Chapter Eight
Isla
Cullen walks quietly. His posture is defensive, shoulders hunched, hands jammed in his pockets. I have a feeling his meeting with Noah didn’t go well.
“If you’ve changed your mind about going to dinner,” I tell him softly, “please just say, it’s not a problem at all.”
He looks at me, startled. “No, not at all. I’ve been looking forward to it. Sorry, I’m a bit distracted.”
“Do you want to talk about it? No worries if not. We can just chat about other things.”
He looks away, to the view of the Pacific that’s gleaming in the afternoon sun, giving me the chance to study his profile. He’s a handsome guy, but he hides it beneath his gruff facade. He’s wearing a hat and sunglasses, so I can’t see his eyes, but I can sense he’s upset about something.
He sighs. “The meeting went well. Brock King has offered half a million dollars from the We Three Kings Foundation as a donation toward setting up the PAWS Center.”
I inhale, my eyes flaring. “Oh wow! That’s fantastic!”
That earns me a smile. “It is. Archer was overwhelmed. It means he can get the place up and running, and it’ll cover the renovation, initial staffing, that kind of thing.”
“I’m so pleased for him.”
“Yeah. Having the support of the guys at the Ark will be great, too. Leon was there, and he knows so much about funding, so he’ll make sure Archer’s able to make the place pay for itself.
Noah was keen to point out that it doesn’t mean he’ll interfere at all, either.
It’s Archer’s baby, and he’ll be responsible for its vision. ”
“But…”
“Archer wants me to run the center with him.”
“Oh, gosh, what a surprise.” My tone and smile tell him that I’m not shocked at all.
He gives me a wry glance. “You saw this coming?”
“Kinda. Help him run it in what capacity?”
“As joint CEO. Him in charge of the therapy side of things. Me looking after the animal part.”
“CEO,” I tease. “Do I need to call you chief now?”
He just gives a short laugh, slowing as we reach the Hemsworth farm. We stop at the fence and look across at the farmhouse.
“So… how do you feel about that?” I ask.
He leans on the fence and looks down, kicking the bottom plank.
“You’re angry,” I murmur. “Because you were blindsided?”
“Partly. Archer knows I’m planning to leave before Christmas. I wish he’d spoken to me alone about it first.”
“I can see why you’re frustrated.”
“He did it in front of the others because he knew I’d find it more difficult to say no.”
“You’re his friend. He wants you to stay.
Yes, that was a little unfair, but he’s probably desperate.
He’s about to take on this huge project, and he thought he’d found someone he could share the responsibility with, someone he works well with.
I think you blindsided him a bit, too, by saying you’re planning to leave so soon. Did you tell him personally?”
He looks away, thinking about it. Then he gives another sigh. “No. I told Noah, and he told Beth. She brought it up in front of Archer. I forgot that I hadn’t told him.”
“Was he angry?”
“No, not at all, although, thinking about it, he should have been.”
“He’s a good friend. That’s why he’s not angry. He’s probably just a little hurt and frustrated. He wants you to stay, that’s all.”
We push off the fence and start walking down the hill again. He changes the subject and asks me how my afternoon went, but I don’t take it as him not wanting to continue the conversation. He needs time to think about what we said. This man is a thinker, and I like that about him.
When we reach the bottom of the hill, we continue walking along the path that follows Beach Road and hugs the crescent-shaped bay.
I haven’t had the chance to explore this end of the town much, and I’m pleasantly surprised to discover Casa di Mare tucked between a shop selling souvenirs and an art gallery with paintings of Sunrise Bay and Waitangi in the window.
Inside there are only a handful of tables and a small area for people to wait for takeaways.
A couple of other tables sit on the pavement.
The place is rustic, very Kiwi, with plain wooden tables, chairs with checked cushions, tealights in small glass holders, and typed menus.
But the smell of cooked food coming from inside is amazing and makes my stomach rumble.
One of the tables out the front bears our reserved sign, so we duck under the umbrella and sit, while Ghost lies beneath the table in the cool shade.
A young guy, relaxed in shorts and a dark tee with a navy apron around his waist, comes out with a bottle of water and some tumblers, and we order a glass of wine each and a Sprite Zero for Max.
