Page 107 of Sexy as Sin
“Tom. Why did he speed up so much when the balloon started descending? He was driving like it was an emergency. How did he know? I made some more calls yesterday, when we got back, about the accounts, and then I was sure. I just had to tell somebody, and Dave got me started. Season tickets for his team are definitely going to be required. Although I still don’t know what ‘Mullum’ is, or a ‘pash,’ either.”
“Dave,” Azra declared, “is awesome.” She waved her wine glass. “I need more.” When Brett obliged, she said, “Mullumbimby. Hippie town in the hinterland.”
“You could think,” Willow offered, “that you were far away, because the pace is slow and blissed out, but you’re not. It just feels that way. You’re still likely to run into somebody who knows you. And a pash is kissing, of course. Passion.”
“Of course,” Brett said gravely.
“If my life were a novel,” Azra said, “I’d be in love with Dave. The heiress always falls in love with the bodyguard. Why am I not?”
“Because you want to be a designer,” Brett said. “Everybody has a dream, and right now, that’s yours. Here’s another quote for you. ‘It’s your turn. So go for it. It’s never too late to become what you always wanted to be in the first place.’ J. Michael Straczynski.”
“Who’s that?” Azra asked. “Also, maybe I’m in love withyou.Maybe that’s my problem.”
“You can’t have him,” Willow said. “He’s mine.” She held up her glass to Brett. “Take this, please. I need to fall asleep.”
“The guy who wroteRocky,”she heard Brett say as she allowed herself to drift off. “Which, along withThe Godfather,is every man’s ultimate truth. Or close enough.”
They had to cancel the week’s bookings.
On Thursday, when Willow was still lying flat on Brett’s bed, because, if possible, everything hurt even more today, she told him, “That sound you hear is all my plans crashing around me. I should be sorrier. It’s too big a wave, maybe, and I haven’t quite tumbled through it yet.”
He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “What did Amanda say?”
She sighed. “Not much. It was just a text. Having your hubby being questioned for your attempted murder could dampen your spirits and keep you off work a bit, I imagine. Crystal’s out, too, for obvious reasons, and I haven’t even heard from Jamie. We don’t have a chef, and we don’t have servers. I need to contact a few other caterers and see if somebody can take our bookings. There’s a wedding Saturday. I can’t just leave them in the lurch. Maybe I could...”
“No,” Brett said.
“I wouldn’t have to do it all. Just help out. I don’t want the whole thing to go bust. Poor Amanda. I can’t help feeling sorry for her. Shedidwork so hard to build it.” She would have shuddered, if it hadn’t hurt too much. “And on everything else. She trusted too much, that was all.”
“She trusted the wrong person,” Brett said.
“Well, yeah. That’s what I meant.” She put a hand on his arm. He was wearing a white shirt and dress trousers, because he had a meeting later. “You can trust the fella who jumps into the sea to hold you up, though, I reckon.”
“I reckon you’re right. So. You’re calling some other caterers. Andnotgoing back yourself. I do have to leave on Saturday, but I’ll be watching until then, and listening for the stirrings of inappropriately strenuous activity after that.”
“I’ll wait until next week,” she said, “but once I can get up and around a bit better, I’ll go back to work. I won’t go after anything new for a bit, but I’ll hire a couple more servers and take care of the bookings we’ve got. Amanda could be back sooner than you think, too. It’s what she said. Cooks cook. If she wants to go on, the least I can do is help her stay afloat, even if I don’t want to be in business with her anymore. Besides, it’s my investment, right?” She picked up her phone again, reluctant as she felt to do it. “Starting with getting somebody to cook my menu for that wedding. Which means sharing my recipes, but what are you going to do?”
I have to go back on Saturday,he’d said. She already knew that, though. She’d always known it. But on Saturday morning, when she was back in the flat again, standing in her open doorway and holding onto him for just one minute more while Dave sat patiently in the driver’s seat of the Batmobile, it hit her like that water had, when she’d fallen from the balloon. Like concrete.
“Four weeks,” Brett said, giving her another kiss, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone where a tear had escaped, and smiling at her with so much more assurance than she felt. “When your busy season’s over, you and Amanda have decided whether to keep the doors open or to fold up your tents, and you come to the States and tell me which it is.”
“Right.” She might as well go back to work. Brett was leaving, and Azra had left yesterday, boarding a flight for New Zealand with barely concealed excitement. Which was good.
It was a month alone, that was all. She’d been alone before. She’d been alonemostly.So why did she feel hollowed out? “Go, though, or I’m going to cry. I don’t want to cry.”
He bent and kissed her once more. “Four weeks,” he promised. “I love you. I’ll call you.” After that, he turned and headed down the front steps with barely a limp, holding himself straight with some more of that iron will.
She watched until he was out of sight. Then she went inside, sat on a chair at the kitchen table, wished Azra was there, thought about a cup of tea, and didn’t make it.
It was another sunny morning in Byron Bay, just like the three hundred or so other sunny mornings in the year, when Brett rang the doorbell of the flat again. Behind him, he heard Dave switch the car’s engine off, no doubt settling in for the wait with an AFL game on his phone.
Silence inside, and he rang the bell again. He probably should have called first. He hadn’t wanted to, though. If she wasn’t here, he’d sit on her front steps until she was. It felt like that kind of moment.
Footsteps, a latch sliding back, and the door opened. Willow’s hair was in a knot, she was wearing shorts and a tank top, her feet were bare, she had on absolutely zero makeup, and she was sweating.
She looked good to him.
And absolutely flustered. “Brett,” she said, instead of flinging herself into his arms. After that, she touched her hair. Never the best sign. But heknewthis was right. Heknewit. “Why are you back? What... Is something wrong? Your family? Or... You look tense. What’s happened?”
