“I don’t blame you. You came home to a stranger and a flood.” Cora mustered a smile, still feeling so mortified about the whole damn thing. “And I’m glad you did, because I had no idea what to do. I probably would have sat there with my hands over the pipe until I drowned.”
“I’m glad that didn’t happen.”
Was it her imagination, or was there an appreciative gleam in his eye? Definitely not. The only reason he was being nice was because of her relationship with Liv. He was probably teasing her.
“I’m not sure I could have handled the disposal of a body as well as the flood damage,” he added with a smirk.
Okay, yeah. He was definitely teasing her.
“Ha-ha,” she drawled.
“The blokes are going to do their thing for a bit longer, and apparently I’m not required. Do you want to grab a drink at the pub? Maybe get some food?” Her eyes must have lit up so much that he laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“My body doesn’t even know what time zone I’m in anymore,” she admitted, abandoning her duties and grabbing her handbag. Then she remembered that she hadn’t showered since leaving her house almost twenty-four hours ago. After the “incident,” she’d changed into a bikini and thrown a loose dress over the top, wanting to be comfortable in the muggy heat inside the non-air-conditioned house. “I should get changed.”
“No need. The pub is casual,” he said. “You’ll fit right in. I figure we can stop by and use the beach showers on the way back, freshen up a bit.”
She almost sighed in ecstasy at the thought of it. The quick swipe at her armpits with a facial wipe had done only so much to stem the scent of international travel. “You’re speaking my language.”
“I haven’t even mentioned the possibility of ice cream yet.” He laughed, and the sound ran like liquid heat through her veins. Damn, even laughter sounded better in this country.
“Aren’t you a good host,” she said, slinging her bag over one shoulder.
As they walked out the front of the house, she tried to smooth her hair back into a ponytail—but Cora’s shiny, sleek locks were not a natural feature. Oh no, they were the product of keratin treatments and a love affair with her flat iron. When exposed to moisture, Cora’s hair tended to pouf out, kinking and frizzing into a fluffy mess.
“Eh, I figured we didn’t start out on the best foot and, more importantly, my sister will have my left nut if I don’t make you feel welcome.” Trent hit the remote to unlock a dusty silver pickup truck sitting in front of the house. “I hope you’re okay riding in the ute. It’s not super comfy, but it does the job.”
“Ute?”
“Short for utility vehicle. What do you call them?”
“Pickup trucks.” Not that you would see too many of those around where she lived. “And it’s no problem. If you promised me a cold beer, I would ride a kangaroo to get there.”
“You know we don’t really do that here, right?” His lip twitched in a way that belied the deadpan tone of his voice. “But we do eat them.”
“You what?” Cora gasped. “They’re on your passports, for crying out loud.”
Trent shrugged. “They’re tasty and a very lean, healthy source of protein.”
“Well, I won’t be eating one, thank you very much.” That would be like eating a bald eagle. It seemed weird to treat a national symbol as a meal, but maybe they didn’t worry about things like that here.
“Not adventurous with your food, are you?” he teased. The pickup truck—sorry, ute—roared to life, and Trent executed a tight turn in the driveway that had them on a gravelly little road surrounded by dense bushland.
“I’m plenty adventurous. Manhattan has some of the best cuisine in the whole world, but I’m not about to pretend I’m on an episode of Survivor.”
“So witchetty grubs are off the menu as well, then?”
Cora pressed a hand to her stomach. “Keep talking like this and I won’t even need a menu.”
Trent chuckled, and the ute bounced along the unfinished road, kicking up dust and stones behind them. Every time one hit the side, it made a little chink sound. The scent of something sweet and floral drifted into the car through the open windows, mingling with the salty tang of the ocean. Eventually, they exited onto a busier road with more houses sprouting up. Every so often, when the houses broke, the ocean could be seen like a beautiful aqua line along the horizon.
“So how do you know Liv?” he asked.
It stung a little that Liv had never mentioned Cora to her family—but she had to remind herself that Liv was the kind of person who made friends everywhere she went. She was vivacious and gregarious and outgoing and probably had dozens of people in her closest circle.
“Actually, we met online,” Cora said. “We were both in a copywriting course and we hit it off. Then we started swapping work for critiques and Skyping every other week.”
Liv might not know it, but she’d been Cora’s lifeline in a time when everything seemed to be failing her. Hearing the familiar chime of the Skype ringtone on her MacBook had always filled Cora with a sense of relief, because for the hour or two that they talked, she could feel like she mattered to someone.
Liv had listened to her cry over her breakup with her fiancé, she’d commiserated when her parents announced they were getting a divorce, and she’d been the one to text Cora randomly through the day and night, little heart emojis and “I’m thinking of you” cheer-up messages.
“Eventually we ended up meeting in London, of all places.”
“Oh right.” Trent snapped his finger. “She went for a friend’s wedding.”
“I happened to be there for work, so it was kind of serendipitous.” Meeting Liv in person had been like meeting a long-lost sister. “And now I’m staying in her house and she’s staying in mine. I consider her a real friend, even if most of our conversations happen via the internet.”
