Page 49 of Unmasked

She slipped them on, the large mirror-like lenses obscuring her eyes. “Why were you frowning, then?”

“It’s a big decision.” He spotted a café with an ice cream counter up ahead. “I’m weighing up my options.”

“What are your must-haves? The things that you absolutely won’t compromise on.”

“You mean aside from a great view?” He smirked. “Space for a big desk, a bigger bedroom.”

“What else?”

“Somewhere to relax and zone out. A place where I can think.”

Lainey shook her head. “You think too much.”

“I thought we were talking about the apartment.” They joined the long, snaking line for ice cream.

“We are, but the apartment is a representation of you.” Lainey pushed the sunglasses on top of her head.

“How so?”

“You want a big desk because you’re ambitious and your business is a huge part of your life. You want a big bedroom because you have a lot of shit to deal with and you need somewhere to be yourself.”

His shoulders rose, fingers balled into fists by his side. “What does the bedroom have to do with being myself?”

“Because you hide things when you’re out in the world. When you’re at home, it’s just you. You can stop pretending.” She smiled. “Maybe that’s why you moved into a hotel without finding a new place first. You know you don’t want to be who you were with Jenny, but you haven’t figured out what the next step looks like.”

He gaped at her, unsure whether to laugh off her comments or immediately drag her back to his hotel room. Perhaps he too was guilty of underestimating Lainey; she obviously saw deep into him. She knew him far better than his ex-wife ever did.

“You really do say some insightful shit.”

She grinned. “I sure do.”

As they approached the ice cream counter, Lainey’s attention locked firmly on the rainbow selection of treats. She tapped a finger to her lip.

“What flavour are you having, Damian? I’m buying.”

“No, you’re not.” He pulled out his wallet, but she slapped his hand.

“I said I’m buying. You paid for this ridiculous dress and left the tags on. So I know you should be broke by now.” She winked at him.

“Vanilla bean,” he replied. “Single scoop.”

Lainey turned to the woman behind the counter. “I’ll have two waffle cones, single scoops. One rocky road and one caramel crunch.”

“No vanilla then?” Why did she even bother asking?

“You’re not a vanilla guy, Damian. I know that much.”

“Does this mean we’re done with the amateur psychology hour?” he asked drily, accepting the two cones from the woman behind the counter as Lainey paid. “Which one do you want?”

They walked away from the café, and she contemplated her options before plucking the caramel cone from him. Her tongued darted out to capture the ice cream and she sighed. “So. Damn. Good.”

* * *

Lainey and Damian walked along Southbank, past the busker in the Super Mario costume playing guitar and the chalk artist drawing people’s faces on the ground. They ate in silence, mouths working quickly before the sun melted the ice cream onto their hands.

Damian tucked in to his rocky road with enthusiasm. And he’d wanted vanilla? She smiled to herself, remembering the way he’d hardened when she’d touched him during the apartment inspection. Vanilla was for guys with unsteady hands and fumbling fingers, and Damian wasn’t one of those guys.

They came to a stop at a bench that overlooked the aging beauty of the Flinders Street station. It rose up, magnificent and unusual among the sleeker office towers in Melbourne’s skyline. The old building had character. Though weathered, it held a certain charm in its mustard-coloured facade and iconic green dome. There was beauty in its age and history, the scars of decades making it even lovelier than it would have been when brand-new.

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