Chapter 12
‘WE SETTLED OUT of court,’ Gabi says when we’re all seated for dinner in the more formal of the two dining rooms with its dramatic wrought-iron chandelier that casts a warm light over us.
I half-expect to glance down the length of the table and find Keira Knightley in one of the heavy, high-back chairs.
Ornate candle sconces run along the white walls between shields and gold-framed portraits of men in dark suits and women in silks, their stern expressions silently judging us all for not stopping Aunt Carol from inspecting them so closely that there’s probably an imprint of her nose on each one.
‘It was a huge case and a lot of late nights, so this holiday is perfect timing.’ Gabi twirls her wine glass, swirling the deep red merlot before she tips it in my direction.
‘Have you thought any more about that job in Sydney I emailed you about?’ she asks.
‘They were very interested when I told them about you. You can stay with us while you get settled.’
I take a large gulp of my wine. The last thing I want to do is return to the corporate world and have my soul die a little more each time I walk through the office doors, let alone move to another state to do it.
Plucking up the courage to leave it all behind and follow my dreams was the best thing I ever did.
Even if it means living on instant noodles and leftover pastries for the foreseeable future.
And all it took was almost losing Mum to make me realise that I had to chase life instead of waiting for the perfect moment.
‘Sabrina doesn’t want to move to Sydney,’ Mum says from the head of the table, the gold curtains draped across the windows the perfect regal backdrop.
The sequins on her mauve dress shimmer in the chandelier light like dancing fireflies.
‘She’s staying put. She has a man now.’ Not because I run my own business, but because I have a man.
Like that’s the most important thing in the world.
Why does it feel like I could turn A Cup of Joy into the most profitable cafe in existence and it wouldn’t mean anything to her if I was single?
Success to her is measured by the ring on your finger and the number of offspring you provide and anything outside of that is inconsequential.
It’s infuriating. Just once I’d love a conversation between us, or about me, to not focus on my boyfriend or lack of one.
Gabi leans in, her merlot-heavy breath hot against my cheek. ‘He’s not what I expected,’ she says. She sits back when Reese shushes her. ‘He’s so quiet. And, I don’t know, stand-offish.’
‘I like him,’ Reese says with a warm smile at me.
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like him,’ Gabi says. ‘He’s a huge upgrade from your last few boyfriends.’
My nails dig into my palms.
‘Maybe it’s an age thing,’ Gabi continues.
‘People in their late thirties don’t necessarily feel the need for public displays of affection.
I don’t think my eyes will ever recover from the first time we met Brent and had to watch you shove your tongue down his throat every chance you got.
He wasn’t cheating on you at that point, was he? What?’
Reese’s brows are pulled together and she and Gabi have a silent argument while I sit and drink and watch Natalia take photos of herself, angling her phone to capture the white roses and baby’s breath on the table.
She’s big in the influencer world and, according to Mum, almost makes as much money as Gabi, which is a lot. Like, a lot a lot.
I look over to Adam diagonally opposite me. He is getting talked at by Mum and Aunt Carol. Gabi has a point. We haven’t touched. No hugs or hand-holding or an arm around the shoulder. We need to up this charade. As a bare minimum, at least hold hands. I flex my fingers at the thought of it.
As if reading my mind, Adam turns in my direction and catches me watching him.
I attempt to tell him telepathically that we’re not acting like a couple but the blank expression on his face tells me that he is not participating in this silent discussion.
We’re definitely not presenting the relationship level of Gabi and Reese who can communicate seamlessly without words.
Adam and I can barely communicate with words.
Mum taps his shoulder repeatedly and even though his presence here is entirely his own fault and I accept no blame whatsoever, I do feel a teensy bit bad for him, so I send a smile his way.
A smile that he meets with a deep frown before turning back to Mum and Aunt Carol.
I swallow any shred of sympathy I had for him.
‘We don’t act like a couple,’ I say when we’re back in our cottage. I kick my shoes off and they land with a thud in the middle of the room.
‘Because we’re not a couple,’ he says, and he scoops up my discarded shoes and places them neatly beside his at the door.
‘While we’re here we are. And Gabi’s noticed that we’re not acting like a couple.
Or not the way I act in relationships.’ I don’t mention that she was happy about that.
But if we continue to show zero chemistry, she will get suspicious and report it to Mum.
I can’t afford for the cafe loan to be put in jeopardy.
Gabi has a history of running to my parents to land me in trouble.
Like the time I tried to change my marks on a report because Dad rewarded good marks with cash.
While Mum told me off, Dad slipped me twenty dollars on the sly.
When Gabi overheard me telling my friend about it she cried bloody murder about how unfair it was that I got the money when I didn’t work for it like she did.
Adam rolls up the sleeves of his jumper. His watch catches the soft glow of the lamp and he absentmindedly traces a finger over the band. ‘And how is that?’ he asks.
‘I’m very…’ my voice trails off as I search for the right word. ‘Affectionate, I guess you could say. Physically affectionate. With the men I date.’
Adam’s finger continues to move over the band of his watch, his throat working as he swallows hard.
Is he experiencing vivid flashes of the two of us wrapped up in each other’s arms, our mouths welded together in a kiss so devastating that he’d feel an inescapable need to write a poem dedicated to it?
A blush creeps up my neck. I’m most definitely not imagining those things.
His silence pushes us into territory thick with awkwardness. I need him to say something. Or react. Does the thought of touching me horrify him? The last time I mentioned any form of physical contact he almost knocked over a table in an Italian restaurant.
‘I’m not saying we need to be all over each other,’ I say, unable to stand the awkwardness any longer. ‘Obviously that’s not going to happen.’
‘Right.’ He nods sharply and pulls his jumper over his head. He folds it neatly and places it on the arm of the sofa.
‘But we need to at least hold hands and look like we don’t despise one another.’
He nods again. ‘Okay.’
Relief washes over me. We can make it through the week with the occasional holding of hands and a hug here and there. If things get desperate, a kiss on the cheek will be all that’s needed.
‘Anything else?’ he asks.
Wiping my hands down the front of my pink linen dress, I shake my head. ‘That’s it.’
I gather up my pyjamas and slip into the bathroom to get ready for bed.
I slide on the shorts, suddenly aware of how short they are.
I swear they’ve shrunk or maybe my legs have grown because the last time I wore these they didn’t feel so…
risqué. They’re all I have so they’ll have to do.
I hope that by the time I come out he’s dozed off on the sofa or gone for a run.
In Melbourne he runs in the morning, like clockwork.
Holiday Adam though might be a night runner. Please be a night runner.
I stay in the bathroom until I worry that if he hasn’t gone running he might think I’m in here with food poisoning again. Easing the door open a fraction, I spy him on the sofa with his laptop.
Maybe he’ll be so engrossed in his work that I can tiptoe past him and climb into bed without him noticing all the skin on display. The floor creaks under my feet and he looks up before going back to staring at his screen as though I haven’t just appeared in the room half-naked.
As I fling back the covers, I catch him peeking over his laptop, eyes lingering on my legs.