Trent navigated the smooth corner, and suddenly they were on what appeared to be Patterson’s Bluff’s main drag. The town was capital-A adorable. Neat rows of shops were bustling with people, many of whom walked dogs or had children in tow. Cora spotted a sweet little bakery and an ice cream store with an old-fashioned blue and white striped awning and—oh!—a yoga studio. The street was dotted with big, sweeping trees and cute wrought-iron benches.
It was postcard-picture perfect.
“Welcome to the White Crest,” Trent said as he eased into a parking spot. An old building sat like a monument on the corner, guarding the rest of the street like a father watching over his children. It had a white balcony on the second level where people had gathered, laughing and drinking. “Most important place in Patterson’s Bluff. Home to the best brew this side of the Peninsula and the spot where you can catch pretty much anyone in town. If you need to find someone, this is your first port of call.”
They got out of the car and walked into the pub. Inside, the place was decorated as one would expect from a seaside town. There was exposed, sun-bleached wood everywhere and big windows that allowed the afternoon light to flood in. The tables were high and round, once painted white but now had that delightfully worn-in and rustic look. And the bar appeared to have been carved from a single tree—the beautifully gnarled edges making for a stunning feature that flowed like a wave along its length.
“I love it already,” she replied with a grin.
Maybe the disastrous first part of her vacation was nothing more than a glitch. A speed bump. Perhaps from here on out, everything would go according to plan.
…
Trent tried not to notice the enticing way Cora’s short, loose-fitting dress shifted as she climbed onto a stool at one of the high tables, flashing hints of toned thighs. The dress exposed thin, white bikini straps at her shoulders that looked barely solid enough to withstand a strong breeze. Or a tug. The very thought of it—taking a strap between
his fingers and pulling until the knot unraveled—had him shifting on the spot, battling a sudden surge of attraction that was so strong and so swift, it felt like a zap of electricity.
She probably thinks you’re a jerk after the way you spoke to her this afternoon.
Ugh, he owed her a beer for that.
Plumbing rule number one was always turn off the mains. Total rookie move. The guys he’d called in to help were never going to let him live that one down.
It wasn’t like him to be quick to anger—Trent was the smile-through-a-crisis kinda guy. The one who could be counted on to crack jokes even if the walls were crumbling down around them. But he’d had this instinctive reaction to Cora, a visceral gut churning that knocked him off-kilter and upended his usually calm-blue-ocean approach to things.
Maybe it was because she was a dead ringer for his ex. Like, long-lost-sister levels of similarity. If not for her accent, he might have been suckered into believing that she was the woman who’d shattered his heart only three years ago.
That’s why you’re attracted to her. It’s like…muscle memory.
Which was precisely why he’d repeat that over and over in his head as a reminder of why it was a terrible idea to ogle his sister’s houseguest, even if her dress stirred up all kinds of dark and dirty images with each indecent little flick of fabric. If there was one thing Trent wasn’t looking for, it was any kind of romantic entanglement.
Especially not one that spelled trouble in flashing neon letters.
Trent left Cora for a moment to order a couple of beers and a hearty mound of the herb and garlic chips that were his bar snack of choice. When he brought them back to the table, balancing everything with the expertise of someone who’d been doing bar runs all his adult life, she immediately reached for her bag.
“Snacks are on me,” he said, setting everything down on the table. “If you flew in today, then you’ve probably had nothing but shitty airplane food for the last twenty-four hours. The least I can do is make sure you’re fed.”
“Thank you. These look good.” She reached for a chip and bit down on the end. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.”
“We’re not big into fries here,” he said. The piping-hot, thick-cut potato planks were like salty morsels of goodness, and the perfect accompaniment to a crisp, cold lager. “But I’ve yet to meet a person who didn’t love these.”
“I can see why,” she said, reaching for another.
“Cheers.” Trent held his beer in the air and Cora clinked her glass against his. “So, a house swap, huh?”
She nodded. “Liv emailed me asking for recommendations of where she might be able to stay that would be walking distance to her internship. My place happens to be around the corner, so it seemed like the perfect solution. I was well overdue for a vacation anyway.”
“What do you do for work?” He took a long pull on his beer, almost missing the way Cora’s expression shifted from easy and relaxed to something that seemed a whole lot…tighter.
“I’m an office manager,” she said. “For a literary agency.”
“And what does an office manager for a literary agency do?” Trent had zero experience with anything that involved the words “office,” “management,” or “literary.” He’d avoided the cube-farm workplaces inhabited by several of his friends, going straight into hands-on dirt-under-his-fingernails work the second he walked out of school on his sixteenth birthday.
“Oh, lots of things,” she said. “I help with on-boarding new hires, running our summer internship program, coordinating company-wide initiatives for all kinds of things like corporate health and well-being, information security, workplace culture…that kind of thing.”
Trent nodded like he had a single clue what any of that meant, which he most certainly did not. “Literary agency, like for books?”
“That’s right. It’s a relatively small company. Most of our staff members are agents who represent authors and try to help them get publishing contracts. They do other things, too, like helping authors manage their careers, speaking at events, and keeping a pulse on what’s happening in the publishing industry.” She munched on a chip. “We have some pretty big clients, too. Names you might have heard of.”
