SEVEN
Seven
A loud revving motorbike engine interrupted Lottie’s peaceful reading after a busy morning of customers. She frowned as she watched the rider, dressed in a black jacket and safety gear, slowly reverse his large bike into a parking spot in front of her shop, before he cut the engine and quiet returned once more.
She went back to her book. She’d only planned to skim it, thinking that as a committee member she really should at least be familiar with their guest of honour’s work so they’d have something to talk about at the pre-festival drinks and dinner that had been organised at the last festival meeting—the second one for the week. She wouldn’t be missing the meetings once the festival concluded.
However, she’d found the book fascinating, so much so that she’d gone to the library to see if they had any other books he’d written. Happily, they had. This current one was titled A Wide Brown Land , a novel based on detailed research. It had a mix of both fictional and real-life characters that brought the history of the early settlers to life in a way a mere textbook never could.
A short while later, she heard someone entering the shop and reluctantly put the novel down, stood and approached the man, who had started looking around. ‘Good morning.’
He lifted his gaze from the set of metal scales he’d been admiring and returned her greeting. He was tall, dressed in jeans and chunky black leather biker boots, his wide shoulders stretching out a comfortable-looking grey T-shirt. Her smile wavered slightly as she glanced outside to the bike and saw a black jacket draped over the seat.
For the briefest of moments, Lottie felt the urge to girlishly drop her gaze, but managed to suppress the impulse by reminding herself that she was a grown-arse woman who ran her own business. I don’t even like bikes.
She realised she was still staring at him and felt a blush begin to creep up her neck. Lottie cleared her throat and forcefully pulled on her professional face. ‘Can I help you with something? Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘I’m never actually looking for anything, but that doesn’t normally stop me from finding something I need to have,’ he said, brushing a hand through darkish brown hair that was cut shorter at the sides and a tad longer on top.
‘I totally understand. Hence why I now own an antiques store,’ she said.
‘Really?’ He smiled broadly, and Lottie found herself returning it. A small flutter went through her stomach. Stop it.
‘Well, kind of. I bought the business off my mother. The women in my family tend to do hand-me-downs. This shop was my grandmother’s before that.’
‘That’s a real family legacy.’
Lottie gave a brief shrug but smiled. ‘It’d be nicer if it was a legacy that made a fortune.’
‘Ah, well. If it’s a labour of love, that’s probably far more satisfying than a job you don’t like.’
‘That’s true.’ She couldn’t argue with the logic. ‘I’ll leave you to browse then. If you need any help, just give me a yell.’
Lottie went back to the counter and picked up her book, flicking her gaze to the man in her shop every so often, telling herself she was just checking if he needed help. I’d do the same for any non-gorgeous customer.
‘Any good?’
Lottie looked up at the unexpected intrusion. ‘Sorry?’
‘The book.’ The man nodded his head towards the book in her hand. ‘You seem engrossed.’
‘Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realise you were waiting.’ She quickly placed the book down and stood, feeling guilty at being caught out reading at work, even if she was the boss. ‘Are you a reader?’
‘I am, although I don’t get to do as much of it as I’d like to.’
‘Well, if you like history, I can definitely recommend this one.’ She held the book up to show him the cover and saw his eyes widen briefly. His casual attitude suddenly changed and he looked uncomfortable. ‘Not into history?’ she asked, trying to gauge his reaction.
‘Uh, actually … I am. It’s kinda my thing,’ he said, looking awkward.
‘Well, I’m really enjoying this.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said then cleared his throat. ‘This is really embarrassing, but, uh,’ he shoved his fingertips into the small coin pockets in the front of his jeans and hunched his shoulders, ‘I wrote that.’
Lottie stared at him, blinking as she tried to process what he was saying.
‘The book. I’m Damian Loxley.’
No. Way.
He shuffled his feet slightly on the other side of the desk before giving a small grimace. ‘I know, it probably sounds like I’m lying, but it’s true. I just arrived in town to scope out the festival planning and do a bit of research for my new book.’
‘Holy sh—’ Lottie cut herself off. ‘ You’re Professor Loxley?’
‘I am.’
He could have been kidding about being the author of the book she was reading, but how would he have known that there wasn’t any author photo on the inside back cover? She hadn’t gotten around to googling him, she’d had too much else going on to remember, but she had been meaning to look him up.
‘You don’t look like a professor,’ she found herself blurting, instantly wishing she could take it back. ‘I mean, it’s just that I thought you’d be older … somehow,’ she said, thinking back to the meeting when ‘the professor’ had been announced as the guest speaker and everyone had assumed he was … well, older.
‘I get that a bit,’ he confessed, much to her relief.
For a moment, they both stared at each other until the silence stretched uncomfortably. ‘Uh, well … welcome to Banalla,’ Lottie said, sticking her hand out to shake. ‘I’m on the Chamber of Commerce and the festival planning committee, although, clearly I’m just a behind-the-scenes minion or I probably would have recognised you … or knew you were coming out here early,’ she added.
‘I didn’t tell anyone I was arriving. This is mainly a research trip, and I was going to check in with the event planners closer to the festival, in case they needed me to do anything.’
‘Oh. Okay. Well, that sounds interesting … the research stuff.’
