A loud clap of thunder snaps me back to the present. Pushing off the car, I open the boot to find the jack and spare. The spare is easy to locate, but the jack isn’t anywhere obvious. Where the hell is it?
“Shit-fuckity-fuck-fuck-shitty-shit-fuck-fuckity-shit!”
I haven’t had a flat tyre since buying this car second-hand a few years ago, so now I’m wondering if it ever had one. Determined to not let this situation get the better of me, I keep searching and eventually find it in a side compartment I hadn’t even realised existed.
Mereki made me practice changing the tyre on his mum’s car, so I know what to do, but there’s a big difference between changing a tyre on a flat driveway on a sunny day and this. Thankfully, where I pulled over is almost flat, but it is getting muddier by the second, and it’s also getting darker. I need to get this done as soon as possible.
After loosening the nuts with the crossbar, I drop to my knees beside the car and peer under, trying to locate the jack point. I’ve been told it’s typically in the same position in all cars, so I know where to look and sure enough, I find it. Positioning the jack, I manage to raise the car enough to remove the tyre. Once I have the spare in place, I tighten the nuts, release the jack, then give the wheel brace one last turn. Standing up, completely covered in mud and drenched from head to toe, I place my hands on my hips and smile. I feel a sense of accomplishment and give myself a mental pat on the back. I am a strong, independent woman who can take care of herself.
Returning the flat tyre and jack to the boot, I saunter back to the driver’s seat. If I’m honest, I’m feeling smug and almost wish someone was around to witness my awesome display of girl power. This lasts for about as long as it takes to turn the key in the ignition and hear the dreaded click of an engine that refuses to turn over.
“What now?” I screech, scanning the dash for any warning lights. My heart sinks when I see the fuel gauge below the empty line.
“Shit-fuckity-fuck-fuck-shitty-shit-fuck-fuckity-shit!” I say, thumping the steering wheel even harder this time.
Getting out of the car, I look up and down the street. I am no damsel in distress ordinarily, but I am at a dead end. Again, I only have two options. Walk for God knows how long back to the Cat and Mouse, which may or may not be open, hoping no axe murderer stops and chops me up. Or I can walk the short distance back to Josh’s farm. Axe murderer or Josh.
Grabbing my bag, I jump out then lock the car. I don’t know why I locked it when a prospective thief wouldn’t get far unless they happened to be carrying petrol with them, but it’s a force of habit. Without any further hesitation, I start the short trek. This is so humiliating.
“Emerson?” Josh rushes forward when he opens the door and finds me standing on his front porch like a drowned rat.
A full-body shake has taken hold, and my hair clings to my face and shoulders. I’m sure what little makeup I was wearing is now a streaky mess down my cheeks. Even without looking in a mirror, I know I must look like a complete and utter disaster.
I shrug. “I changed my mind about staying.”
He chuckles, ushering me inside, but I hold my hands up in protest.
“This is stating the obvious, but I’m soaking wet. I don’t want to mess up your floors.” I try to push the hair away from my face. “Maybe you could bring me a towel or something out here?”
“Emerson. Please come inside. You’re gonna catch your death out here unless you get dried off, and I don’t give a shit about the floors.”
Relenting, I step inside, wrapping my arms around my body. Looking down, I can see a puddle already forming at my feet. “I got a flat tyre and ran out of fuel a little way down the road.” I cringe at how pathetic I sound. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking me to the closest . . .”
“You can’t drive back to the city soaking wet, and the rain is getting harder. I’m going to insist you stay the night, and we’ll sort out your car in the morning.”
I rub my face, frustrated with the whole situation and by the fact I’m actually happy with the turn of events. I want to be here, and I want to spend more time with Josh.
“This way,” he says, walking ahead of me down a hallway off to the left of the entry. He continues right to the end, then opens a door and walks in. I follow him into what I find to be a gorgeous bedroom, but Josh has disappeared through another door I assume to be an en-suite. I rush towards it, not wanting to keep dripping on the carpet. Sure enough, he’s pulling some fluffy, white towels down from a rack and placing them on the vanity. “This is the room my mum stays in, so there’s some girly stuff in here you’re welcome to use, and I was about to put a load of washing on, so just leave your wet clothes outside the door.” I rub my hands up and down my goosebump-covered arms. “A warm shower will sort you out. I’ll find some dry clothes for you to wear, then come to the kitchen. I make a mean hot chocolate.”
