Chapter Eleven

“What are you wearing?” was the first thing out of Marcy’s mouth when she arrived at Sera’s door early the next morning.

“Clothes,” Sera mumbled through the piece of toast lodged between her teeth.

Having run out of anything new to wear, Sera had pieced together one of her dad’s old black jackets with the sleeves rolled up, a black t-shirt with a faded band name splashed across the front and a short black skirt that she didn’t remember buying. Add black, skull-print tights and Docs and she looked...kooky. But artistic types were meant to be kooky, right?

Marcy on the other hand looked amazing. A knee length pink shift, pewter pumps with a small heel, her long blonde hair piled up into an elegant French twist. Talk about getting serious.

Sera snapped off a bite and with the toast in her cheek said, “Can I be you when I grow up?”

Marcy cocked a hip. “Alas, that ship’s already sailed.”

“Hmmm.”

A car horn beeped outside; the cab picking them up that day. No bus. Not when Marcy had agreed to come in to meet Hazel.

Sera jogged down the hall, found her bag, her keys. Her MacBook was still at work.

“Let’s go. Bye, Papa.”

She kissed her dad on the cheek. Then he leaned back in his kitchen chair and looked down the hall. “That you Marcy?”

“It is me, Alf,” she called from the front door.

“And where are you off to looking so grown up.”

She did a twirl. “Sera’s taking me into work today.”

“I haven’t been invited to visit her at work yet.”

“She’s not trying to sell you to her boss.”

Alf’s eyebrow’s rose. “Ah. I hope she gets a good price. You are worth a mint.”

“Love you, Alf.”

“Right back at you, kid.”

Traffic was horrendous. An hour later the cab got them to work just on nine.

After cruising past the Road Runner to make sure he was okay, the cab double-parked beside the Murdoch Construction Group truck parked out front.

Sera did her best to dampen the flicker of nervous tension knowing after Murdoch’s departure the night before he wouldn’t be within a million miles of the place.

Like a lion with a thorn in his paw, his MO was to skulk away and lick his wounds. Thing was, she’d happily do the licking if he’d stop being such a grump and let her.

She shook her head. Above and beyond any licking fantasies, she needed to get serious. Get real.

The conversation with her dad the night before had given her pause. As priorities went, romance was way down the chain. She bit back the feeling that that was something her mother would have thought.

“Hurry up, slow coach,” she said, hustling Marcy up the front path.

No Dozer chasing butterflies, she checked.

She opened the door to discover Phil and Cyrus were there, as were half a dozen other men, ambling from room to room carrying heavy things. Much male laughter spilled through the house over the sound of the radio blaring The Doors.

But above it all, Sera caught no hint of a particular voice that turned her insides to goo.

Marcy hummed beside her. “Nirvana.”

“Isn’t it?” Hazel asked.

Sera spun. Grabbed Marcy’s hand and gave it a tug. Marcy got the hint, turning, smiling, standing tall.

“Hazel,” said Sera. “So sorry I’m late. Traffic was crazy.”

“I hadn’t noticed. This lot were here when I arrived. Kept me well entertained.”

“I’ll bet,” Marcy muttered.

A smile tugged at the corner of Hazel’s mouth, but that was as far as it went. In fact, she didn’t look her usual self at all. Her energy subdued. Her bling not quite so bright.

And Sera had the awful feeling the crazy events of the day before were partly to blame. That she could have put shadows in this woman’s eyes jabbed at Sera’s tender underbelly.

Especially when Hazel added, “Seems they have been here since the crack of dawn. Our boy got a bee under his bonnet and decided to put finishing my place on the front burner. I fear he can’t wait to see the back of me.”

Murdoch. Damn his beautiful eyes. Seemed Sera wasn’t the only one sorting out her priorities the night before.