Trent doubted it. The last time he read a book was…high school, most likely. The main thing he read these days was his brother’s comic strip—because it was awesome and hilarious. But between working his regular construction job, helping friends and family with an endless stream of handyman tasks, playing cricket with his mates, and maintaining a healthy social life, reading time didn’t really factor in all that much. Hell, Trent barely even watched television unless the footy was on.
That’s the kind of guy he was—he’d much rather be out with people, soaking up the rays or doing something active rather than being at home alone.
“I’m not up to date with what’s hot in the book world, I’m afraid,” he admitted.
“I’m going to take a stab and say you work with your hands.” Cora’s pale eyes twinkled with amusement.
“That obvious, huh?” Trent looked at his hand, which was wrapped around the pint glass containing his beer.
He had blue-collar hands—they were a bit beat up. Calloused and rough from hours of hard yakka. He had a bandage around his pinkie finger from where he’d sliced it on some plastic piping, and the hairs on his hands and arms were bleached white-blond from being outdoors every day. He loved his work—loved the satisfaction of taking raw materials and turning them into something solid. Loved the ability to create a place where people would build their lives and make memories.
Was it corny? A little. Would he ever say that aloud in front of his work mates? Hell, no. But he had a sentimental streak, even if he refused to show it to anyone.
“Just a bit,” Cora replied. Her eyes skated over him, curiosity unconcealed in a way that made Trent want to reciprocate. It wasn’t unusual for him to bask in the glow of admiration of the opposite sex—some might call him an attention whore.
It wouldn’t be totally incorrect.
But there was something about Cora that made him want to watch his step. Whether it was because she was a friend of Liv’s or because of the resemblance to his ex, he wasn’t sure. But Cora had an air about her that screamed: don’t get too close.
“I work in construction,” he explained. “Mostly residential developments, new builds, and the odd extension here and there. Every so often I’ll do a retail fit-out as well.”
“And renovations?”
“For my family, yeah. Liv got that house for a steal, and she needed to fix it up on a tight budget, so I’m helping her out as best I can. Pays to have a brother willing to work for free.” He popped a chip into his mouth and enjoyed the salty taste and crispy texture. “Well, in exchange for accommodation.”
“You’re staying there?” Cora’s eyes widened. “I had no idea. Liv said the house wasn’t occupied.”
“Might have been a bit of a miscommunication,” he said sheepishly. “My previous living situation became…not ideal.”
Cora raised a brow and sipped her beer.
“My roommate’s girlfriend moved in.”
“Oh, I see.” She wrinkled her nose. “Bedposts banging against the wall?”
“You got it. Squeaky bedsprings and all kinds of sounds that I never want to hear unless they’re coming from my room.” He laughed. “You learn way too much about a friend in that situation. I do not need to know that he likes his hair being pulled.”
Cora snorted and then clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no!”
“Oh yes, as it was most commonly screamed.”
Cora’s cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink, and she scrubbed a hand over her face. “I think I’m getting secondhand embarrassment for you.”
“I appreciate the commiseration.” He grinned. “Needless to say, it was ti
me to get the hell out of there. I figured, since Liv’s place was going to be empty I could kill two birds with one stone—have a peaceful night’s sleep and get some extra work done on her place so she’d be surprised when she came back.”
“That’s very sweet,” Cora said with a smile. “And only a little self-serving.”
“Exactly the kind of balance I like to maintain.” He rested his forearms against the edge of the table. “So tell me, why on earth did you agree to a house swap when you’d have to holiday here of all places?”
Not that Patterson’s Bluff was a bad place to visit. Every summer, tourists flooded in, seeking out the clean, endlessly stretching beaches and the sun-drenched lifestyle that was the ultimate antidote for city life. Trent adored this town and everything it offered. But it wasn’t exactly going to top any lists of “most amazing” places to visit in Australia.
He got the impression that Cora could have gone anywhere. So why was she here, in his little town—at the end of tourist season, no less, when nothing much would be happening—if she could be snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef or climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge and having cocktails overlooking the Opera House? She could be exploring Melbourne’s endless maze of alleys and funky bars or seeing the incredible natural magnificence that was Uluru.
“It seemed like fun,” Cora said with a noncommittal shrug. “Liv has always spoken very highly of her hometown, and I wanted to see what it was like.”
That was a big steaming pile of BS if Trent ever heard it. But it wasn’t his business, and he didn’t want to pry. So he decided to drop it.
There you go, another reason to stay well away. That fancy trunk wasn’t the only baggage she brought with her.
“So, uh…what does this mean for living arrangements?” Cora asked.
There was no way in hell Trent was going back to Hale’s place—besides, he was pretty sure the girlfriend had already taken over his old room. She’d been eyeing it off as he packed his things. Staying at Liv’s was meant to be temporary anyway. Just long enough for him to secure an architect to start work on his house plans. Then he was going to live on-site in a caravan when building started.
Her Aussie Holiday Page 3
