For now ...

  I ignore the ominous two last words of the message. Because this is the best news I’ve had in days.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Five days later, I knock on Hope’s bedroom door, very softly.

  Then I do it louder. Because damn it, I’m already close to running late, and softer just isn’t working.

  “Unless you’re bringing Henry Cavill to me on a platter—and I mean on a platter—feck off,” Hope groans.

  I open the door with what I hope is a charming smile. “Oh good, you’re awake then.”

  The light from the hall filters into her bedroom. Hope curls up under the blankets, her hair a dark bird’s nest poking out the top of the bed. She squints one eye open and somehow manages to still perform a rather scary glare.

  “Go away,” she grunts.

  “Can you please first tell me if this outfit is random six a.m. date appropriate?” I ask. I’d wanted to ask her last night, but by the time she’d gotten home from work at the bar, I’d been well and truly asleep.

  Hope shoves her wrists down into the mattress and pushes herself up, opening the other eye. “You’re lucky he’s hot,” she mutters, scratching her head. “Spin.”

  I do a full circle, and Hope nods, taking in my blue denim jeans and thick weave cream knit jumper. “Shoes?”

  “Ankle boots,” I reply.

  “Hair?”

  I frown. That’s the thing about having curls. I’ve just spent half an hour trying to make it look casual but not so casual it’s messy. “Done?” I ask hopefully.

  Hope mimes drawing a tick in the air. “You have my approval. Knock ’im dead, kiddo.”

  “Thanks, lovely. Have a good sleep!” I faux-whisper as Hope flops back down to her mattress, and I pull the door to.

  I pull on my boots and sneak out of the house, gently shutting the front door behind me.

  Outside, the air bites into my skin. The cold runs bone deep, and I jog to my car, eager to get inside it and be warm again. Excitement ripples through me. It’s as if nothing can bring me down today.

  I turn my key in the ignition, and the car shudders, then silences.

  Well, maybe a broken car could do it.

  I frown and then turn it again, and it does the same thing. It’s a raw, hacking kind of sound, as if the old Mazda has a cough or something. It’s just not clicking over.

  On my third attempt, I glance at the clock. It’s quarter to six, meaning I really have to get the car moving if I want to make my six a.m. date. I don’t even have time to call a taxi—in sleepy old Emer
ald Cove, I’m not even sure if a driver would be on at this time of the morning.

  My car shudders again, and my pulse starts to throb. It’s silly, and it’s only a date, and I’m not even late yet, but I hate letting people down, and rekindling this thing with Joel is important to me.

  So I do the only thing that seems feasible at the time.

  I run.

  My handbag bounces against my side as I bolt down our street, and then along the footpath of the main road. The streetlights’ white beams turn everything into a shade of grey. I pump my arms and work my legs faster, faster. My jeans fight my every movement, and I curse whoever invented skinny jeans and why they’re not just a little more flexible. The cold morning air rushes down my throat and aches against my lungs. My feet thud against the pavement, the only sound in this otherwise still morning.

  Thankfully, I’m used to running, and soon I fall into an easy rhythm. I take stride after stride, and try not to check my watch too often. My heart thuds against my ribs, but I ignore it and push, push on to try and reach my destination.

  By six past six, I’m barrelling down the hill toward the coastal café. Here there’s a little more life, activity, and I can already smell the rich scent of coffee on the cool morning air. A lone figure stands outside the café, dressed in a big jacket, and I make him my target. It’s the right height for Joel—it has to be him. Hopefully he’s not too pissed I’m late.

  I run down the steep incline toward the outdoor seating area and try to slow my feet, but the momentum I’ve gained is too much. I can’t stop. I keep going.

  Straight into the solitary figure.

  Bodies collide, and an arm wraps around my waist, stopping me from hitting the pavement.

  “Sorry,” I say, my voice breathless from the run. “I’m late, and I ran into you, and—”

  “Hey.” His voice is soft and gentle. It’s like a warm embrace. I turn to look into his eyes, and those ice-blue orbs somehow penetrate the black and white around us. “It’s okay.”

  My breathing slows, and my shoulders relax. Because right now, it really does feel as if everything will be okay.

  “You ran here?” Joel asks. He turns toward the counter where a rugged up older woman works the coffee machine.

  “Car wouldn’t start.” I shrug, and follow him up.

  “Flat white, please,” Joel says, then nods to me, indicating I should order.

  “Same, thanks.”

  The woman rings up our order. “Seven dollars, thank you.”

  I open my bag, but before I can even find my wallet Joel has already paid the lady, and she gets to work making coffee.

  “Thank you so much,” I say, and Joel shakes his head.

  “It’s just a coffee. And I made you get out here at six. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Six past six, technically,” I mutter, my eyes on my feet. “Sorry for being late.”

  “Hey.” Cool fingers touch my chin, and tilt it up so I’m looking into those eyes again. “It’s okay.”

  We wait for the woman to make our coffees and then walk out of the café.

  Joel leads me toward the parking lot, then opens the passenger door of a gunmetal grey BMW. “Hop in.”

  “Thanks.” I slide into the cream leather seat, and that smell that is new car and leather mixes with the coffee. I wriggle against the firm chair and all but nestle into it. These are four of my favourite scents in the world. Coffee and new car and leather and Joel.

  Joel walks around the front of the car and sits behind the wheel, the engine purring smoothly to life. He places his coffee in the cup holder, then pulls out of the lot and onto the road. Orange lights the horizon, a burnt colour that hovers just above the ocean. It’s going to be a brilliant sunrise soon.