“This is so nice of you, Josh. I’m really sorry for all the hassle. I can’t believe I didn’t fill up on the way, and I feel like a complete—”
Josh cuts me off by placing his fingertips gently on my lips. “Stop, Emerson. You might remember you staying is what I’d hoped for, so please don’t apologise for me getting what I want.”
I smile against his fingertips, and his eyes drop to where he’s touching me. My eyes track his, and I’m momentarily entranced by our connection.
“You should get warmed up,” Josh says and takes a step back. It should’ve been me who pushed him away, but I was enjoying his touch too much. This is bad. Really, really bad.
I nod and give him a small smile that slips away the second Josh turns and disappears through the door. I give myself a quick pep talk. I didn’t choose this, and I didn’t want to break down with no alternative but to return here. This was not my doing.
While the water heats up in the shower, I squelch awkwardly out of my soaking T-shirt, jeans, and underwear. It is such a relief to feel my body warm up, and I could stand here for hours if I wasn’t conscious of being water smart in the country. I also don’t want to give myself too much time to think about the fact that I am alone, miles from anywhere, with a man I find devastatingly attractive both in looks and personality. As I towel myself dry, I’m hit with the idea that maybe the universe is trying to push me towards Josh. But why? If it was just about the art, surely the universe would’ve had the decency to give me a woman tutor rather than someone I would be so physically drawn to.
Josh has laid out one of his white T-shirts and a pair of navy, drawstring track pants. Once I’m dressed, I bundle my wet clothes in the towel and head out to find him. The house is easy to navigate. The bedrooms run along the front facing the driveway whilst the whole back of the house is mostly open plan with the spectacular views across the lake.
“I considered floor-to-ceiling glass all the way along but decided against it for environmental reasons. I wanted it to be as environmentally friendly as possible, and it would be too costly to heat and cool with that much glass. The carbon footprint would be horrible.”
“That’s very responsible of you,” I say, taking the cup of steaming hot chocolate from him and wandering over to the large picture window in the kitchen. “The view is still incredible.”
“This house was my father’s dream, but he never got to see it built. We’d come out here most weekends and stay in the boathouse, or we’d camp.”
“Why didn’t he build the house?”
He shakes his head, and sadness descends over his features. “My dad was more of a talker than a doer. We’d talk in detail about every aspect of the house, and I’d always push him to get an architect to draw up some plans. His response was always the same.” He takes a sip from his mug before continuing. “One day.”
“He put it off too long,” I say in a whisper.
“Yep. I should’ve pushed harder or told Mum about his dream, but I never did.”
“You weren’t to know he was going to die, Josh. You can’t carry around guilt for what you think you should’ve done when you were so young.”
“I built this house for him and tried to make it as close to what he described as I could remember.”
We walk around the island bench and into the lounge. French doors lead out onto the deck where we’d been painting earlier, but it’s hard to see the view properly, as the glass is fogged up. The rain is still heavy but has eased since I arrived. It is dark outside, and I’m certainly glad I made the decision to walk back here rather than wait it out in my car. I could’ve been there all night if I’d waited for the rain to stop.
“Do you ever get lonely out here alone?” I ask. Josh looks at me, and I scrunch my whole face up, hoping it didn’t sound like I was hinting at anything. Why am I so interested in his relationship status when it’s absolutely none of my business?
“I’m not always alone, Emerson. No.”
My cheeks heat at the implication he’s brought women out here. The idea makes my stomach drop. “Oh. Of course. I don’t know why I asked that.”
Josh laughs. “Mum and my brothers come and stay on a fairly regular basis.”
“Oh, right. So, you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“The answer is no.”
Oh, I mouth, failing miserably to hide my smile.
Taking another sip from his steaming mug, Josh places it down on the timber dining table and moves closer to me. “I told you already I’m drawn to you in a way I’ve never experienced before.” He takes my mug from me and places it down next to his, then moves right into my personal space.
