Page 90 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

I’d listen to her talk all day every day, not only to savour her sweet, sexy voice, but to help her work through her shit.

I should take a leaf out of her book. I want to, but where do I begin? There’s close to twenty years of shit to unpack, from the attempted abduction by my real dad, to the shooting.

“And my pop was a lamb man,” she continues.

I must’ve zoned out there for a minute.

“He’d eat it for every meal if he could.”

“A man after my own heart.”

Her eyes widen. “Ooh! I forgot to tell you. I got some clothes today. Some maternity pants, leggings, and a few tops. You can have your grey sweatpants and flanny back.”

My heart thumps harder. Am I sick in torturing myself wanting her to keep them, to see my clothes against her curvy body?

Yeah. I’m a sicko, alright.

“No hurry. They look better on you than me.” I wink.

The pink in her cheeks darkens. She winks back. “I doubt that.”

I take our empty dinner plates from the table over to the sink. New herbs sit in small pots along the windowsill, basil wilted no doubt from soaking up the afternoon sun. I give the plants a drink and then fill the sink with soapy water. As the kitchen window steams up, I bring up a playlist on my phone and turn on some tunes.

Liv grabs a tea towel and bumps her shoulder against my upper arm. “I can wash up, you know.”

“Country Girl” by Luke Bryan fills the room, driving my foot to tap to the beat. Liv grins and moves her shoulders one at a time, back and forth.

Our laughter competes with the music as we dance and shake our butts. The way she moves, those curves, and golden hair floating around her shoulders, she’s like an angel; the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Her hand tight in mine, I swing her out and pull her into my chest. She throws her head back and laughs, singing about honkytonks, rednecks, and catfish in the creek.

The song shifts to another of Luke’s songs “To the Moon and Back”, slowing things down. Luke croons about the good and the ugly, and I can’t help but relay the lyrics to us, to our situation.

“God, I love dancing with you,” she says. Her eyes glisten as she slides her hands up my chest to link behind my neck. Her fingers tickle at the longer hair at my nape, sending prickles all over my skin. My chest tightens to the point where it’s hard to breathe.

I love you.

A splash breaks the moment. In time, our heads swing to the source. Water overflows from the sink, bubbles spilling onto the timber floor.

“Oh, my God,” Liv says and unhooks herself from me.

She shuts off the faucet, while I stand frozen, unable to speak.

Daynah was right. Maybe Liv moving in was a bad idea.

Because right now I want something so bad, and I’m not sure I should have it.

***

After we cleaned upthe mess, I tucked Liv into bed. She retired hours ago, and despite trying to get some shut eye, it’s beyond reach. When I’m not thinking of Liv, my thoughts always return to the shitty situation I’m in. There must be a better way to get ahead. There has to be something I’m not seeing.

I grab the whisky off the shelf and fill a short glass halfway.

Let’s see if I can figure this shit out.

After an hour, paperwork is strewn over every inch of the kitchen table. My vision blurs, and I’m no clearer on what to do. The idea of subdividing part of the land springs to mind. But to me, it would be like cutting off a limb. Not that the council would do much in the short term, those pricks take forever to do anything. But if I go down that path, selling it off bit by bit, when would I stop? Will the property eventually whittle away to nothing?

“Hey,” a soft voice calls. Liv appears in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. She straightens her oversized T-shirt, which is creased and pulled to one side. “Why are you up?”

My heart beats double time at the hazy vision before me, as if an angel walked into my kitchen. If only she were mine.

Then it hits me.

Why can’t she be?

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