Chapter 12
CHAPTER
12
Unfortunately, Jack hadn’t been able to fix Adelaide’s busted radiator, so he’d called a tow truck and made himself scarce while she’d waited over an hour for it to arrive. She’d been glad, because they would’ve been forced into making small talk and she didn’t want to blurt that she wanted a divorce, not after the way he’d reacted to her leading into it.
She’d said it would be good to lay the past to rest and he’d looked like she’d stabbed him. Right then, she’d decided to be friendly towards him, get them to a better place, before springing the news on him. Though she doubted it would be easy whenever she brought up the D-word.
After her car had been towed to the mechanic in town—a newbie she hadn’t heard of, because what had she expected, for Ashe Ridge and its inhabitants to be unchanged after fourteen years?—she headed back to the cottage. When she knocked on the door, Jack opened it and frowned. So much for hospitality.
‘I’ll show you where you’ll be spending the night,’ he said, his frown deepening.
She should be grateful he had a detached bungalow on his property.
It could be worse.
He could’ve offered her a spare room in his house.
Seeing him again had affected her way more than anticipated and knowing he was a short stroll across the backyard … Definitely too close for comfort.
An awkward silence yawned between them as he led her to her lodgings, so she said the first thing that popped into her head. ‘Did you build the bungalow for guests?’
He grunted in response and slid a key into the lock. ‘Something like that.’
She didn’t believe him. Jack had a tell when he was being evasive and as he rubbed the top of his boot against the back of his jeans on his opposite leg, she knew he wasn’t telling the truth.
It irked that he didn’t trust her enough to answer a simple question. Then again, considering she’d been the one to walk away, he didn’t owe her anything. Not anymore.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, meaning it. Like the house, the bungalow had been built with sandstone bricks, and she trailed her fingertips across their rough surface, surprised by a swift stab of envy.
She liked the studio she rented in Tally Bay, mainly because it was all hers. She’d never lived alone, moving from her parents’ mansion in outer Melbourne direct to Jack’s farm, so having a place of her own to call home soothed her at the end of a long day at the juice bar. If the young tourists and hippies were surprised to find a seventy-something woman serving their customised juices, they didn’t show it, but she caught the occasional judgemental glance from older customers, like they pitied someone her age working such a menial job.
They had no idea that Raven, the guy who owned the juice bar, had given her a job when nobody else would, that the minimum wage supplemented the income she earned from her paintings and paid her rent, that she lived frugally by choice and didn’t care that she couldn’t afford luxuries because everything she had was hers and she’d acquired it the hard way.
But she knew where her jealousy for Jack’s new place stemmed from. She would love to live in a place like this, a place she’d once dreamed about. A dream he’d torn down with his scoffing. A dream she’d left behind when she’d abandoned their marriage.
She’d never been happier, so why was the touch of cool sandstone beneath her fingertips making her feel maudlin?
‘It’s sparse but comfortable.’ Jack opened the door and dumped her duffle. ‘The sofa folds out into a bed. The kitchenette is stocked with basics. The plumbing works.’
‘Great,’ she said, following him into the bungalow, annoyed by the sting of tears yet again.
The place was perfect. From its exposed sandstone walls to its ash floorboards, from the low-slung pale green and white striped sofa to the cutest kitchenette she’d ever seen, the bungalow beckoned a weary traveller. Oddly, it felt like home.
‘This is gorgeous, Jack.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he mumbled, a faint blush staining his cheeks. ‘Help yourself to everything. Call me if you need anything.’
The last thing she needed was Jack in his sleep attire—nothing but jocks—coming to her aid in the middle of the night. But she forced another smile, her gaze landing on a door next to the bathroom.
‘Where does that lead?’
His expression morphed from reluctant to downright hostile in a second. ‘It’s locked for a reason, so stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.’
She must’ve gaped a little at his swift change of mood because he swiped a hand over his face and when he lowered it, his anger had faded.
‘Sorry. Long day. And the shock of … this … us …’—he waved a hand between them—‘has taken a toll.’
‘I get it,’ she said, wishing for the second time today she could comfort him, aware she’d given up that right a long time ago. ‘I feel the same way. It’s overwhelming.’
‘Yeah.’ With one hand on the doorknob, he eyeballed her. ‘It’s good to see you, Ads.’
Her heart turned over at the use of the nickname only he’d ever called her, but before she could say anything, Jack slammed the door.