Page 8 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

“My number’s on the back.”

Goosebumps charge over my skin.He’s giving you his number...

“If you get stuck in the mornin’ and need a lift, give us a holler. You know where I’ll be workin’.”

Giving you his number for a lift.I place my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Jericho.”

His chest expands as I remove my hand. “It’s no bother.”

I get out of the car and lean down to meet his eyes, which are already on me. “I’ll text you later tonight and let you know if I’ve got myself sorted. Sorry to trouble you with this. I’m sure you just wanted to get home and put your feet up.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “That’d be the dream evening, but I’ve got a few hours ahead of me yet.”Ah, he did have other plans...

We say goodnight. As much as I want to watch him drive away, I focus on my front door. Relationships are never simple.Relationships require talking. Communication. As much as I crave to have a man in my bed—yearn for the exchange of pleasure—since the accident, I’ve struggled. A one-night stand is all I’ve been capable of since. The week before moving here, I threw all common sense to the wind and gave into my base needs. There was no fear of running into him again, of the awkwardness the interaction would bring.

I don’t know when I’ll be ready. Jerry doesn’t need a complication like me in his life. At least not until I can find the courage to take steps to move ahead rather than focus on the past.

Should I try to be his friend? You can never have enough of those. But will spending more time around him be too hard? The smell of hard work mixed with his woody aftershave, the way he carries himself with confidence and strength...urgh.

From the giddy feeling in my stomach, I couldn’t be just friends.

Perhaps I owe it to myself to at least try for something more.

When I walk inside, I toss my bag onto the floor and flop back into the softness the couch provides. Retrieving my phone from my jacket pocket, there’s a text from Aunt Jean.

Jean: How are you? I’ve texted you a few times this week. Just checking in.

I’ve been terrible at messaging her back lately. I scroll up, checking her last few texts.

From two days ago:

Jean: Hey, me again :) How’s life in Sugarloaf? An old friend once told me it’s such beautiful country out there. You’ll have to send me some photos to tie me over until I can visit.

From three days ago:

Jean: Hey Liv, hope you have a good week ahead. Jay is counting down the days until school holidays. He just wants to lock himself in his room and play games with his ‘online’ friends.

From four days ago:

Jean: Can you remember the name of that café that made those zucchini fritters? I can’t think of it for the life of me. Hope you are well x

As much as I love my aunt, she needs to give me space. She cares, but sometimes she smothers. I’m twenty-seven. I know I’m out here on my own, but I can handle it.I have to.

To stop her from doing something like ringing my boss—which she’s done before—or escalate it by asking the local police to check in on me, I reply.

Me: Sorry for the radio silence. Just busy with work and had to get my car towed thanks to a flat tyre. Getting it sorted out. Otherwise, I’m fine. The café is The Peddlar :)

As if she had the phone in her hand, three bubbles blip across the screen.

Jean: Oh, that’s terrible. Can I do anything? I can make some calls if you’re busy with work.

Whilst I appreciate the offer, she doesn’t know the area. She wouldn’t know the first place to start. Besides, Jerry already has it under control.Jerry who gave me his number. Jerry who is currently without a dance partner, significant other...

Me: No, it’s fine. I’ll call you soon x

I shoot through a text to Nat to see if she can pick me up in the morning. After a bout of Facebook stalking, a reply comes through.

Nat: Sorry Liv. I feel like crap. Don’t want to pass on this bug to the kids so I’ll take tomorrow off.

I could catch a cab, but money is tight until later this week.

And I can’t bring myself to access my savings account. It’s not right. I didn’t earn that money.

After dinner, against my better judgement, I send a text.

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