Light Up My Heart (Hearts of Point Perry)
1. Scarlett
CHAPTER 1
Scarlett
T he foul, dusty north wind gusts through the door, held open by a customer who seems stuck with their eyes fixed on the road train rumbling back onto the highway. Grit and sand swirl at their feet and across the service station shop floor, which I’ve swept five times already today. This is what you get when living in a small town surrounded by sandy beaches, wild ocean and dry paddocks. I’m on the verge of losing my patience and yelling at them to quit dawdling when I remember working here is temporary, so I take a deep breath and release it with a sigh.
Besides, I only need to keep up the fa?ade of having returned home for a holiday for a week … until Christmas is over and I can run back to the tatters of my life in Adelaide city.
Who on God’s earth would be out in this weather, I have no idea. With it being the weekend before Christmas, Point Perry has been abuzz with last-minute shoppers, family visits and gearing up for the Lighting of the Jetty.
But today, everyone seems to have bunkered down in air-conditioned holiday houses, caravans or shacks. Even the petrol bowsers I’ve been manning for my older brother Curly have been quiet, which is a blessing, as it’s given me time to update my resume, draft a cover letter and reply to some emails about my previous employer in between stacking cans of soft drinks into the service station’s fridges. The things I do to help my brother’s business when he’s down a staff member and he has children to mind.
Curly has a way of guilt shaming—it’s been five years since I’ve come back to Point Perry, and this is the first Christmas we’ll all be together on the farm. My parents are under the impression that all is well with me and I’ll return to Adelaide and my job before the new year, and given the amount of work and stress they have with the farm, I don’t want to be the cause of additional worry and disappointment for them. And I’m a thirty-two-year-old grown woman who should be able to keep her shit together. Alas, it seems not.
So, I’m here for a week under a cloud of lies while looking for a new job to pay my mortgage, my credit card and my car loan. No biggy.
But nothing, not being unemployed or even this sweltering, revolting weather, will sour my Christmas cheer. Choosing not to scold the dawdling door person, I opt for a more festive approach by singing the chorus of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’, complete with finger clicking, and enjoy the refreshing gust of cool air from the open fridge door.
I finish with some drum beats on an empty box before standing with a little spring and coming face-to-face with a wall of blue. Blue legs that go up and up … and up. A Point Perry District Hospital logo sits next to the V neckline of his scrubs shirt, exposing lovely and tanned skin with a sprinkling of hair. I swallow. This guy is … large. He’s as solidly built as Curly, with a physique that could rival a brick outhouse. My head perfectly aligns with his shoulder. Sandalwood and sea salt tickle my nose. My eyes briefly flutter closed, and when my head involuntarily tilts back and I open my eyes, I’m met with a … scowl.
I jerk back. The scruffy jawline, messy dark hair that stands on end, most likely from the gale outside, and the rugged appearance all contribute to his rough and untamed look. But it’s his eyes that take my breath away. Not because they’re dazzling and bright and sexy but because they’re … sad. Blue eyes that are so incredibly, utterly sad. How could anybody be so morose at such a joyous time?
‘Excuse me.’ Scowl Man reaches past and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, brushing past my shoulder when he retreats.
His voice gives me goosebumps, or that could be the air con kicking back in now that the shop door is closed. Or could it be that I just can’t stand jerks?
‘You’re most welcome.’ The words come out through gritted teeth and a fake smile. I step back, and my foot catches the edge of something … that moves. A black wheel flips around and, as I nearly take a tumble, it goes scooting across the shop floor.
‘Oh dear, be careful, love,’ a recognisable voice says. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have parked my walker right behind you.’ A well-weathered and ring-laden hand circles my upper arm. As I turn, I’m met with the familiar sight of dear old Aunt Lilac, who must’ve snuck in when the door was open. Her hair, dyed in a purple rinse, perfectly complements the various shades of purple she wears from head to toe.
Scowl Man steps around me, latches onto Aunt Lilac’s elbow with one hand, and drapes his other arm around her shoulder. ‘I’ve got you, young lady. Here, let’s get you back on your walker and we’ll pop the brakes on this time, shall we?’
Aunt Lilac flutters her eyelashes and gives him a blinding smile. ‘You sure do know how to make an oldie like me feel all gooey inside.’
‘Only for you, Lilac, and what are you doing out on a day like this? Didn’t you hear the hot weather health warning? With the temp getting to forty-two degrees, the best place for you is at home, not out and about.’
Once Aunt Lilac settles on the walker seat, I hand her an open bottle of water. Without hesitation, she takes a generous swig.
‘I was actually coming to see this one.’ Her bony finger points to me. My eyebrows shoot up to the bottom of the Santa hat perched on my head.
‘Whatever you’re going to rope me into, Aunt Lilac, I can’t do it. I’m only here until Boxing Day, and my dear brother has me working and babysitting my niece and nephew while Justine gets things ready for the Lighting of the Jetty and our Christmas Day festivities out at the farm.’
Like the star atop a Christmas tree, her eyes shine with a brilliant twinkle. ‘That is perfect. I only need you until Christmas Eve.’
I purse my lips. Aunt Lilac has her finger in many pies—the CWA, lawn bowls, local theatre group … ‘Go on.’
‘I need a lead singer for the town choir because the motley crew I have are … well … let’s just say, you will make it a lot better.’
That was not what I was expecting. My tummy flips in anticipation. It seems all my Christmases have come at once.
‘I’d be honoured, Aunt Lilac. I love singing, and I love Christmas.’