He looked at the wall of cushions in front of them, colour-coded like a stadium wave. Hundreds of fringed, corded, spotted, checked, frilled cushions. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘My living room’s painted, floor sanded, architraves gleaming whiter than celebrity teeth. It’s time to pack the camping chairs away and choose real furniture.’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Hannah. ‘And I get to choose your cushions because I don’t have a Y chromosome?’
He clasped a hand to his chest as though he’d been pierced by an arrow. ‘Would I be that sexist? Out loud? To a woman who owns scalpels?’
She nudged him with a hip. ‘Come on, Josh. I saw your place in Sydney, it was lovely. You could do this blindfolded. Tell my why I’m really wasting my morning coffee time here with you.’
Yeah … like there was an easy answer tothatquestion.
He snagged two velour cushions in duck egg blue and another two in taupe and tossed them in the trolley. ‘Okay. You got me. I need your advice.’
Hannah smacked his hand away from a beige throw rug and pointed to the navy and ruby red one. ‘We didn’t have to drive forty minutes into Cooma at seven am on a Wednesday morning to talk. I see you, like, eight hours a day.’
‘Driving clears my head.’
She frowned up at him. ‘Okay, then. So spill the beans, big brother.’
He cleared his throat. He’d wanted her help, hadn’t he? He just wasn’t in the habit of asking his baby sister for advice about his love life. Of asking anyone if it came to that. ‘It’s Vera.’
Hannah’s eyes widened. ‘Umm. Okay.’
‘You know how long it’s been since I had a love life, Han?’
His sister winced. ‘Josh. You’re my brother. And my business partner. Telling me about your sex life is strictly a no-no. In fact, why don’t I add it as a clause to our partnership agreement? Clause 16B: no icky stuff.’
He ignored her. ‘And I sure don’t have time. Now Poppy’s gone back to Sydney for the school term, I’ve started the community hall ceiling, which may take forever if Marigold keeps popping her head in and finding new “favours” I can do for her. I’ll be starting on the exterior of our place as soon as the council approvals come through. This heritage reno stuff takes time, right? A guy juggling a stethoscope and a toolbelt can’t handle a love life as well.’
Hannah picked up a three-pack of towels and tossed them in the trolley.
‘I don’t need those,’ he said, momentarily distracted.
‘Yes, you do. I have seen the ones in your apartment and they were woven by cloistered monks in the thirteenth century. They’d struggle to dry a hairless cat.’
Fine. Whatever. ‘Problem is, Han, there’s a little something here’—he tapped his chest—‘that I can’t get unstuck.’
She frowned at him. ‘A crust of toast? A hiatus hernia? An apology for flogging food from my fridge?’
He nudged the trolley into his sister’s annoying butt. ‘None of the above, Hannah. And I’ve got a hunch thisthingis the real deal.’
She turned to face him in the aisle. ‘Josh, you barely know Vera. She’s been in town, what, two months? You can’t fall in love with someone in that time.’
He sighed. ‘Tell that to my heart.’
Hannah’s usual look of snark had softened. She leaned in and gave him a hug. ‘Okay then, let’s workshop this. What is it about Vera that speaks to you?’
Hannah had cut straight into the core of it: this was a question he’d asked himself more than once as he’d driven the mountain roads on his way to horse foalings, snake-bitten pigs, cows stuck in freezing ditches.
He’d seen something that first time he’d laid eyes on Vera, something he’d recognised. She’d been alone behind her counter, and she’d looked damn near crushed by some unknown burden, but she’d also looked valiant. Defiant.
There had been a time he had longed to be alone. To be a man no-one knew, who could get on with his life without feeling every move he made was under scrutiny from family, from friends and neighbours and his old rugby coach … even the damn ticket collectors at the local cinema.
He’d pushed through that.
He’dhadto push through his need to be left the hell alone. For Poppy’s sake, and for Beth’s and, he’d realised much, much later, long after he’d felt pressured to leave Hanrahan, for his own sake.
Community mattered. Having family and friends and neighbours at your back mattered.
And he’d taken one long look at Vera De Rossi, braced like a lighthouse on a lonely coast determined to withstand any storm headed her way, and he could see she had no idea how the storm would sweeten into spring if she let a few people in to share that coastline of hers. Her aunt falling ill while they were on the trail ride had brought that home to him.