A giggle bubbled up her throat. She squeezed Daddy’s neck. He always made everything all right again. She loved Mummy, but when she was sad or angry or didn’t know what to do with her feelings, it was Daddy who made her better again.
‘Are you ready?’
She nodded. Yes.
Daddy reached out and grabbed the doorknob. ‘Close your eyes.’
This was one of the best parts of Christmas, seeing the half-eaten carrots and the empty bottle of beer, knowing that Santa and the reindeers had been, that something so magical was real.
‘Here we go …’
She scrunched her eyes tighter, held her breath, her whole body tingling.
A sound much louder than an opening door ruptured the night. Hannah sprang upright, staring into the darkness. A bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating the garden furniture outside her window. She’d opted for no blinds or curtains when she moved in, preferring to wake up with the sun and watch the wrens hop through the hedge fringing the verandah, but maybe there was an argument for some kind of barrier between her and the outside world. At least on nights like this.
Sinking back against the pillow, she focused on one part of her body at a time to ease the tension she knew hadn’t come from the storm. Not memory, not dream, but halfway between. Every memory of childhood Christmases was associated with her father. His strong hands lifting her into the air to place the star on top of the tree; his laughter echoing down the hallway as he chased her and Maddie into the backyard, pretending to be a reindeer on the loose; the gentle lilt of his voice as he read them their favourite stories, doing all the voices from Scrooge to the Grinch to Frosty the Snowman. He’d loved everything about it and his enthusiasm had been infectious, setting the tone year after year.
Until the year it all came to a screaming stop.
Chapter 7
‘Coming to the tree lighting tonight?’ Crystal poked her head around the edge of the door, her bright-eyed expression matching her hopeful tone.
‘No, I …’ Hannah pointed to the pile of documents on her desk. ‘Paperwork to finish up and then prep for the weekend conference.’
‘Oh, come on.’ Crystal stepped into the office, leaving the door behind her open. Light from the stained-glass window in reception cast a multicoloured honeycomb pattern across the timber floor. ‘It’s Friday evening. Everyone in town will be there. You need to experience the full Yarrabee spirit if you want to call yourself a local.’
Did Hannah want to call herself a local? It had been ten months since she’d made the move, initially to work with people traumatised by the fires before making the decision to stay, but she still didn’t feel like she’d laid down roots. She had the house and practice and a few acquaintances but no real friends. ‘I thought you had to be here for a full decade to qualify for that label.’
‘Well, maybe.’ Crystal pulled a lipstick from her handbag, popped it open and managed to apply it flawlessly without the use of a mirror or phone. Truly a miraculous feat. ‘But you have to start somewhere. Plus, there’s a street market and food stalls so you can grab a bite out and not have to cook. That will free up more time. And you get to catch some Christmas spirit while you’re at it.’
Two very salient points. The fridge was currently bare so she’d either have to shop or grab takeaway, and maybe she could soak up some much-needed jollity.
‘Sounds good.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘I’ll see you there.’
‘Don’t forget your Santa hat!’ Crystal wriggled her fingers in a jazz-hands kind of farewell.
The hat would not be happening. But there was something about that woman’s cheeriness that was one hundred percent infectious.
Once again, Crystal was right on the money when she said the whole town would be out in force. Both sides of the main street were lined with cars, the footpaths crowded with stalls stocking everything from crocheted dolls to homemade jam, organic honey to handcrafted pottery … If she did have anyone to buy for, this would be the ideal opportunity. But she and her mother and sister had ceased the present-buying travesty years ago. Would Lenore and Nancy be into exchanging gifts? And even if they were, what could two women in their early seventies possibly need?
It was a balmy twenty-five degrees, an ideal summer twilight temperature, perfect for a stroll and browse. A second-hand book stall caught her eye. Most of her reading was on Kindle these days but she did have some spare shelves to fill. The books were in mint condition and organised into genres. Hannah made straight for the romance section, scanning the titles. A few copies of the Bridgerton series, which technically should be in the historical section, a couple of dog-eared rural romances and the turquoise spine ofThe Love Hypothesisby Ali Hazelwood, a book she’d always meant to read. Nothing like a good enemies-to-lovers plot to get you turning the page. She plucked it from the table and opened the cover. Reading the first line pre-purchase was a habit she couldn’t seem to break.
‘I wouldn’t have picked you for a romance reader.’
Oh God, it was him. The gravelly tone was a dead giveaway, not to mention the way the sound of his voice immediately had her senses tingling. She snapped the book shut and tucked it under her arm, arranging her face into as neutral an expression as possible before she turned around.
‘And I wouldn’t have picked you for a stickybeak.’ Looking slightly to the left of his face meant she didn’t have to look into those bewitching eyes. All she had to do was be polite and make a quick exit.
Even without looking directly at him, it was clear he’d dressed up for the outing. Forest green checked shirt, black jeans and that Chris Hemsworth beard.
‘How’s the foot?’
Foot? What foot?
‘The leech bite.’
Oh God, did he have to mention that particular embarrassment? ‘A little itchy,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ll live.’