Page 41 of The Felicity Theory (The Laws of Love 4)

Every single day for months after Mum died.

At least he wasn’t curled up in the foetal position in the dark. He was getting up, challenging his misery with hard-won habits guaranteed to get his life back under control.

He was about to shake his head, then remembered that shaking his head hurt like hell and tried to sidestep his father instead. But David stood his ground, his broad frame blocking any forward momentum.

“There was an empty whisky bottle in my office this morning.” Oliver felt a firm hand on his arm, propelling him back inside. “You did a great job yesterday, son. I know you had to dig deep for your brother. Give yourself a break, skip the run this morning.”

Oliver’s stomach growled ominously. His resolve slipped. “Maybe I’ll have a coffee and see how I feel after.” He never had a coffee before his run, but then, he never woke up with a raging hangover, naked apart from his socks, so he guessed that maybe today he could make a very small concession. An absolute one off.

When they entered the kitchen Oliver’s stomach knotted into a fist at the sight of Shocky with his butt perched casually on a stool at the island bench. Across from him sat Felicity, happily drizzling maple syrup on her pancakes. Andrea was taking her award-winning sourdough bread out of the oven.

Usually he loved the smell of hot bread. Today. Nope.

They all looked up. Felicity gave a casual wave of her hand and returned her attention to Shocky. The pounding of his heart joined the woodpecker sensation in his stomach as Oliver made for the coffee machine. “Shocky’s telling us about his worst camping nightmare,” Andrea explained gleefully. “You’ll love this one.”

Felicity kept gazing at Shocky. “Then what happened?”

With the coffee grinding, Oliver missed the first part of the story and by the time the machine had slugged out a mugful of thick dark liquid, Shocky was in full swing.

“Here I am in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and a couple of bikers roll up. I think, no big deal, until suddenly there’s five, then ten and before I know it there’s fifty members of the Hell Demons settled in for the night. So I squeeze down behind the seats and wait… and wait… until there’s a knock on the window and this huge guy tattooed from arsehole to breakfast is peering in at me. And then he beckons, and I think, this is it, Shocky mate, you’re going to meet the guy in the sky, and you didn’t even get a wave in first. So’s I open the door and he grins and says, thought you might have been shaggin’ in there. And then he asks, ‘Got any dunny paper I can borrow?’ Like, as if I’d want it back, right? So I says, ‘Have the whole roll, mate.’ Next thing I know, he’s back asking me to join them, and before I know it, I’m scoffing sangers and drinking beer round the barbie, and we’re all the best of mates. Reckon a roll of dunny paper was a small price to pay for staying alive.”

When everyone had finished laughing—except Oliver, who couldn’t fathom what was funny about being nearly diced up by a pack of felons—Felicity reached over to her bag and brought out a thick envelope. “You haven’t managed to scare me off. Here’s the rest of what I owe you. Four thousand dollars. I’d like you to count it out to make sure I got it right.”

Shocky looked chuffed as he finished counting and stuffed the envelope in his back pocket. “Deal’s done, the Shaggin’ Wagon is officially yours.” He grabbed the keys from the table where David had put them down. “Hold out your hand.” With a grin he placed the keys in Felicity’s hand and she made a little victory punch with the other in the air.

David and Andrea gave a round of applause. Oliver couldn’t summon more than a watery smile.

David said, “What’s the current plan, Felicity? Stay in Western Australia or drive across to Sydney?”

Oliver sensed two blue eyes resting on his face before she answered slowly, “I haven’t quite decided.”

He needed to say something. But what? Words jumbled on his tongue, then dissolved. His carefully constructed world, the one where he made safe, dependable choices, was disintegrating in front of his suddenly spinning vision.

Oliver scrubbed a hand round the back of his neck. A sheen of sweat met his palm.

Andrea peered at him. “Oliver, are you okay?”

“Fine,” he muttered out of sand dry lips.

When his gaze fell on Felicity again, she quickly slid her eyes away. But not before he’d read the question, as clear as if she’d said the words out loud.

Did you mean what you said last night?

He remembered the clink of their glasses, the smile of camaraderie, the absolutecertaintythat travelling across Australia with this quirky English girl would be the best decision he’d made in years.

“I—er—I—” To buy time he took a big slug of bitter coffee. Bad move, very fucking bad move. Saliva filled his mouth, he gulped, once, twice, but nothing was going to halt the volcanic wave travelling up his throat.

Slamming down his mug, Oliver gasped, “Excuse me!” and sprinted for the downstairs loo.

* * *

By late that afternoon,it was clear as the freckles on her face that she had to let Oliver off the hook.

She’d just driven Henry and Gabe to the airport for their flight to New Zealand, and was jolly pleased with her and Google maps’ teamwork. She’d even set the voiceover to a nice Aussie woman, not surprisingly called Sheila.

As she drove back with Sheila’s chipper voice giving directions, she mulled it over.

Obviously, he had made an offer to her in a moment of spontaneity and French champagne that was no longer warranted in the harsh light of day.

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