ELEVEN
Eleven
Damian removed his sunglasses from the neck of his T-shirt and slid them onto his face as he walked out into the bright sunlight. He paused at his bike, looking each way up the wide side street. He liked the quieter pace of this small town. No one seemed to be in a hurry—they just went about their business, stopping to chat to people they knew here and there, while loyal working dogs sat patiently in the backs of utes, waiting for their owners to return. If he used his historian imagination, he could almost visualise this town as it might have looked back in Jack McNally’s day. The streets would have been dirt, and the cars would have been horses, but the layout would have been the same. Even a few of the houses and buildings would have been here. However, back when the town was first settled, there would have been a lot more lean-to type structures and tents until building materials and supplies were able to be transported for more permanent buildings. Still, the bones of the town that remained were the same.
A ding on his phone caught his attention and he checked the screen as a new message popped up from his siblings’ group chat. He let out a quiet moan.
Kaitlin: So? How did it go?
Jess: Ohh, yes! Updates!
Damian: We just had a drink.
He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut yesterday afternoon when he’d been talking to his eldest sister Kaitlin, but he’d been trying to get off the phone to go and meet Lottie at the bar and he’d accidentally let it slip. His three sisters were like sharks—once they caught the scent of something interesting happening in his love life they wouldn’t give up.
Kaitlin: And?
Damian: And nothing. I walked her home.
Jess: What was she like?
Damian: She’s nice.
Kaitlin: Nice? Like Susan the librarian nice or like Vicki the crazy-eyed accountant nice?
Damian: Vicki wasn’t nice.
He suppressed a shiver of horror at the mention of the woman he’d once dated a few years earlier, who’d been the closest he’d ever come to having a stalker.
Jess: You thought she was nice at first.
Kaitlin: Hence why we now screen your dates—because you have no clue when it comes to women.
Damian: Stop screening my dates. Don’t you two have husbands you can go and annoy or something?
Both his older sisters were happily married and had busy lives, yet still somehow managed to find time to try and meddle in his.
Emilly: Wait, wait … I’m catching up … Okay, I’m caught up. So she was nice?
Emilly was his younger sister by two years and lived the closest to him—only a few blocks away. They usually managed to catch up for coffee once a week, but nowadays she had her hands full with eighteen-month-old twins, so coffee was usually done either in her small apartment or at the park.
Damian: Yes, she was nice.
Kaitlin: So she’s into antiques and road trips.
Damian: What? How did you know that?
Kaitlin: Hello? Social media.
Damian clicked on the link his sister sent through, and Lottie’s smiling face beamed up at him from the screen. He wasn’t a social media fan and apart from the odd bit of promotion for his books he avoided it where possible.
Damian: I didn’t even tell you her last name!
Kaitlin: I didn’t need it. You told me her first name and I just did a search of the town, and voila!
Damian: That’s unsettling.
Emilly: Aw, she’s cute!
Jess: She really is. I like this one. You should invite her for Christmas.
Damian: Christmas? I literally met her yesterday.
Kaitlin: Yeah, calm down guys. She could be a nutcase.
Damian: She’s not a nutcase
Kaitlin: That’s what you said about Vicki.
Jess: That’s true. You did say that.
Damian: I’ve got to go.
Jess: Wait! Are you seeing her again?
Damian: Probably.
Emilly: I’m proud of you!
Kaitlin: Me too. Look at you finally getting into this dating thing—and all by yourself too.
Jess: Must be the T-shirt. Were you wearing it?
Damian typed back a not-so-polite reply and put his phone away. His sisters had thought it hilarious when they found a T-shirt that said: If you’re flirting with me, please let me know and be extremely specific. Seriously, I’m clueless. He used it as a rag to wipe his hands on when he did an oil change on the bike.
He started his bike and rode slowly to the intersection of the main street. Then his gaze fell on the antiques shop a little further up.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Lottie Fairchild, and he wanted to see her again. Badly. He wanted to admire that smile lingering on her full lips that had done strange things to his concentration. When was the last time a woman had captured his attention in this way? Maybe never.
