‘It’s forty-plus degrees out west right now. More flies on your eyes than on a sheep carcass, and the snakes’ll be tapping on your Kombi door every night, wanting to come in and share the fan.’
‘The heat I can deal with—’
Will doubted it, but Fergus would find that out for himself. Also, no way was the kid leaving. Will had seen the flirty looks Fergus had been exchanging with the Sunday barista.
‘—but the snakes. You know, we don’t have them back home.’
‘Eastern browns. They’ll kill you in thirty minutes. Death adders, inland taipans, tiger snakes … you get distracted out there, next minute they’re curled up in your engine or finding a loose zipper on your swag.’ Between horror snake stories (of which Will had an endless supply) and the cute barista, Will reckoned he was pretty safe. He needed his best worker here pulling beers and charming the lunchtime crowd. Especially with this bung leg.
Fergus’s attention was snagged mid-shudder by a ding from the push-button bell on the bar counter. ‘God help us if that’s another hungry group,’ he said. ‘I’ve mashed enough spuds today.’
‘Relax. It’s after two, so lunch service is over. And you’re off duty until five, so I’ll handle this.’
Fergus didn’t wait to be asked twice; he pulled the sodden tea towel from the back of his belt, chucked it with the others in the laundry pile and took off.
Will limped his way to the front bar.
Oh. Her. Jodie.
‘Hi,’ said the woman, who had none of the relaxed vibe of his lunchtime patrons. They’d all wandered off into the Northern Rivers sunshine with their bellies full and their wallets a little lighter but with smiles on their faces. No smiles here.
‘Hi.’
He waited, and then, when the wait had drifted into the awkward zone, said, ‘Can I get you something? Kitchen’s closed for meals until six, but we have coffee, tea, booze, softies, peanuts, potato chips …’ For a hungry-looking regular, he’d fire up the sandwich press and offer a cheese toastie. Or even for a smiling stranger.
‘Um, coffee? A long black?’
Will moved behind the counter and took the portafilter out of the machine, gave the unit a purge, then knocked the used puck into the coffee bin.
‘Cup or mug?’
‘Cup.’
‘Sugar?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve had about as much sugar as I can take for one morning.’
Meaning … what? Someone had been too nice to her? She’d binged her way through fairy floss?
She made no attempt to elucidate, so Will filled a cup with boiling water from the machine’s reservoir. ‘It’s Jodie, right?’
She nodded, but again, nothing. Surely it was her turn to contribute to this conversation.
He gave in to curiosity. ‘And … wehavemet before, right? When we were kids?’
Was he imagining things or were her cheeks going pink?
‘Not that I recall,’ she said. She wasn’t wearing leggings today, but was instead in a short khaki skirt and a navy T-shirt. Her hair was tidier, too, brushed so it was wavy rather than curly. The skirt rode up a little as she climbed onto a stool further along the bar. Close enough to make conversation, not so close as to be construed as friendly.
Fine with him. Nothing about Jodie could be construed as friendly. She was bound up tighter than a coil of wire, and added to that, she’d just lied to him. Even a has-been psychologist could tell that.
He set the cup on the grate, then rammed the refilled portafilter into its slot. He let the shot work its magic through the ground coffee beans, and trickle into the cup.
The crema was golden and caramel and spread out over the surface like oil over troubled water. Jodie looked like she could do with some oil.
‘Here you go,’ he said, placing the cup in front of her. ‘Cash or card?’
She fished out a card to tap on the eftpos machine and he was planning on leaving her to enjoy her coffee in solitude, when she said, ‘Um, Will.’