by Kylie Scott
Pete stepped up onto the bed, his bare feet spread wide apart as he positioned himself for the capture. The clear plastic container closed down on the creepy thing, as Pete tried for the slow and steady approach. At the last moment, its spider sense kicked in, and it leapt into a mad dash for freedom. I bit back a squeal of fright, but Pete’s reflexes were up to the task. The container knocked against the bedroom wall, all eight legs and any other bits and pieces of the beast safely inside. I tried to avoid any feeling of grudging admiration. It took a fair bit of skill to nab a big, fast-moving one that smoothly.
Pete carefully slid the piece of cardboard between the wall and the container. Lots of spider jumping and scurrying ensued inside the plastic box. Continuing my display of extreme bravery, I stood back out of the way as he carried the thing outside and then took off the cardboard covering. He flicked the container so Mr. Spider went flying off into the garden, to live wild and free. Much better than copping a load of bug spray in the face.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Delirious. Thank you.”
A grunt.
“Remember the first time you taught me to do that? I didn’t get it right and the poor thing lost a leg under the edge of the container. Half of me was petrified, and the other half in tears.” To be fair, huntsmen’s legs were strangely brittle, and you had to be pretty agile to make sure they didn’t lose a leg or two in the process.
Another grunt.
Great. Was this how it was going to be for my entire stay?
“Not that I don’t adore the whole grouchy thing you’ve got going,” I said. “But out of curiosity, should we just possibly talk about the issue and get it all out there? Deal with it, maybe?”
He frowned. “Hell, no.”
“So we’re never going to discuss it?”
“Got it in one.”
I took a deep breath and gave him a thumbs-up. “Okay. Great. Good talk, Pete. Thanks again for getting rid of the spider.”
Another disgruntled look and he was gone, wandering back inside. Off to hide out in his office, no doubt.
Skittering spiders and taciturn men. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
Chapter Two
Nine Years Ago . . .
I sat on the grass under a tree with my nose in a book. Day one of six weeks’ worth of the endless sounds of hammers, saws, and screwdrivers was nearly over. Not that I much minded just hanging out. After all, stuff was happening in my book. Action, adventure, romance. All of the things that so never happened in the real world.
A red flatbed truck with a toolbox on the back pulled up and I prepared myself for the next round of greetings. For six weeks every summer, it was more of the same. A mixture of “hey,” “how have you been,” and “far out, you’ve grown.” Most of the men had known me for years, so it was to be expected.
This guy, however, was new. And wow. I swear to God, he positively swaggered over to the house currently undergoing renovations. But like, not in a douchey way. How such a thing was possible, I had no idea. Truth be told, I’d never really noticed the guys working for Dad much before. They were all fit, strong blokes—and cheerful enough to crease their sun-tanned faces with a ready smile whenever the boss’s kid was around.
But Pete was something else.
One of the workers on the roof yelled out something obscene at him and the guy calmly raised his middle finger in response.
“Language!” yelled Dad, with a nod in my direction.
I hid my face in embarrassment. It sucked having to think that all the workers had to be on their best behavior because “the kid” was around.
Immediately, the guy headed my way with a broad grin. “Adele, right? Boss has been talking about your visit for weeks, getting all excited.”
News to me. I mean, Dad was okay and everything, but life for him really centered on work. Which was fine and to be expected. Mom had taken me and moved to Sydney a while back, needing her space or something. Artists really are flighty. Dad needed something in his life to fill the hole, and his business played that role just fine.
“Hi,” I said.
“Pete.” He held out his big hand for shaking.
My hand only trembled slightly. Good going on my part.
Close up, he was even more gorgeous. The most perfect blue-gray eyes and a face that firmly qualified as dreamy. A super-strong jawline and little indent in his chin. His lips. Oh my God, his lips. And all of this finished off with shoulder-length dark hair. I could only stare.
Unfortunately, he was older than me by at least a decade.
