Chapter 11
Spencer shut the truck door, placed his coffee and donut on the seat beside him and sat there in Clem’s car park. Should he drive off as planned and get the hives where they needed to go, or jog back to the cafe and kiss Clem Crossley silly?
He knew which idea he liked better, but she’d broken the kiss and rushed inside, emerging all business-like with his order, as well as a bump on her head.
Whatever had made her kiss him, he certainly wasn’t complaining. In fact, it was the sexiest move anyone had made on him in years, which was kind of ironic considering he’d not long finished filming Love on the Land.
He pressed a hand to his lips, still feeling the tingle from Clem’s kiss, and took one last look at the cafe.
Nope. No sign of her.
She might be attracted to him, but she was probably coming to realise that he was a whole lot of messy. And rightly so, he thought, turning over the truck engine and shooing Dolly away from the donut.
Reality dating shows, a wife who had passed away, in-laws who were more like parents, not to mention he was one of the main committee members of the theatre group she’d signed Harriet up to. Plus, he worked at her daughter’s school.
This whole thing was getting messier by the minute. It wouldn’t be good if things were awkward between them when school camp rolled around in November.
He drove out of Penwarra, past the wineries and vineyards.
But she’d been the one to kiss him, and it wasn’t like he’d pushed her away. Even after that first, unexpected kiss, she hadn’t pulled back and grimaced. Nope, they’d drawn back together like magnets, her lips parting as the gentle sweep of his tongue found hers.
It was one thing having Clem’s soft body pressed against his when he’d comforted her at the hospital, and again when they’d crashed into one another, but it was another kettle of fish to have her against him knowing she wanted him in an altogether different way.
He was struggling to drag his mind away from the memory of her hair in his hands, his thumb stroking her neck and her hands tugging him closer, but the sound of paper rustling pulled him up quickly. He looked away from the road to see Dolly scoffing the donut.
Serves you damn right.
He banished the kiss from his mind for the rest of the drive, but as he lay in the motel bed that night, aching and tired after unloading pallet after pallet of hives at a stone fruit farm, his mind returned to Clem Crossley.
She’d looked amazing in the skirt covered with pictures of parrots, and that look of joy on her face when she’d told him her best-selling dishes contained South Giddi Giddi honey … well, that was something else.
He loved that her reactions seemed straight from her heart, just like her cooking—nothing contrived, no hidden meanings or motivations, just a genuine interest. And the way that she listened, really listened, warmed his heart.
And even as his mind conjured up excuses, Spencer knew this feeling wasn’t just because she looked a little like Belle, or because she was poles apart from the girls he’d met on Love on the Land.
It was because he liked her.
Clem had a blissful few minutes when she first woke on Monday morning, and hadn’t yet remembered the way she’d thrown herself at Spencer Hawkins two days earlier.
But as Harriet crashed around the kitchen, making goodness knows what with every noisy appliance they owned, Clem’s recollections came flooding back and she felt like burrowing under the quilt and hiding.
Idiot.
Idiot.
Idiot.
What had come over her? Was it a full moon? The start of school holidays? The news about Harriet’s role in the pirate play? Or had she completely lost the plot because she was so lonely, she was prepared to force herself on the first bloke who had held her in forever?
Would she have snogged any other unsuspecting male customer if he’d stamped on her foot and nearly knocked her head off?
Clem pulled her sleeping mask off and stared at the timber ceiling. She could only imagine what he must think of her. Maybe she could blame it on hormones, or the pain of their collision.
It had only been nine months ago that he’d taken the role at Harriet’s school. Even though she’d met him as a casual acquaintance through Mia, she could have sworn that he’d actively avoided her in all previous situations.
He’d always been polite, and Harriet worshipped the ground he walked on, but there hadn’t been a spark. In fact, now that she thought about it, he’d always been aloof to the point of distant.
Something had changed between them during the filming of that show, and the longer Clem lay there, glaring at the ceiling, the more she worried that she’d completely misread the room.
This is messy with a capital M.
She jumped out of bed, desperate for something to distract her from the raw embarrassment that threatened to consume her. I’m not going to let it ruin the school holidays, or my Monday off.