Work and research dominated his life—it was the way he liked it, even though his mother and sisters often warned him that if he wasn’t careful he’d end up a grouchy old professor with only a pile of dusty books to keep him company. That had always been a slight exaggeration—clearly an active imagination ran in his family. He went out on dates, occasionally. In truth, mostly it was only when he needed a companion for an awards night or some compulsory university dinner. It had proven difficult to find a woman who shared his love of history and wanted to tag along on the numerous weekends away for conferences, or explore the remains of historic places of interest—often hidden in bushland and in remote rural areas long since forgotten.
Damian wondered if Lottie would be the kind of woman who would enjoy those kinds of things. Something told him that she would. She seemed to share his passion for history, which was a good start.
His stomach grumbled quietly and he glanced up, checking the weather—a necessary evil when riding. He was relieved to see the cloudless blue sky. His plan was to head out to Frolesworthy Hall, the estate that had once belonged to Alexander Compton, but first, he needed to find something to eat. He hadn’t had breakfast and it was almost lunchtime.
He hadn’t planned to stop in such close proximity to a certain antiques store … well, maybe he had—just on the off-chance he might catch a glimpse of Lottie and have an excuse to stop in and say hello. However, when he walked past, he saw she was on the phone and he decided not to interrupt, heading into the bakery.
The smell of freshly baked bread and pastries filled his senses, and his stomach growled once more—louder this time, in case he tried to ignore it again.
‘Hey darl, what can I get you?’ asked a round-faced, blonde-haired woman behind the counter.
His eyes were already busy devouring the offerings in the glass display case. He decided on the breakfast pie and a vanilla slice, pointedly ignoring the judgemental eyebrow his conscience was lifting at his selection and the reminders that he’d been promising to start eating healthier. One more day won’t make any difference .
He made small talk with the woman about the weather as she packed up his food, finding out her name was Judy and she’d lived here all her life, before paying and saying goodbye. He headed towards the park at the end of the street to eat.
There was a motorhome parked nearby and he gave a nod to the couple as he walked past to a table in the sun. He thought of his own parents, who were currently somewhere in Western Australia and enjoying the freedom of taking each day as it came and stopping to explore wherever the fancy took them. One day he hoped he’d have a chance to do the same thing.
The warm sun on his back and the delicious food in his stomach made Damian stop and appreciate where he was. He’d lived in the city all his life and he loved it. There was always somewhere to go, something to do. He enjoyed people watching and exploring places he’d never been, despite growing up there. There was always something new to find. He didn’t particularly enjoy the hustle and bustle, but he liked watching it, finding a quiet place to sit and observe everything around him. Which was exactly what he did in this quiet little park, with the grass lush and green, freshly mown and with the garden beds neatly maintained. He could see the little town behind it, moving at a slightly faster pace—traffic flowing through the main street, visitors strolling along, taking their time as they stopped to look in the windows or browse at their leisure. The locals were the people dodging said visitors, moving with purpose, ticking jobs off their to-do lists and stopping occasionally in the middle of the footpath to chat to other locals, causing the trickle of oncoming people to part and walk around them.
The squawking of cockatoos high up in the gum trees accompanied the chortle of a family of magpies hopping about on the thick blanket of grass, dipping their beaks in search of worms.
I could live here , Damian thought idly. Until recently, he’d never considered living anywhere but where he’d spent the last forty-one years of his life, but lately, he’d caught himself thinking about doing something new. He was proud of the work he’d been part of in his current job at the university, but he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do and now his real passion was his writing. He wanted to focus more on his books, which had always had to fit in around his work life. He’d been tossing around the idea of taking a sabbatical from teaching to focus completely on writing, and a change of scenery wasn’t a completely unrealistic idea. In fact, the idea had merit.
Damian dropped his rubbish in the bin and wandered away, still deep in thought. When he finally looked up, his breath hitched slightly at the sight of Lottie, only metres away, watering a potted plant out the front of her shop.
‘Hi,’ she said as he reached her side.
Suddenly, he couldn’t seem to make his mouth connect with his brain. ‘Uh … hey.’
‘I thought that was your bike.’ She smiled and his stupid heart rate spiked like he’d just received an electric shock.