“Forgot, you two haven’t met before,” said Dad, arriving just in time to totally ruin my moment. “Sweetheart, this is Pete. The new employee I told you about. He came onboard at the start of this year. Pete, this is my daughter, Adele. She just turned sixteen.”
One way or another, my age was always mentioned in such cases. It was Dad’s not-so-subtle way of laying down the law regarding acceptable behavior around me.
“We just met.” Pete smiled.
“How’d things go at the Le’s?”
“All wrapped up. They’re happy.”
Dad clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work.”
Pete turned back to me and frowned. “Boss, you seriously making her sit around at sites?”
“What?” Dad frowned as if the thought had never occurred to him. “We’ll only be another hour here. Then I’ve got a few things to do at the office, but they shouldn’t take too long. She’s fine.”
“I’m fine,” I confirmed.
Pete just shook his head. “Come on, you must be bored shit . . . sheetless, I mean. Yeah, sheetless.”
Dad frowned some more while I laughed.
“I’m done for the day and heading to the beach,” said Pete. “Why don’t I take her with me?”
“You want to go?” Dad asked.
“Sure.” I shrugged, slipping the book behind my back. “I’m so bored I don’t have any sheets at all. Or even pillows.”
Dad’s frown deepened a little, but Pete nodded, pleased. “Good. Got some bathers or we need to pick ’em up?”
“Hang on.” Dad fished his wallet out of his back pocket, stuffing some money into my hand. This was Dad’s other thing. Shove money at the child to instantly make everything awesome. “There’s shops at the beach, right? Just buy yourself some new ones, sweetheart. A towel too, okay? Oh, and sunscreen and a hat. Here, take a bit more—you might get hungry later. Got your phone on you?”
I neatly folded the cash, putting it in the pocket of my denim cutoffs. “Yes.” Dad had brought me the phone last year, the plan presumably being that he could get in contact with me directly.
“Alright. Look after her.” Then Dad gave Pete the look. The one that promised much fatherly rage should I be returned with a single scratch on me. “Adele, don’t get sidetracked and wander off, okay?”
“I’m not four, Dad.”
“Realize that.”
I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”
“Come on,” said Pete with another of those smiles that turned my stomach inside out. “Let’s get out of here, kid. The waves are waiting.”
Wednesday Night . . . Now
Dinner was on the back deck.
I’d showered and changed into a sleeveless, short, black linen jumpsuit that had miraculously survived the trip without too many wrinkles. Weight I’d put on in university had never really shifted. I’d long given up fighting it and instead worked with the curves. Meanwhile, the humidity was messing with my light brown hair, so I low-ponytailed it and chucked on some hoop earrings and sandals. Minimal waterproof makeup so the heat wouldn’t sweat it off me. The look said mature and capable, while remaining casual. Or, I wanted it to. A girl can hope.
I carried my cell with me—given mobile phones were the god of distraction and especially useful for avoiding unwanted conversation. Forget manners; they meant nothing in a crisis. I picked up my phone, pretending to be busy.
“Meant to ask, my reception here isn’t great. Would you mind if I grabbed the Wi-Fi password?”
The man visibly hesitated. Obviously, I could be trusted with nothing.
“I promise not to watch too much porn,” I said. “It’s just that sometimes you’re better off doing a job yourself, right?”
He gave me a sour look. “It’s written on the fridge.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to be nervous,” said Pete, handing me a beer.
“I’m not.”
He just nodded to the fingers of my free hand. Much fidgeting was indeed happening.
“Shanti’s great. I’m sure you’ll get along fine,” he said, sprawled out in one of the outdoor dining table chairs, still barefoot. He’d traded his T-shirt for a short-sleeved button-down shirt. Black. We matched. Maybe I’d gone overboard with the outfit. No, I looked fine. Everything was fine.
Tea lights flickered on the table, sitting alongside a platter of cheese and biscuits and stuff. A couple of citronella candles sat around us to dissuade the bugs from having us for dinner.
