Page 88 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

“Cereal’s in the cupboard,” he says, bringing out two bowls. I find some Cornflakes, pour them into the bowls, and add some milk, then sit as he pushes my coffee over to me. He takes a stool on the other side of the breakfast bar, and we crunch the Cornflakes, smiling at one another from time to time.

“So,” he says. “Would you rather head home? Or do you want to shower here, with me?” He waggles his eyebrows and gives me a wicked smile.

I chuckle. “As attractive as that sounds, I think I’ll head home. If I don’t use my own conditioner, my hair ends up all flyaway.”

“Aw. Spoilsport.”

I smile and stir my spoon through the Cornflakes. He picks up his phone, scrolling through his emails, and I suddenly realize that he has no intention of raising the subject of what we’re doing, or what’s going to happen.

“Fraser,” I say carefully, “I think we need to talk.”

He glances at me, then switches off his phone and puts it down. He exhales, leaning on the counter, looking defeated before we’ve even begun.

“I’m not sure what to say,” I begin. “I don’t think there’s an easy answer to this.”

He stares into his coffee. Then he takes a deep breath and looks back up. His blue eyes blaze into mine. “I think there is. I’ve made a decision.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to resign.”

I stare at him. “What? You can’t do that!”

He surveys me calmly. “I’m in love with you, Hallie.”

I frown.

After a moment, he frowns, too. “Okay, that announcement didn’t have quite the effect I thought it would.”

“I know, Fraser. Whina said you told her.”

“Whina?” His eyebrows rise. “When did you talk to her?”

“Yesterday, she asked me to go to her house, after she’d spoken to you.”

The emotion disappears from his face, and his expression turns flinty. “What did she want?”

I’m not ready to discuss that with him yet, so I say, “Just to talk. She wanted to hear my side of the story. But one thing was clear—she’s very fond of you, and she wants to find a way to make it work. So you can’t just up and leave.”

“I want to be with you,” he says. “And it’s not going to happen if we continue to work together, I don’t care what Whina implied.”

“Fraser, we’ve had sex… what? Four or five times? We’ve been intimate for two days. That’s hardly a relationship. You can’t give up your job for a fling. We don’t know each other at all, not really.”

“I know, but I want to get to know you. I want to go on dates, take you to restaurants and the movies, and be seen in public with you.” He’s angry now, although he’s keeping it under control. “I’m not going to sneak around with you. You’re worth more than that to me.”

My heart leaps briefly, but I put a foot on it and hold it down. “You have to stop,” I tell him, my throat thickening as tears prick my eyes. “It’s not going to work, Fraser.”

“Why?” he demands.

“Because I’m not the right girl for you.”

He glares at me. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know everything about me.”

We’re silent for a moment. I can see him thinking, trying to work out what I mean. “Is this about your father?”

I don’t reply.

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