Chapter 22
There was nothing quite like seeing Sydney Harbour from the sky, the gentle contours of the harbour dotted with boats, while the tall buildings and grace of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House begged for photos.
Of course, when one got in really late at night, thanks to delays, all he wanted to do was go home and go to bed.
Which was what he’d done, then—thank goodness it was a Saturday—he’d slept in.
“How was your trip?” Mum asked, when he finally made his way for a late breakfast.
“Good.” He switched on the coffee machine, waited for it to heat. “The feedback I got from them was really positive, and Dean seems happy. So that’s great.”
His dad placed down the newspaper. “I’m afraid I still don’t really understand what you do.”
“That makes two of us.” He offered a wry grin. “As long as Dean doesn’t find out, then I’m okay.”
“Oh, come on.” Mum swatted him. “You know more about that place than he does.”
“Not quite. But yes, I’m not completely clueless.”
“Good thing EJ isn’t here to hear you say that. You know self-deprecation is not her thing.”
He kept his back to them as he switched on the kettle then retrieved a mug and tea bag from the canister on the shelf that had been there for years. He needed caffeinating now to cope with EJ conversations. And by the time the coffee machine had heated, he’d be ready for a flat white too.
He poured the boiling water over the tea bag then added a splash of milk. “How is she?”
Mum sighed. “Oh, Elizabeth has asked the ladies on the prayer chain to pray for her.”
Jordan winced. He bet EJ would hate that.
“She’s not herself. A lot quieter. I had tea at The Silver Teapot the other day and—get this—she was even serving!”
“Who, Elizabeth?” That was hardly newsworthy. She owned the place.
“No, silly. EJ.”
He blinked and finally faced her. “Really?”
“I know! I remember you telling me when she finished university that she swore never to work there again. So I guess some things can change.”
He sipped his tea, nodding. Lots of things had changed. He knew he had changed. And it sounded like EJ had too. But whether she’d be up for the changes that he’d like to see was another thing.
She had to be still rather raw and wounded, smarting from being blind-sided by Eric and Gwen, her supposed friends. How would EJ cope if her longest friend were to admit he didn’t want to be friends anymore, either?
“You look deep in thought, there, Son.” Dad folded up the newspaper.
“Is everything okay?” Mum asked, concerned.
“Yep.” He yawned. “Just tired. I’ll need that coffee soon.”
“Well, that was a long flight for you. It’s good you can take today off and relax a little.”
“Actually, I was hoping you might come help with some fencing down near the dam,” Dad said.
“Oh, Graham, Jordan is tired, and—”
“I don’t mind. It’d be good to do something physical considering I’ve been on my backside most of this past week.”
“You didn’t go for a run in LA?”
His nose wrinkled. “It was a little hot, and I didn’t really feel like battling the cars and smog. It’s not as pretty as here anyway.” He gestured to the kitchen window, which gave a glorious outlook over the hills and trees down to the cluster of houses in the distance that denoted Wattle Vale.
“Well, we can help you out with that.” Dad stood. “I’ll head to the shed and get the supplies, and then you can join me when you’ve eaten.”
“Sure.”
“But you should rest,” Mum objected.
“Some physical labour will be good for me, Mum.” Because apart from ironing out the kinks in his body, physical labour would help keep his mind off the problem that was EJ.
How did one move from friends to admitting he wanted more? This felt impossibly hard, fraught with danger. Because if she said no, what then? He would have ruined their friendship forever.
As his mum made coffee, he placed four Weet-Bix in his bowl then topped them with milk, sliced banana, and a drizzle of honey.
After the airplane food and hotel buffets, he was glad to get back to something simpler.
Something a little more real and down to earth.
He didn’t need the smorgasbord of choices.
He knew what he liked and was happy to have it all the rest of his days.
And the same proved true of people. Which meant that explaining to EJ about how his feelings had grown was one hundred percent problematic.
Why hadn’t he called her?
Emma-Jane bit her lip, then realised just how selfish that question made her. Of course Jordan would be busy. He must be exhausted, having flown across all those different time zones. She sighed and resumed cleaning up the café’s kitchen.
“You okay over there?” Dad asked.
“Yep.” She gestured to a tray of cupcakes that had been cooling on the counter. “Did you want me to decorate these?”
