Chapter 15
CHAPTER
15
Adelaide’s left hip gave its usual morning twang as she rolled over in bed. Hours on her feet at an easel or serving juices weren’t conducive to limber joints but she’d got used to her bung hip over the years. Her very own personal alarm clock that woke her when she’d spent too long in bed.
She sat up slowly, stretched, and opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented.
Sandstone wall.
White trimmed window.
Sunlight peeking around the frame.
And an odd scratching at the front door that sounded suspiciously like a key being inserted.
As the door creaked open, it all came flooding back. Her car breaking down, trudging to the cottage, discovering Jack lived here, him offering her a bed for the night.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks as the door swung open and the man in question tried to slink in, carefully balancing a tray in his hands.
When he caught sight of her, he stumbled, his eyes wide as his gaze raked over her, and for a horrifying second she thought she’d slept naked. Her cheeks flushed as she glanced down, grateful she wore her favourite cotton nightie covered in tiny paintbrushes slashing at rainbows.
‘Sorry, I thought you’d be asleep,’ he mumbled, placing the tray at a small dining table. ‘I didn’t want to wake you. Just wanted to leave this.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, standing and padding over to the table, unsure what shocked her more. Jack’s thoughtfulness or the cooked break-fast—scrambled eggs, bacon, fried tomato, and toast—with orange juice on the side.
When they’d been married, he’d barely set foot in the kitchen other than to grab a quick sandwich at lunch or a snack in the middle of the night. She’d done all the cooking, her resentment growing with every dinner dished, especially when he barely spoke as they ate and left the table as soon as he’d eaten the last morsel off his plate.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, his voice gruff. ‘How did you sleep?’
‘Surprisingly well, considering I rarely get more than six hours a night.’
When his expression tightened in anger because he wrongly assumed she wasn’t getting much sleep because of possible nocturnal activities, she rushed on, ‘I paint at night. I find it’s when I’m at my most creative, and I often lose track of time so often stumble into bed in the wee small hours.’
‘What do you paint these days?’
‘Beach scenes mostly. Boats. Wharves. Lighthouses.’
Anything that encapsulated her new life, symbols of her freedom.
‘I’m sensing a theme,’ he said, his voice devoid of judgement, and she made an impulsive decision.
‘Why don’t you join me for breakfast?’ She gestured at the tray. ‘This is a lot and I can make us coffee.’
He hesitated, glancing at the door like he couldn’t wait to escape, and she second-guessed her invitation. What did she expect, for his kindness in cooking her breakfast to extend to forgiveness for her abandoning him years earlier?
‘I won’t say no to a coffee,’ he said, after what seemed like an eternity. ‘I’ll make it while you get dressed.’
Heat scorched her cheeks for the second time in as many minutes as she realised she’d been so surprised by his presenting her with breakfast that she’d forgotten she wore nothing but thin cotton that ended at her knees.
‘Thanks, I won’t be long,’ she said, grabbing her duffel and dashing for the bathroom, grateful when she closed the door so she could sag against it.
She should be mortified, but knew the blush staining her cheeks had less to do with embarrassment and more to do with the appreciation she’d glimpsed in Jack’s eyes.
At seventy-three, she rarely felt attractive. She didn’t look bad for her age—she took care of her skin with organic moisturisers and serums, her brown hair streaked with grey hadn’t yet turned white, she ate predominantly vegetarian, and she exercised daily with long walks on the beach. But it had been a long time since a man had stared at her with such … hunger, and her body tingled in places that hadn’t tingled in yonks.
What the hell had gotten into her?
She splashed water on her face, twice for good measure, and snagged her shoulder length hair into a messy bun at her nape before slipping into wide-leg khaki pants and an ivory sleeveless top with bright crimson hibiscus all over it. She’d hand-painted them, proud of the result whenever she wore it and got compliments. Not that she was dressing up for Jack, but she needed a confident front to hide the tumultuous nerves making her stomach tumble.
Could she possibly be attracted to Jack after all this time?
Before she could mull that alarming question, she wrenched open the door and marched back into the bungalow, the aroma of coffee a comfort. She could do this. Have breakfast with the man she’d been married too. Was still married to, technically, but not for much longer. If spending a few minutes in his company made her feel this out of control, she needed to wrest it back, starting with instigating divorce proceedings.
‘Here you go.’ He placed a steaming mug of coffee next to the breakfast tray and took a seat opposite. But considering the size of the round table, he may as well have been sitting next to her, as their knees still brushed when she sat.
Awareness zapped her and she reached for the orange juice, gulping it to soothe her dry throat. When she’d finished it and Jack hadn’t said anything, she picked up a fork and stabbed at the scrambled egg.
‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’
Jack lowered his coffee mug, not breaking eye contact. ‘You can and you do.’
Her fingers trembled a little as she lowered the fork before the egg dropped into her lap.
Was Jack flirting with her?
Or was her bizarre attraction to her ex flaring to life and confusing the hell out of her?
‘But I’m not really hungry,’ he added, leaving her more confounded than ever.
Did that mean he was tempted by her and not by the food?
Before she could think of something to say, he snaffled a triangle of buttered toast from her plate. ‘Though I better eat in case you nag me like you used to.’
The twinkle in his eyes indicated he hadn’t meant it as a barb but she bristled nonetheless. She’d hated when he implied she nagged him, when all she’d been doing was asking for the simplest things, like help with giving toddler Cam a bath, or reading their son a bedtime story. But Jack had always been too tired at the end of a long day and cited the farm work as an excuse on countless occasions. The lentil crops came first, always.
Little surprise she hadn’t been able to stomach lentils once she’d fled Hills Homestead.
‘I was joking,’ he said, his gaze wary as he held hers for a moment longer before dipping to his coffee.
She remembered that too, his inability to look her in the eye when things got uncomfortable between them, and she’d raise her voice to make him take notice of her.
‘It’s okay, I’m not a morning person,’ she said, keeping her tone light to defuse the situation. ‘Even when I’ve had the first good sleep I’ve had in ages, apparently.’
‘Sofa bed comfortable?’
‘Very.’
They lapsed into silence again and she busied herself with eating, even though the feel of Jack’s gaze on her curdled her appetite. When she’d cleaned half her plate, she laid the fork and a hal-fnibbled piece of toast down.
‘I can drop you at Mila’s if you like.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I called her earlier, said you’d be over.’
‘Thanks. And do you have a spare charger? In all the excitement last night, I forgot to charge my mobile.’
Jack’s brow arched. ‘Excitement?’
Damn, another blush hovered, and she rushed on. ‘My car breaking down. Discovering you lived here. You kindly letting me stay.’
‘Glad you clarified,’ he said, a surprising smirk curving his lips. ‘I’ll meet you out the front in fifteen minutes?’
‘Sure.’
As she watched Jack pick up the breakfast tray and perch it on his hip as he opened the door, an overwhelming rush of regret swamped her.
Why couldn’t he have made her breakfast even once when they’d been together?
Why couldn’t he have tried harder in their marriage?
Why couldn’t she?
But this wasn’t the time for regrets and as Jack gave her a lopsided smile before closing the door behind him, Adelaide knew she had to make a call once her mobile charged.
To the town’s lawyer.