‘Yeah, it’s always my favourite part—the fieldwork, getting out and actually going to the places I write about. The book research is good too, but it’s more paperwork, and inside … so …’
Lottie was relieved he seemed as uncomfortable about the whole exchange as she was feeling.
She took in his wide forehead and a jawline somewhat defined by the trimmed stubble around his lower face. He was built more like a rugby league player than a professor—or at least, not like any of the professors she’d ever had.
‘I’m Lottie Fairchild,’ she added, realising she hadn’t actually introduced herself.
‘Nice to meet you, Lottie. That’s not a name you hear very often nowadays,’ he said.
‘It’s short for Charlotte. Most people shorten it to Charlie, but my mum always liked to be different, so I’m Lottie.’ She shrugged.
‘It suits you,’ he said, then added quickly, ‘I mean, you work in an antiques store and you like history … Lottie’s an old-fashioned name … It just kind of makes sense …’ His words faded off.
She smiled shyly. ‘Happy coincidence, I guess.’
He cleared his throat and seemed to be busy looking anywhere but at her.
‘So are you staying in town? Do you have your accommodation sorted out?’
‘Yeah, I booked into the motel in the main street.’
Lottie gave a small frown. She was sure Daphney had mentioned they were going to put him up at the Stag and Horn, located on the outskirts of town, but modern and with a few more stars than the Wild Colonial Inn. ‘I’m pretty sure the committee was going to cover your accommodation. You shouldn’t have had to book your own.’
‘Oh, no. That’s fine. I didn’t mention I was coming out this early. I don’t expect them to pay for this. I’m mainly here for my own research.’
‘Are you sure? I can call Daphney and—’
‘No, honestly. It’s fine,’ he interjected quickly, like a man who had spoken to Daphney and wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. ‘I was planning on staying under the radar a bit. I need to get a bit of work done before the festival.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘I only mentioned who I was because of the book. It would have gotten a bit awkward if you met me later and realised …’
Yeah, because this was so not awkward … She knew she was super uncomfortable around people, but this guy might even be worse than her. ‘I’m glad you did. It’s a great book.’
‘Thanks.’
They stared at each other for a moment until Lottie opened her mouth to break the silence … at the same time he did.
‘Is there anything you’re interested in—’
‘Would you like to have coffee—’
They both stopped and continued to stare.
Did he just ask me out for coffee? ‘Uh, sure,’ she stammered.
‘You don’t have to. I mean, I’m sure you’re incredibly busy,’ he quickly added, words tumbling over each other.
Lottie gave a small chuckle. ‘Yes, I’m inundated with customers,’ she said ironically.
He gave her a brief smile and shuffled his big, booted feet slightly.
Oh my God, he’s nervous! The flutter in her stomach returned, and she made a decision.
‘It’s almost closing time,’ she said. ‘Maybe a bit late for coffee, but would you like to meet in about an hour or so for a drink? I know a place just up the street.’
‘Sure,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘I need to go back to the motel for a bit anyway, so I could meet you there.’
Lottie told him where to meet and watched him leave the store, her view interrupted by an older couple who walked into the shop a few moments later. She heard the bike start up and just managed to catch it as it pulled out onto the road and headed uptown.
Was she seriously about to meet a man for a drink? Like a date? She quickly pulled the brakes on that train of thought. It wasn’t a date, she was just being friendly.
No, it was definitely not a date.
Damian stood out the front of the place up the street that Lottie had given him directions to. MADAME DUBOIS read the elegant sign on a darkened window. This was not the kind of place you’d expect to find in a small rural town. It had definite Moulin Rouge vibes, with its black-and-red décor, showgirl pin-ups and Parisian-looking art decorating the front wall of the premises. He tentatively pushed the front door open to go inside.
This wasn’t the only unexpected thing he’d discovered since arriving in Banalla.
Lottie Fairchild. The name made him smile. He’d loved how her hazel-green eyes lit up when she talked about her store, the way her straight, coppery hair framed her face then fell below her shoulders.
His sisters had always teased him about how oblivious he was when it came to women, but he wasn’t that gangly teenager anymore, and he’d picked up on a definite interest from Lottie. He’d been told he’d been hard to read before, and now wondered if she’d realised the interest was mutual.
He ordered a beer and found a table with a good view of the front door, then allowed himself a bit of time to take in his surroundings. He felt a little out of place in his jeans and was glad he’d ducked back to his lodgings and swapped his T-shirt for a clean button-up shirt. Earlier, he’d stopped in a few of the shops and had been surprised by the price tags on the clothing stocked in one of the many boutique clothing stores in the main street. The leather boots he’d been admiring would have set him back almost a week’s wages.
The clientele filling the tables around him were well dressed—not in designer cocktail wear, but in, he suspected, equally expensive rural wear. The men were mostly wearing moleskin pants, boots and button-up shirts in various tones of beige and tan. The women, bar a few exceptions in long dresses and boots, were dressed similarly—not exactly the rough and tough image of rural farming folk he’d been expecting in a small country town. Then again, he suspected the pub across the road would probably be where the straight-from-the-paddock-to-the-pub crowd hung out, rather than the swanky place this seemed to be. Nope, this had not been what he’d been expecting from Banalla.