After getting the Wi-Fi password, I sat opposite him, keeping my gaze on the distant stars. Now that the sun had fully set, they were just visible above the hazy shadows of the mountains on the horizon.
“Something smells good.”
His smile remained strained. “Rack of lamb. You still eat meat, right?”
“Yes.” I took a sip of beer. “I missed your cooking.”
Nothing.
Yeah, shouldn’t have said that. Any alluding to the past was a big N-O.
“Hey!” my dad shouted from the front of the house. “We’re here.”
And then I saw it: the first real smile on Pete’s face in seven years. I hadn’t even known how much I’d missed it until I saw it again. Perfect lips wide and white teeth on display, his eyes alight with joy. With the people he loved, he held back nothing. I’d been on that select list once. Seeing him smile, it was similar to what I’d imagined getting punched in the gut would be like. Lots of pain, with little to no actual fun.
Dad stepped onto the deck, followed by an elegant dark-skinned woman in a sleek green maxi dress. Pete and Dad did the manly backslapping thing, even though they lived across the road from one another, worked together, and probably saw each other every damn day of their lives. He’d aged well, my dad. At fifty, the man was pretty much the definition of silver fox.
As Pete smacked a kiss on Shanti’s cheek, I just kind of sat there, stupidly frozen. Guess Pete had been right: I was anxious about this moment.
“Sweetheart.” Dad rounded the table, holding his arms out. “Good to see you.”
“Hi, Dad.” I stood, hugging him back. Only with a slight level of awkwardness, which wasn’t too bad for us really. We’d never been what you’d call close.
“This is Shanti.” He turned, holding a hand out to the lady. “Shanti, my daughter, Adele.”
“Finally.” Shanti smiled, enclosing me in her arms like I was something precious. A little like Mom did. Also, she had the most beautiful, husky voice.
Not that I’d had any real plans to, but disliking this woman would clearly not be an option, though I’d burnt through the childhood rage over my parents’ divorce some time ago. All the while, Dad looked on, his usually stoic face beaming. This was a new and somewhat drastic change. He’d never been quick to smile or big on happiness. Workaholics generally weren’t, in my experience. Obviously this woman had worked wonders.
“Let me get you guys some drinks,” said Pete, rubbing his hands together. “What’ll it be?”
“Wine for me, thank you.” Shanti took the seat next to mine.
“Beer,” said Dad, grabbing a seat at the head of the table. Next to his fiancée, but not quite. Face reverting to its usual serious lines, he said, “Where’s the boyfriend?”
I sat back down. “I never said I was bringing him.”
“Thought you did.”
“No.”
He cocked his head. “Huh. You mentioned you were seeing some guy; guess I just assumed. Never mind.”
I could have pointed out the mistake might be care of the fact that we rarely spoke and when we did, his mind was usually elsewhere, but glorious maturity prevailed. No need to mess with the celebratory mood. Instead, I just smiled and took another sip of beer. “How are the wedding plans going?”
“Wonderful,” said Shanti. “I’m so glad you agreed to come up early and spend some time with us. It’s beautiful here this time of year and you had to travel a long way. So why not turn it into a holiday, yes?”
Due to being slightly nervous and therefore shit at conversation, I just nodded encouragingly.
Pete handed out drinks to my dad and Shanti, and then we were making a toast to the about-to-be-married couple’s future happiness, et cetera. After this, Dad and Pete settled down to talking about work while Shanti filled me in on her interior decorating business. Dad owned a medium-sized building company. I guessed that’s how their paths had crossed. Dad’s crew handled everything from architectural masterpieces tucked away in the hillsides to renovations. He liked variety.
“Adele, did I tell you I made Pete partner a few years back?” he suddenly asked, bottle of beer in hand.
“You’re partners?” I asked, slightly startled. It was big news.
Pete gave me his best blank face. “Best way to expand the business, take on a few more jobs a year.”
“That’s great. Congratulations.”
A nod.
“Not like he hadn’t been with me long enough,” said Dad. “When did you first come on?”