He also brings Ghost a bowl of water before saying he’ll be back to take our food order in a minute.
We look through the menu, and Max chooses a small pepperoni pizza, while I go for the lasagna, and Cullen opts for the carbonara.
We tell the waiter our choices and then sit back to wait, stretching out our legs.
Max and Ghost use the second zebra crossing just along the road a little to cross to the beach, and soon they’re running off some steam with Max throwing sticks and Ghost chasing them.
The waiter comes out and places our cutlery, then goes inside again.
I take off my sunhat and slide off my sunglasses, and Cullen does the same.
It’s impossible not to admire the way the sleeves of his tee stretch across his biceps as he runs a hand through his hair.
He glances at me, catching me looking at him, but I don’t look away, and instead we exchange a small smile.
I’m not embarrassed to admit I like him and find him attractive.
“How are you doing?” he asks softly. “Are you glad you came here?”
I exhale, feeling as if I’m breathing out a year’s worth of tension.
“I’m soooo glad. I couldn’t have stayed.
I don’t know what I would have done.” I play with my fork, turning it over in my fingers.
“I’m trying not to think about it too much right now, but I know I still have to work out what happens after Christmas. ”
“How long are you staying here?”
“I have the bach until the second of January.”
He nods slowly.
“Have you decided when you’re leaving?” I ask.
He purses his lips. “Brock asked me to consider staying for Christmas.”
His eyes meet mine, and we study each other quietly.
“Are you thinking about it?” I ask.
He tips his head to the side, and his gaze drops to my mouth. Ohhh… he’s thinking about kissing me. His gaze comes back to mine, and there’s a touch of heat in it.
“Maybe,” he says.
My pulse picks up, but there’s no chance to reply as the waiter comes out with a plate of freshly baked chunks of focaccia bread topped with rosemary, a small bowl of olive oil, and a dish of salt. “Compliments of the chef,” he says with a smile.
“Ooh, thank you.” I pick up one of the chunks, dip it in the olive oil, then in the salt, and take a bite. The bread is warm and soft, and smells amazing.
Cullen also helps himself to a piece, and we eat, still watching one another. Gradually, our lips curve up.
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I like that you say what’s on your mind.”
“I believe it’s best to be open and honest.”
“Me too.” He looks into my eyes. “I like you,” he says.
I smile and lean forward as well, so our arms are only an inch apart. “I like you too,” I murmur shyly.
“I’m floundering a bit,” he admits. “I thought my stay in Sunrise Bay was going to be temporary. But I hadn’t planned to enjoy working at the Ark so much. I didn’t expect to have that offer from Archer, and for him to become such a good friend. And I didn’t plan on meeting you.”
My heart’s racing, but even though I’m breathing faster, I stay still, worried about breaking the spell.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admits honestly. “I know you’re married, and I don’t want to interfere if there’s any hope of you getting back with your husband.”
“There isn’t,” I say immediately.
He hesitates. “I understand why you think that because of what he did to you and Max. But I don’t want to be the reason—”
“You’re not.” I speak firmly. “Whether I’d met you or not, I wouldn’t be going back to Rob.
I need to tell you something.” I drop my gaze to the table and scratch at a mark on the wood.
“After he hit me, I stayed with my parents for a few days. We’d only had the news about Jack a few weeks before, and I was very emotional.
My parents didn’t want me to go back to him.
But he kept coming around, and he insisted it was a one-off, and that it had only happened because he was drunk.
He said he was going to stop drinking, and, like a fool, I believed him.
I didn’t want to give up on my marriage. ”
He frowns, and I’m sure he’s wondering why a woman would choose to stay when she’s been abused.
“I didn’t want to be a failure,” I say simply.
That makes his frown lift, and he nods. “I understand that.”
“But the thing is, every time he approached me, you know, for sex, the thought of what he’d done made me recoil.
We went to couples counseling to try to reestablish some intimacy, but I couldn’t bring myself to forgive him, or to forget what he’d done.
So… we haven’t slept together since it happened. ”
“Really?”