  “When did you get the car?” I run one hand over the side of the soft leather seat.

  “Eighteenth present from Mum.” Joel gives me a cheeky grin. “Yet another side-effect of the divorce.”

  Joel’s parents split up when we turned thirteen, after Joel’s mother cheated on his dad, then proceeded to spend the next three years buying his love, his mother a far more active participant in the activity when it came to cash versus time. “They’re still playing that game, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugs. “No matter how much I tell them it’s not necessary ...”

  “So, where are we off to?” I ask, my gaze firmly out the window as the car drives over the bridge that traverses the point where the lake and the sea meet.

  “I’ll tell you when we get there,” Joel replies mysteriously.

  “Okay ...” I trail off. “This does feel a little like a recipe for disaster, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve just hopped in a car with a guy I haven’t seen in three years, and am heading who knows where. You could write a book about how badly this could end.” I sip my warm, delicious coffee.

  Joel considers this for a moment. “True,” he says. “Although to be honest, you’re not the type.”

  “The type?”

  “The type of girl I’d have on my kill and kidnap list. For one thing, there’s a paper trail that connects us. My name, email address and credit card are all on that basket booking,” Joel says.

  “True,” I muse, trying not to enjoy the idea of there being something, anything at all that ‘connects’ Joel with me. “Plus, I’m a screamer. Not great kidnap material.”

  Joel laughs, and a sly smile twists his lips. “You’re a screamer now, huh?”

  Mortification washes over me. Heat flames my cheeks, and I press my forehead against the cool of the window. “Dear God, kill me now ...”

  “Hey, it’s good to know.” He winks, and takes the exit onto the freeway to send us out of Emerald Cove.

  We drive for another fifty minutes in companionable silence, headed toward the hot-air balloon field where Colin’s office space is. My mind races, wondering what Joel has planned for us today. Is it a do-over of his date the other day? I screw up my nose at the thought. Being suspended in a basket over the earth sounds bad enough, let alone doing it while repeating an event Joel did with his ex just a week and a half ago. Ew.

  Then we turn off the freeway and down a straight road. In the distance, metal curves slice the sky. I frown, trying to remember what they are for. We’re about an hour away from home, in an area I don’t go to very often. I haven’t been down this road in years. Not since high school when we had a school excursion to—

  The racetrack.

  “So do you know where we’re going now?” Joel asks, a grin on his face.

  “Sure do.”

  “And do you hate cars and think this is the worst idea ever?”

  This time he gets a laugh out of me, and I shake my head. “Well, it might not be my idea of a good time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t cheer you on from the sidelines.”

  The car jerks left. My neck jolts with the movement, my heart lurching to my throat. Wheels skid against dirt as we slide to a stop.

  “Let me get one thing straight.” Blue eyes penetrate mine. “You are doing this.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Why?” he asks, and this time there’s seriousness in his voice.

  “I ...” I suck in a breath. “It’s just ... dangerous, you know? It’s not safe.”

  “Life isn’t about playing safe, Ellie,” Joel says, and the heat in his eyes lights a fire in my belly. “It’s about pushing to the limits—living on the edge.”

  “You mean risking your life for five minutes of thrills?”

  “No.” Joel trails his knuckles down my cheek, leaving flames in his wake. “It’s about pushing yourself for something more.”

  Sometimes you see a truth in words that runs deeper than just surface level. And just when you think you’ve got everything worked out, your life planned and protected against everything bad, one person comes along and shatters it all in one sentence. One breath. One word.

  Joel hasn’t shattered
me, but he’s fractured a part of my shell.

  And for one brief moment, I don’t want to be safe.

  ***

  “So, which one of you is driving first?” Marty Manson, the race-car instructor, asks, his gaze flicking between Joel and I.

  “He is,” I say, at the same time as Joel says “her.”

  We share a grin, and something dances in my stomach again. Something that reminds me of why I probably shouldn’t be doing this.

  He’s recently heartbroken, Ellie, I tell myself, but the words don’t hold the weight they did when I’d first thought them a week and a half ago at the hot-air balloon field. Now they’re easily buried under a sea of but maybe they hadn’t been together very long and you do have incredible chemistry and how about all that history?

  “I’ll do it.” Joel steps forward, and Marty slaps the keys in his outstretched palm.

  “All right, my man,” he says, and gives him some last-minute instructions, which Joel nods to and takes in with wide eyes.

  He does, thank God.

  Because all I take in is him.

  “Let’s do this thing.” Joel’s eyes light up as Marty hands the two of us helmets. I buckle mine under my chin, thinking positive anti-helmet hair thoughts.

  Marty opens Joel’s door, gesturing for him to sit. Instead of sliding in, though, Joel jogs around to the passenger side and holds the door open for me. This time, the blush that creeps up my cheeks has me seriously worried about my health. It isn’t natural to blush this often in such a short period of time. Seriously, this guy has me in a hot flush with just one look. At this rate, I’ll be going through menopause before we finish the hot lap.

  Huh.

  Hot lap.

  The term suddenly has a whole new meaning.

  “Hop in,” Joel says, and I point one leg into the car, then fold my body in. His eyes are on me the entire time.

  He walks around to the other side and sits, slamming the door behind him. Marty gives him the thumbs up, and Joel nods. The engine roars to life and Joel stabs at the accelerator with his foot.

  I press my spine back against the leather seat behind me. This is perfectly safe. We’ve done a crash course prior to hopping in the vehicle. We’re on a track specifically designed for high-speed driving, with no other cars in sight.