I can’t breathe. “Josh. I . . .”
He places his hands on my cheeks, pushing the loose strands of my hair out of my wide eyes. “Shh, Emerson.”
My mind goes completely blank when he says my name, and all I can do is stare at his mouth. It’s obviously an unwritten invitation as that mouth is suddenly on mine.
I must be having an out-of-body experience. It can’t possibly be my arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer while I open my mouth to his greedy tongue. It can’t be me groaning as Josh’s hands move from my face to the back of my head then down my back before hugging me so close, I can feel him hard against me. This just can’t possibly be me—the girl who hasn’t been kissed by anyone other than her first and only love. The problem is this feels way too natural and way too good to be wrong. Josh is making me feel as if I’m the most precious thing in the world. I know, because it’s the way Ki used to make me feel every day. Now I don’t exist.
Is it wrong to want to feel like I matter?
Is it wrong to want to feel important to someone?
Is it wrong to want to feel again?
Maybe it is, but I don’t think I can stop. I’ve crossed the line, and I take full responsibility. Josh has no idea about my circumstances, and I want to keep it that way for this weekend at least. I need to escape and to feel alive again, but can I live with the consequences?
I think Josh senses the chaos decimating my brain cells because he pulls back and holds my face reverently in his hands, again looking me in the eyes. “Is this too fast?” he asks. “I promised myself I wouldn’t push, and we can stop right now if this isn’t what you want. I don’t want you regretting anything you do with me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut briefly before meeting his concerned gaze again. “I have no regrets with you, Josh, but thank you for stopping when you did.”
“The ball’s in your court here, Emerson.” His eyes are soft and clear. As far as I can tell, this man has no secrets, no baggage, and his heart is completely open to what is so obviously happening between us. I might just be the worst thing that ever happened to him.
I nod, loving the feel of his large hands on me. I can feel the callouses and wonder whether it’s from working outdoors or from pencils and paintbrushes. My brain imagines how it would feel to have them roaming my naked body, perhaps when I’m leaning back against my car in the rain. Oh my God. I need my brain to shut it down before I rip our clothes off and have my wicked way. Who am I, and why am I still having an out-of-body experience?
“The rain’s stopped,” Josh announces, dropping his hands and walking back to the kitchen with our mugs, snapping me out of my sexy thoughts. “That was quite a storm, huh?”
I follow him, feeling the natural tug I am starting to associate with being in Josh’s vicinity.
“You hungry?” he asks, peering into the oven. “I made a tuna bake, and there’s plenty. I’m sure I can rustle up a salad to go with it.”
I raise two fingers to my lips and press gently on them. I am still reeling from the life-altering kiss minutes ago and now feel a little awkward being domestic with him. “If you have enough, that would be great. Thank you.”
“If I knew I was having company, I would’ve made something a little more impressive.”
“I’m not fussy. It sounds perfect to me.”
The timer pings, and Josh retrieves the white baking dish from the oven, removing the foil as he places it on the stovetop, then moves fluidly around the kitchen getting plates and ingredients for a salad.
I draw in a shaky breath as his arm brushes mine. “You like to cook?” I ask. My voice is raspy, and I clear my throat, adding to my awkward state.
Josh seems entirely unaffected and relaxed. I guess he would, given he isn’t suffering any kind of dilemma that’s threatening to swallow him whole. I, on the other hand, think I might implode at any moment.
“I love to cook.” He gives me one of his incredible smiles that make me turn to jelly. “Wine?” he asks, reaching for a bottle of red he must’ve opened earlier.
God yes! “That would be lovely,” I say, trying to hide my sudden desperation for alcohol’s calming qualities.
“Do you like cooking?” he asks, pouring the wine.
I shake my head. “I despise it.”
He laughs, handing me a glass. “To thunderstorms and flat tyres,” he says, smiling as if they are the two greatest events in the history of the world.
I scrunch up my nose but can’t help grinning as we chink glasses because it’s the sweetest toast ever.
“Mmmm,” I groan, sipping the wine. “This is fantastic. What is it?”
“It’s a local Pinot.”
