Page 30 of The Polly Principle (The Laws of Love 2)

Something about the matter-of-fact admission surprised him.

“There was a lot of fighting between my dad and mum. I was the peacekeeper. Guess it seemed natural to continue that when I got older.”

Solo blinked.This, he hadnotexpected.

“Oh, right,” was all he managed, struggling to find something suitable to say.

Her lips quirked. “Hard to imagine me as a peacekeeper?”

“No, that wasn’t what I was thinking at all.”

She twirled both hands in the air, swayed her shoulders. “I was the singing, dancing baby of the family who came in and made everyone laugh, defused the tension, helped Gran clean up the breakages, bathed Mum’s fat lip.”

“That bad, eh?”

A rogue curl jiggled out of its confines and he watched as she pulled out a hair pin and shoved it back into place. He almost felt sorry for it.

“Occasionally. Outright blows between them only happened a handful of times. I made sure I gave award-winning performances before it got to that.”

“Sounds pretty shitty.”

“Not as bad as losing your parents in a plane crash.”

“At least my early memories of Mum and Dad were happy. My parents never had fights, as far as I can remember.”

She stared into her coffee cup. “I’m really not sure why I’m telling you all this, Dr J.”

“Shortened to Dr J now, am I? Next it’ll just be ‘hoi you!’”

She kept her head down, but he could see a little smile playing on her lips. “You got it.”

An awkward silence ensued, Polly stroking the handle of her coffee cup with one finger, him tearing a piece of crust off his toast and toying with it.

A sudden smack on his shoulder made him jump and he looked up to see Leon’s big frame. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure, why not.”

Polly flung herself back in her chair. The button of her blouse strained and he caught a tiny show of white lacy bra and looked away quickly. “We’re discussing the PTSD group.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot, when’s Ben off on his break?”

“Today’s his last day for four weeks, lucky bugger,” Polly said. “Singapore to see his parents, then France, Italy, Croatia.”

Leon grinned. “Nice to know my country is a tourist destination. From war-torn to tourist-ravaged.”

“I’ve heard it’s beautiful,” Solo said politely.

“It is. Went back last year. You’d never know, unless you scratched the surface. Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan. What do we have all these bloody wars for?” Leon’s expression took a downturn. “Now we have truckloads of traumatised people trying to put their lives back together and the repercussions for their families go on and on and bloody on.”

Polly made a face. “Off your soapbox, Leon.”

To Solo’s surprise, Leon’s craggy face turned up in a disarming grin. Polly seemed to have a unique way of insulting people into taking themselves less seriously. “Do you want one of my wife’s apple strudels for the PTSD group this week?”

Polly beamed. “Are you trying to let Solo off his initiation ceremony?”

“It seems a bit unfair to pitch him into baking straight off. I don’t think Ben’s ever forgiven you.”

Solo squared his jaw. There was no way he was going to look like a complete dud in the cake-making stakes. “I don’t need any favours, thanks, Leon.”

The corner of Polly’s lips kicked higher. “You’re prepared to bake a cake for Wednesday night? Do I have your word on that?”

Solo fortified his shoulders. Pushed his chair back and picked up his almost-untouched plate. “My solemn word.” And with that he turned and stalked off, with the combined chuckles of Polly and Leon in his ears.

Gran’s chocolate cake.

He’d probably be able to remember the recipe.

And if not, heck, he’d improvise.

No way was Polly Fletcher going to have him on his knees over a cake.

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