“You remember how your mother likes them done?”
“Of course.”
She plucked them from the tray and placed them on a rack. Then she swirled on the buttercream that Mum had prepared earlier in variety of colours for the little girl’s party that was happening in the upstairs attic room.
Most Saturdays had a party or two, which meant most Saturday mornings were really busy.
And the fact that she was here meant Mum could have a rare Saturday off to spend time with Liv and the others and show Liam around.
Well, after Mum had done the buttercream icing, anyway.
Not that her mother had trust issues or anything.
She smirked to herself as she decorated the cupcakes with the frosting.
Strawberry, peach, banana, minty green. The colours and flavours were all natural, which helped mothers feel like they were making a responsible choice for a party otherwise laden with sugar and fat.
But what was a party without a few lollies and sweet things? Boring, that’s what.
She sprinkled on the edible flowers and tiny cut-up fruit pieces that represented each cupcake and finished them with a strand of Persian fairy floss. Mm. She pushed the plate towards her father. “What do you think?”
Dad nodded. “Looks good enough to eat.”
She chuckled, then noticed his face soften. “What?”
“It’s good to hear you laugh. It’s been a while.”
Had it? Probably. It’d been ages since she’d felt this sense of ease.
There had always been this internal drive to perform, to do, to improve, to have more, that she rarely relaxed.
And spending time here in the café this week, doing things that she’d done so often in the past that she’d resented it, now felt like putting on an old shoe, something comfortable and familiar, giving a sense of ease, of rightness, like this was okay too.
“It’s been nice to be here this week.”
“I know your mum and sisters are glad to have you here.”
“And you too?” she teased.
He smiled. “And me too. That goes without saying.”
“And it did. Which is why I had to point it out.”
His chuckle broke across the soft strains of Highlands FM playing in the background. Local music in the kitchen, strains of Mozart and elegant instrumental versions of pop hits in the café. How it had always been.
She plated the cupcakes on the tiered serving platter, which was made of several mismatched vintage china plates screwed together, with a silver handle at the top.
The floral patterns occasionally matched some of the teacup and saucer sets used by the customers, all of which helped provide that sense of an elegant bygone era.
She smoothed her ruffled white apron, then hoisted the tray up the stairs to the partygoers in the renovated attic. “Here you are, ladies.”
The seven-year-olds giggled as the parents looked up from their phones and joined in admiring the cupcakes.
Contentment filled her. It was so easy to make people smile.
Maybe she should encourage Mum to enter the catering industry.
She could help her by setting up a website and …
No. She wasn’t going to be that hectic woman on the hamster wheel of life anymore, remember? She smiled at herself and turned to go.
“Oh, wait. It’s EJ, right?” one of the mums asked.
She paused, eyeing the blonde. Why did she look vaguely familiar? “Yes.”
“Alissa Hopkins, from school. Well, I was Baxter then. We were in the same year.”
No. Her stomach tensed. Nausea swept through her. Oh, she remembered her now.
“I’m sure you don’t remember me”—not true—“but I remember you. You were always getting all those awards, right?”
She stared at the woman who had once laughed at her. Mocked her. Whose words had ignited the need to prove herself. How could she talk about awards when this woman’s words had propelled her headlong into core-deep self-loathing?
“EJ?”
She shook herself mentally. “That was a long time ago.”
And it was. Oh, how foolish had she been to absorb someone else’s words into her soul and carry them for so many years? She might be smart, but oh, she’d been a fool as well. Lord, forgive me.
“Is it true that you and Eric Churchill were dating? I couldn’t believe someone from Wattle Vale actually knew him.” Alissa’s eyes were as wide as the cups on the table. Several of the other parents were listening now too.
The inclination to boast and prove herself was no longer there. She didn’t have to prove anything to these people. “We’re business associates, nothing more.” Quick, change the subject. “So, which one of these little princesses is yours?”
Alissa pointed to the blondest, most princessy-looking one of all and kept chatting about her husband, their new house, her other child, their puppy, and all the things EJ had once despised as so small-town.
Now she only felt a strange sense of envy, and she was glad when the tinkle of a bell from the kitchen meant Dad needed her again.
“Excuse me, I need to go. But I hope you enjoy your time here at The Silver Teapot.”
“Thanks, EJ. It’s been nice to see you again.”