Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
A sigh comes from between us, and I take it as affirmation.
“Of course, you were still living at the bach then, so they had to wait until you’d moved back into this house.”
“And the surf board?”
“I thought if they knew how happy it’d make you to have it polished by the afternoon, they might use their lunch break to come do it.”
The figure in black slowly pulls off the balaclava. Hailey’s pony-tail has half come out; wisps fall around her teary eyes. She glances at Damon, flushes, and stares at her feet.
I feel a tug of sympathy. “And you sent the letters?”
A pause. “Apologies.”
Ah. I look at Damon. “You ripped it up because it was evidence she’d started the fire.”
Damon hums and takes both Hailey’s hands, pulling her up. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Hail. You don’t need to keep apologising.”
“But, I’m just so—” she hiccups on a sob “—sorry.”
He brings her into a hug. “You were in a bad place.”
A sniff.
I swallow. Don’t we all do stupid things in pursuit of love? I flash to Roger, and Scott, and Damon pinning me down on the beach after my ‘show’.
Hailey sobs and my heart bangs about. “I didn’t mean for it to actually burn,” she says. “The candle tipped into the newspapers and I couldn’t stop it.”
“I know, I know.”
“You got me out. You made sure I wasn’t blamed. You convinced Troy to give me a job.”
She cries against his chest, and I’ve got tears trailing out the corners of my eyes too.
“You might not like me romantically, but that’s all love.”
Damon tightens his hold and looks over her head at me, and the glisten in his eyes . . .
Always there for others. Hailey. Troy. Mar. The bingo gals. He might be a fiendish flirt, but at his core, he cares deeply.
A cat who paws at the fish bowl every day, but would never use his claws.
Laughter as I refuse him over and over; constant praise for my sewing creations, and drafting my business up a website; determined eating of really bad tinned spaghetti and telling me to never change. Kissing my hand at the door: Maybe you don’t know better.
I rock back on my heels, pulse hammering. Always there for others. Always there for me.
Damon murmurs, “Hailey, let me walk you to the tea rooms, okay?”
She nods, and he pins his eyes on me. “I’ll be back.”
Chapter Sixteen
I have to tell him. I have to tell him.
Oh shit.
I have to tell him.
I pace the living room while the fish swim in circles with the odd look my way.
Why is it still so difficult to imagine saying aloud? Hey, Damon, by the way, I think you implied you’re in love with me? I’m cool with that, because I love you back.
“Not my style,” I tell Fidget and Fishy as I pause to pinch some food into their bowl.
I gnaw on my lip as I eye my sewing machine and wander over to fondle a spool of white thread. I wrap a length of it around my finger and hold my splayed hand up, rolling my eyes at the sight, my lips stretching in an uncontrollable grin.
The doorbell chimes, and it takes me until I’m breathless at the entryway to realise it can’t be Damon. He’d have let himself in.
I open the door cautiously and standing on the other side, in preppy clothes and a cheesy smile, is my ex. He looks me up and down and blinks, like he’s not surprised I’m in a pair of pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. He’s never been surprised.
And . . . I don’t care if he ever will be.
I laugh, and this barely has him looking quizzical. This whole fake dating thing, to get him to see me happily playing family, to get me looking like I’m interesting enough, to make him eat his own words in a moment of glorious shock . . .
I just don’t need it. I don’t need it from anyone, but I especially don’t need it from him.
“You’re an hour early.”
“I wanted to beat traffic.” He glances over my shoulder into Damon’s place. “This is a decent piece of property.” His appraising eye has me shuddering. “Are you going to invite me in?”
I lean against the doorframe, one hand on the door, narrowing his view into the house. The kitchen is filled with the rich aromas of a casserole Damon has been slow-cooking to flaunt in front of Karl this evening. Toys are bundled on the armchair for Tommy’s arrival. The whole house has been scrubbed to within an inch of its life . . . The stage is set. The curtains I’ve made, drawn.
“Actually, Karl, wait there.” I duck into Damon’s study, grab a pen, and return to Karl frowning at the chain I’d looped as I left. “Documents please?”