“Hazel,” Sera said, figuring distraction couldn’t hurt. “Do you remember the résumé I showed you for the assistant position? This is Marcy. She’s doing her high school equivalency—”

“I can type; two-fingered but I’m quick,” Marcy jumped in. “I can talk under wet cement. I’m a genius on the phone. A born negotiator. I’ve taken kick-boxing for three years. And I really like your joint. So, if you need a pit bull in a short skirt, I’m your girl.”

Not exactly the way Sera would have gone about it. Then again she was a pleaser; only child, good girl, craved the attention of strong female figures. Psych 101 had pegged her off the bat. While Marcy was...Marcy.

Hazel blinked. Looked harder at Marcy who – despite the bravado – was looking paler by the second. Sera squeezed her hand.

Hazel’s smile came back online with a vengeance. “I like her.”

“Thought you might.”

“So, an assistant. Yes. Let’s do that. Not quite sure what that means as yet, so let’s play it by ear.”

“Playing sounds good to me,” said Marcy, grinning up at Cyrus as he bumbled past, tripping over himself in the process.

Sera made to back away quietly. Then remembered...

Digging through her bag she handed a folder to Hazel.

Hazel opened it. “The Paperwork.”

“It was left behind yesterday when...” Murdoch did a runner. “We didn’t quite get to finish it before...” I straddled him. Sera shook her head. “Anyway, here.”

Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “So, what did you think of Murdoch’s answers? Give you any insight? Any thoughts?”

Murdoch? Answers? Ha!

Then, “What? No! I didn’t read them.”

“I did,” Marcy perked up. “Why does he call himself Murdoch? ‘J’ names are hot.”

“He’s Justin the second,” said Hazel. “Named after his father.”

“Hang on—” Sera interjected.

Marcy flapped a hand, shushing her. “They didn’t get along? He and his dad.”

Hazel leant into her new assistant. “When I first met Justin, his father had just died. Hearing people call him by his father’s name must have cut too deep.”

Sera tugged herself out of the rare moment of insight to take Marcy by the arm. “What do you mean you read them?”

“I read them,” said Marcy, reapplying her lip gloss.

“When?”

“In the cab. You were staring out the window so I was bored. Those questions are awesome. Taught me a thing or two. You were pretty honest, I reckon. A couple of places I think you were kidding yourself. While the guy...” Marcy whistled.

“The guy what?” Sera asked, and she could have sworn Hazel stilled, stood taller, primped.

“Deep, man. Like the Grand Canyon.”

Itching to know how, why, when, where... Sera watched as Hazel hooked a hand through Marcy’s elbow and led her away.

“Come then, sweet pea,” she said. “You and I can go get to know one another, give our girl time to snap her mouth shut and get back to making my cyber world a thing of beauty.”

Sera was deep into a groove – meaning it had been minutes since she’d jumped at the sight of a guy in a tool belt walking past one of her doorless doorways – when Marcy popped her head around the door.

“You have a visitor.”

Marcy had barely plonked herself on the edge of Sera’s desk before Sera’s father walked in – looking spit shone in his best khakis and slicked back hair.

“Papa!” Sera threw her glasses to the desk and sprang to her feet. “What are you doing here? Did you drive? What about your wrist?”

He waved her concerns away. “It was time to see what was so wonderful about this place that it took you from your studies.”

He looked around taking in the slick design. The magazines with men preening on the covers. Her head to toe black.

His eyes narrowed in one of the rare moments in which Sera wondered if he’d been gifted a tiny bit of his nanna’s sight. What if he put two and two together and figured out why she’d really given over her studies for the job.

All he said was, “Quite the change.”

Then Hazel suddenly appeared in the doorway – her timing perfect for once. “Well, who do we have here?”

Sera hotfooted it around her desk so fast she bumped her hip. Wincing and limping, rubbing at the pain, she managed to get between Hazel and her dad in time to make introductions. “Hazel, this is my father, Alfredo Scott. Alf, this is Hazel Hamilton-Hayes. My boss.”

“Well, aren’t you a handsome son of a gun?” That was Hazel.