Lottie had wondered if he’d stop by the shop again. She’d accomplished a lot while trying to distract herself from thinking about Damian all day. There wasn’t a skerrick of dust to be found inside after she’d dusted every surface, the windows had been cleaned and she’d even remembered to water the plants out the front.
‘Do you want a ride?’ he offered now as he caught her looking at his bike.
‘A ride?’ Lottie asked, surprised. ‘On your bike?’
‘Yeah … I mean, if you don’t want to it’s okay,’ he backtracked quickly.
‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘I mean, I would like to go for a ride.’ She found herself feeling a little too excited at the prospect of sitting behind him on a bike. ‘Do you have anywhere in particular in mind?’
‘Well, I was planning to go out and look at the old remains of the house Alexander built. Frolesworthy Hall. Have you been there?’
‘Yeah, but not in a while.’ In fact, the last time she’d been out there, she’d probably been about seventeen. She’d gone out there with a group of friends on a whim and ended up making out in a car with Michael Chambers.
‘I’d like to get some photos.’
‘When were you thinking of going?’
‘How early do you close?’
Lottie found herself eager to pull the door shut behind her right now. ‘It’s been pretty quiet today,’ she admitted. She hadn’t had a single customer in the store all morning, not even to browse.
They did have the odd slow day. They had a few busier days too, when the tour buses came through town doing daytrips from surrounding nursing homes on outings. The cafes and pubs always did well, as did the thrift shops and craft stores. It was mainly the more affluent weekend visitors who spent up in the boutique and specialty shops. And there hadn’t been any buses scheduled for today. ‘I’m pretty close to the owner, so I can take an early mark.’
‘Would, say, an hour be okay?’ he asked, glancing down at his watch. ‘I need to get fuel and sort a couple of things out. Then I’ll come back and pick you up.’
‘Sure.’
He sent her a grin before returning to his bike and climbing on. It wasn’t till he rode away that she began to have serious doubts about what she’d just agreed to. It was definitely not like her to spontaneously jump on the back of a motorbike with a man she barely knew—albeit a very sexy man—and go gallivanting about the countryside.
Her ringing phone interrupted her scattered thoughts.
‘I’m just calling to get the tea on Mr Sexy Pants from last night,’ Cher said, sounding eager to settle in for a gossip session. ‘How did it go?’
‘It went fine. He walked me home.’
‘Aaaaand?’ she prompted.
‘And nothing.’
‘Nothing? Like actually nothing ?’
‘Yep. He went back to his motel.’
‘I had more faith in you, Charlotte Fairchild,’ she tutted, disappointment flooding through the phone.
‘I only just met the man.’
‘So? He’s the first bloke to come to town with all his own teeth for goodness’ sake! You don’t just let that walk away.’
Lottie shook her head and gave a despairing chuckle.
‘Did you at least make plans to see him again?’
‘Yes, actually. I’m going for a ride on his bike this afternoon.’
There was a moment of silence before Lottie heard an approving grunt. ‘I’m loving this bad boy professor thing he’s got going on. It’s refreshing.’
‘I don’t think he’s deliberately set out to achieve a certain style,’ Lottie said dryly.
‘It’s pure genius, really. A dorky, hot, motorbike-riding bad boy … you couldn’t actually make that shit up, because it sounds like it wouldn’t work. Yet the boy has managed to pull it off spectacularly,’ Cher said with appreciation in her low tone.
‘I’m actually having second thoughts about going,’ Lottie admitted as her doubts resurfaced momentarily.
‘What? Why?’
‘Well, I don’t really know him that well. And motorbikes are kind of dangerous …’
‘Would you just live a little for once in your life? Sheesh, woman. This is the kind of stuff you tick off a bucket list. Ride off into the sunset with a hot biker dude: tick,’ she said firmly. ‘Slow dance with a cowboy at a honky-tonk: tick,’ she continued.
‘That one isn’t on my bucket list.’
‘Neither was the biker, I bet,’ Cher said. ‘That’s what I mean. Get out there and start living, girl!’
They hung up as a customer finally came into the shop and Lottie found herself pondering her friend’s advice. Maybe Cher was right. It wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of excitement in her life. She wasn’t too sure what else she’d put on a bucket list, but ticking off at least one thing had to be a start.