She dressed, and straightened the frames hanging on the wall. The collection of sepia prints featured her grandparents, Arthur and Shirley, as a young soldier and nurse, and a beautiful black-and-white photograph taken on her great-grandparents’ wedding day hung beside her grandfather’s war medals.
Was it so wrong to want a romance for the ages, like the Crossleys two and three generations before her? Her parents certainly hadn’t had one of those, and if she was honest with herself, Clem didn’t have a great track record either.
Who was she to cast stones about messy lives? Her ex-husband Adam Dunkirk was never going to be the partner she needed or a proper father to her children. She sighed. Maybe messy was part and parcel of anyone over the age of twenty.
After a Harriet-made breakfast, which turned out to be a rubbery batch of burnt pancakes, the girls busied themselves making a stage and pretend microphones. Clem turned her attention to the housework.
The instinct to clean was still her default when she was feeling stressed, but for some reason, the vacuuming and mopping didn’t expend her nervous energy like they usually did. She moved to Indi’s room, systematically emptying the cupboards and sorting the clothes and toys into piles.
Soon, Indi’s small desk, dressing table and bed were covered in clothes that were too small, too tatty, or ready to be donated, and a mountain of toys that hadn’t been used in way too long.
‘Mummy, what’s wrong?’
Clem was so immersed in the cleaning frenzy, it took a while to register those three words. What did it mean that her little girls could recognise her mood so easily?
Harriet took another look around the room, shook her head and stepped out again. Indi stood in the doorway, fiddling with her wooden-spoon microphone.
Was she setting her daughters on a dangerous path by teaching them that stress equals frantic cleaning, and vice versa?
‘Bit of a mess, hey Indi?’ Clem let out a deep breath and then took another, surveying the wardrobe’s bare shelves.
She looked back at her beautiful girl, her hair mussed and her tiny brows knitted together in concern.
Indi lifted up her arms as she walked towards her, and Clem swung her up onto her hip.
‘Do you want to help me put these into bags? I’m sure Uncle Jack can use some more rags for his shed.’
Even though Indi’s assistance was often more hindrance than help, the room was eventually back in order.
Jack phoned as she was loading up the car with the clothes for the op shop, and she promised to swing by.
‘My rag bag was looking pretty low,’ he said, tossing Indi onto his shoulders the moment she stepped into his house. ‘Were you having a clear-out?’
Clem hesitated. Telling her brother she’d been obsessively cleaning was like a red flag. But from the way he studied her while he made them both a cup of tea, she knew he could sense something was off.
‘Just a little cleaning,’ she said. ‘Nothing to worry about. Spring cleaning, in fact.’
He settled the girls with his new collection of wooden jigsaw puzzles, carried their mugs to his outdoor table and shifted the deck chairs into the sun.
‘You know you can tell me what’s bothering you, right? Anything, no matter how stupid or small, or big.’
He waited patiently, letting her work through the doubt and vulnerability in silence.
‘Have you ever kissed somebody by accident?’
Jack burst out laughing. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that.
Do I need to run a background check for you, see if this guy regularly goes around being accidentally kissed by cafe owners?
’ Jack coughed, shaking his head. ‘I’m not going to find a restraining order with your name on it at work tomorrow morning, am I? ’
‘Put your badge away, there’s nothing sinister going on.’ Clem picked up her tea with a soft smile. ‘I’m not sure if I read the situation completely wrong. Or maybe everybody does stuff like that, like when you accidentally say “love you” at the end of a work call.’
Jack chuckled. ‘Haven’t done that either, but don’t let it stress you out, Clem. I’m not gonna pry, though I’d sleep easier knowing this incident didn’t involve Adam Dunkirk.’
It was Clem’s turn to laugh. ‘Hell, no. I’m done with that chapter in my life. Adam calls twice a year on the girls’ birthdays, and for Christmas, but that’s the extent of it.’
Jack crossed his legs and leaned back into his chair. ‘I thought you were looking especially happy about something when we were fitting that coffee machine into the van the other day. I should have known it was more than a work thing. Go on then, who’s the lucky guy?’
She shook her head. She’d already said too much. ‘It’s complicated. I have no idea if he even likes me.’
Or maybe, she thought, the real complication was that after years of trying to avoid complications, she found herself wanting to be in the dead-centre of this one.