“I don’t know, nine years ago?” Pete shrugged.
“You know, it seems like longer.”
“Enough business talk,” ordered Shanti, nodding at my phone. “Adele, show me a picture of this man you’ve been seeing.”
“Oh. Okay.” I flicked through the album to a selfie Deacon and I had taken on date two, figuring now wasn’t the time to reveal he was cheating on me. “Here.”
“He’s handsome.” She grinned, her thumb poised over the screen. “Are there more?”
“Not sure.” I shrugged in attempted nonchalance. Then I squirmed a little. “Maybe. Probably more of my friend and me taking stupid selfies than anything else.”
“Oh, is this her here with the gorgeous short hair?”
“Shanti, you can’t just go through someone’s phone,” chided Pete with a smile.
“There’s nothing that interesting on there,” I said, waving his concerns away. “And yes; her name is Hazel. We’ve been besties for years.”
Dad frowned. “Sure there’s nothing on there?”
“Endless nudes, Dad. Endless.” I laughed. “And all the D pictures. It’s just . . . a bad habit, I guess. But I can’t seem to stop collecting them and so many nice men are willing to send them, so . . .”
“D pictures?”
“Dick,” supplied Pete.
“Jesus.” Dad gave me a dour look. “Very funny, sweetheart.”
Shanti leaned closer with a sly grin. “Don’t worry, Adele. If I find anything, I won’t tell him.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Idiots really send you pictures of their genitals?” asked Dad. “That happens?”
“Only the occasional complete stranger on social media.” I shrugged. “They think it’s some kind of alluring mating call, I guess. I just block them.”
“Like you want to see someone’s shriveled-up little penis and hairy balls,” said Shanti. “Yuck.”
“We need a change of conversation,” announced Dad.
Pete just blinked and shook his head. “Agreed.”
“Who’s this?” asked Shanti, angling the phone so I could see.
“Luke. I dated him last year,” I said. “He was in landscaping. Nice guy.”
She scrolled through a few more photos. Mostly of Hazel and me acting drunk and crazy, making dumb faces, as you do. Thankfully, she didn’t commen
t and kept going until she hit another couples shot. “And him?”
“Ah, Jonah. That was also last year.”
“What did Jonah do?”
I smiled. “Actually, he was a sculptor and potter. He had this cool studio and did shows and gave classes.”
Shanti’s brows lifted. “Interesting. Who’s this one?”
“Isaac. Personal trainer. Sweet person, but I couldn’t handle all of the fussing about food,” I explained. “Around about the time you’re saying steak has too much fat content, you’ve lost me.”
“His body does indeed look like a temple, though,” said Shanti appreciatively, still swiping.
“These people are all clothed, right?” asked Dad with a slight frown.
“Of course they’re clothed, Andrew. Don’t be silly.”
“Hmm, this one is quite handsome, Adele. And this fellow too.”
Now Dad’s expression turned more serious. “Sweetheart, how many men have you dated, exactly?”
As if I would answer such a question without first enduring at least some mild form of torture. Out of my peripheral vision, I caught Pete narrowing his gaze. He was really slipping into grumpy-old-man territory these days. Though it might just be the company he was keeping.
“You need to explore your options before you settle down.” Now it was Shanti’s turn to offer Pete some gentle chiding. “It’s only sensible. Try before you buy. How do you know what you want if you don’t experiment? Think of all those years it took me to find you.”
Dad chose not to reply.
Thankfully Shanti put down the phone. “You know, you definitely have a type, Adele.”
“Do I?”
“Oh, yes. They all have dark hair, pretty eyes, and work with their hands,” said Shanti. “Isn’t that interesting?”
“Hm.” Yeah, I had nothing to say on that topic. For someone whose background was interior decorating, she was pretty perceptive about people too.
“I always wonder where people’s tastes evolve from, don’t you?”
Silence at the table.
Pete downed more of his beer. “Seems like you keep busy, kid.”