The earlier shadows in his eyes disappeared. And his Italian accent deepened. “Why did you not tell me your boss was such a beautiful woman?”

“Married, too,” Sera mumbled, knowing there’d be no stopping him.

For all the years he’d spent without her mother, her father had never been hard up for female attention. Add the accent and the Elvis thing, and he was a honey pot. Not that he’d ever done anything about it. Not in her hearing anyways.

“Of that I have no doubt,” he said, taking Hazel’s outstretched hand and kissing the back.

“And you, Mr. Scott? Some lucky woman monopolising all your time at the moment?”

He laughed, the sound filling the room.

Hazel narrowed her eyes. “Would you like one?”

“Hazel,” Sera warned.

But Alf cut her off, snaking an arm around Sera’s neck and rubbing a fist over her hair as if she was eight years old. “This beautiful girl is handful enough for me. My pride and joy. My heart. I hope you know what a treasure she is.”

“Papa,” Sera said against the arm squeezing in her windpipe. The weeks out of work hadn’t diminished his strength one iota.

And then noises sounded in the hall, and Sera had the feeling her mortification would soon be complete.

All day she’d not seen or heard from Murdoch. She’d begun to wonder if she’d scared him away for good. Then Dozer bumbled into the room, followed by a yapping Pumpkin, veering between legs, and knocking into anything in his path.

Murdoch’s piercing whistle echoed down the hall, meaning Murdoch wouldn’t be far behind.

“Pumpkin,” Hazel called, and her dog came to a screeching halt.

Pumpkin glanced at Hazel, took stock, then parked his butt on the soft white rug and looked up at the crowd as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Guy poked his head through a doorway first. “So this is where you all are. Must have missed the invitation.”

“Hello, sailor,” Marcy crooned from her spot on Sera’s desk.

Guy laughed.

Sera shot Guy a look. “Seventeen, Guy. Seventeen.”

An eyebrow flicker showed his surprise. “Alright then,” he said, then determinedly looked anywhere else.

Right after that, Murdoch ambled into the room and sucked every ounce of light from the room. His dark eyes took in the tableau before landing on Sera a beat longer than anyone else.

“Sorry all,” he said. “Dozer. Heel.”

But Dozer had taken up residence in the safe zone that was the space beneath Sera’s desk and wasn’t going anywhere.

“Where has Hazel been keeping those two? And who is that?” Marcy asked on the sly.

“That’s Murdoch,” Sera whispered back, her breath releasing on a sigh. Hearing herself, she caught the end of it, hopefully in time... But no.

“Mr. Grand Canyon,” Marcy mumbled. “Now, I see all.”

Hazel took the moment’s silence as her chance to regain control. “Murdoch. Guy. Look who has come to visit! This handsome bear of a man is Serafina’s father.”

“Papa!” said Guy, coming in for a hug.

Alf took it like a European, adding a double-cheeked kiss.

While Murdoch took off his beanie and held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Alf sized him up, and took his hand.

Something big hitched in Sera’s chest. The man she’d loved with her whole heart meeting the man who made her wonder if she might have room in there for one more. She hoped no one was watching her as it had to be written all over her face.

“You’re the one who did the heritage site on Ramsay Street?” her father asked, narrowing his eyes at Murdoch. “The restaurant in particular.”

“One of my first projects. How do you like the pizza oven?”

“Nice work.”

Her father’s voice turned gruff. And was he puffing out his chest? Murdoch was standing tall, that was for sure. In fact, suddenly, the testosterone in the room was stifling.

Sera made to call a halt to the proceedings when Murdoch glanced her way, breathed, then turned back to her father and said, “I hear you’re a vintage car specialist.”

Sera’s fingers lifted to her lips.

“I’ve been known to tinker in my time,” her father answered.

“I have a Chevy. It was my dad’s, actually.”

“Year?” Alf asked.

“1948.” Murdoch ran his hand up the back of his neck, and didn’t even notice he was doing it. “It’s pretty much a cab, a tray, and a whole lotta rust.”

“Ever thought of having it done up?”

“I hadn’t. But it’s crossed my mind once or twice of late.”

“Hmm.”

Sera stilled when the conversation hit an impasse.

Then Murdoch frowned at his shoes and said, “Any chance you could have a look at it some time. Let me know if I’m dreaming?”

It was all Sera could do not to clap her hands. All her father had was time. What he needed was a chance. A way back in. And Murdoch – the constantly surprising man that he was – must have remembered Sera telling him so.

“In fact,” Murdoch said, tugging the phone off his belt, his square thumb sliding over the screen. “I might even have a couple of pictures on my phone somewhere... There.”

Alf moved in so both men were huddled together. Small noises of masculine appreciation came from both as Murdoch thumbed through photo after photo.

And Sera saw the moment her dad was hooked. The way he leaned in, brow furrowing. Calculating. Planning. A look she hadn’t seen on his face in months.

She swallowed against the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

Guy stifled a yawn before coming over to Marcy and Sera. “They seem to be getting along exceptionally well.”

“Quiet down, sailor,” Marcy grumbled. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“But I just said...”

“Don’t mess with what you don’t understand.”

Guy threw both hands in the air, imploring the world at large for mercy.

Then a moment later he reached out and rubbed a hand across Sera’s back. “Breathe,” he said, understanding all too well.

A million years later, Sera walked her father down the path, her hand curled into the crook of his strong arm. Dozer followed, chasing dandelion fuzz across the lawn.

“It’s a nice set up you have here, piccola.”

“Short term, though,” she reminded him quickly, hearing the poignancy in his voice. “Everything will be back to normal soon enough.”

“Are you sure about that?”

She opened her mouth to assure him that of course she was. She knew how proud he was of her academic achievements. But the words wouldn’t come out.

“I wonder if you even see how much it suits you, being out in the world. So at home behind that fancy computer. Going toe-to-toe with clever and accomplished people. It’s...” He sniffed, all emotion and heart. “I cannot say how proud you make me.”

“You’re clever,” she said, leaning her head against his big shoulder, “you’re accomplished.”

“So I am, in my way. But you’ve always had the potential for more. I did worry that all the time you spent with my friends with our small conversations, and even in the stuffy halls of your university, we might one day wear down your sparkle.”

“My sparkle?”

“Si, bella. Your bright Serafina light. And yet, today, in that room, with Hazel to challenge you and Marcy to support you, with Guy to amuse you and that Murdoch to...what does he do for you, exactly?”

She opened her mouth to deny he did anything at all. Her father didn’t have the best track record for making suitors feel welcome in her life. Not that Murdoch was a suitor. If anything, he’d done everything bar tell her to leave him the hell alone.

But her feelings for the guy hummed from every inch of her whenever he was near. And his attraction to her was unmistakable. If Guy knew, and Marcy knew, and Hazel knew then her dad had to know.

“He drives me crazy,” she admitted.

Her father sighed. When she looked up into his eyes he was smiling, with tears bubbling in the corners of his eyes. Big galumph.

“I like him,” her papa said.

“You do?”

“Handsome. Strong. Good bones. But, mostly, I like him because it’s obvious to all the world he’s smitten with you. And that’s all I need to know.”

I wish someone would tell him that. But that was not for her father to worry about. She smiled, hugged him, kissed him.

With that, her father heaved himself into his own vintage truck, the engine turning over smoothly, then, one arm propped in the window frame, he waved and drove away.

Leaving Sera feeling strangely bereft.

Far more things were changing in her life than she realised.

It was as if in the past few weeks the life she’d known to be true had disappeared, replaced with something that felt vaguely familiar.

Her father would tell her it meant her time had come; that the entire world was hers for the taking.

Sera took a step back towards Hazel’s house and the motley crew and comfort within.