I nod enthusiastically. “I’ll need to make an effort to come back this way for the vineyards. I don’t know that much about wine, but this tastes really good.”
“Well, I hope you’ll come back for more than just the vineyards.” This man is so goddamn cute. “There are some fantastic markets around here, too.”
We take our plates and wine back to the dining room, then Josh returns to the kitchen to grab the salad bowl. The table is situated next to a large picture window just beyond the French doors. “Look. The clouds have all but gone.”
I peer out the window. With the lights on inside, it’s hard to see a whole lot, but I can make out the moon and the soft light it casts across the lake. Millions upon millions of stars prick the black sky, and I’m spellbound. “It’s quite the turnaround from a few hours ago.”
“Happens quite regularly. It’s pretty much over soon after it begins.”
I gulp my wine, cringing at the irony of his words and whatever is happening between us. “You said there are markets around here?” I ask.
“Yes. There are lots of markets, but there’s one I’d really like to take you to that’s on tomorrow.”
“You love this area, don’t you?”
He takes a bite of his dinner and is obviously giving some serious thought to his response. “This is where I feel closest to my father.”
Without thinking about it, I reach over and place my hand in his. He laces our fingers together, lifting my hand up to his lips for a gentle kiss. My gaze follows our hands, fixating on his perfect mouth I know I’d really like to feel on mine again. Being here with Josh just feels so incredibly right, even though I know I’m messing everything up with my dishonesty. It is breaking my heart, and my heart has suffered enough. My poor, trusting, naive heart deserves to swell with joy, beat with excitement, and heal with the love it thought it had forever with Ki but might just be finding somewhere else.
Josh locks eyes with me, and I smile, a warm and genuine smile.
“This is delicious,” I say in a whisper.
“It’s one of my specialties.” He drops my hand, but we both know we just shared a moment.
“Tell me about your father,” I say, eager to learn more about him. “Are you like him?”
He raises his glass and takes a sip. “Mum says my eldest brother, Hunter, looks like him, but I’m most like him in personality and temperament.”
“I really like your mum,” I say. “Makes me sad she’s still grieving your dad, and it seems she always will.”
“They were lucky in a lot of ways. They were so in love, and Dad dying when he did is just . . . well, it’s just fucking annoying. Excuse my French.”
I shake my head. “Sounds like a perfect way to describe it actually.”
“I never saw them fight, and they always held hands.” He chuckles. “We used to groan about their kissing in front of us or how they would snuggle on the couch watching television, but now I’d do anything to have him back holding her hand.”
Tears prick my eyes hearing his heart breaking for his parents. “You’re a wonderful son looking out for her the way you do.”
“I can’t stand the thought of her alone in that big house. It kills me to think of her wandering around, seeing him in every room. I check in with her as much as possible to stop her wallowing in her grief. I can distract her by keeping her company.” He sighs. “But then she unloads on the cupcake girl, and I realise she is still so fragile.”
“Cupcake girl?” I remember him calling me that as I said goodbye at his mum’s house. For some reason, it warms me from the inside out.
He laughs. “You’re the cupcake girl.” His eyes widen with delight. “For someone who despises cooking, they were phenomenal.”
“Baking is different,” I say, placing my knife and fork together on my empty plate. “It’s creative. Cooking is practical and boring.”
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong. I don’t find cooking boring.”
I hold my hands up defensively. “You cook. I’ll bake. And all will be right in the world.”
“I’ll cook, you bake, and we’ll both do our art.” He raises his eyebrows. “Deal?”
At the mention of the love of art we share, my heart does a little flip-flop. “We’ll see.”
“Wait here,” he says, standing and picking up both our plates. “I’ll be back in a second.”
He returns from the kitchen with the wine bottle and fills both our glasses. He ushers me over, and we move towards the most comfortable corner lounge suite in front of an open fireplace. It’s incredibly cosy, and I feel strangely right at home—something I’ve been fighting for my whole life.
We sit next to each other and prop our knees up so we are face-to-face. It’s very intimate, and I know in that moment that there’s no place I’d rather be and no one I’d rather be with. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating as the weight I’ve been crushed with for years feels lighter and somehow manageable.
“So . . .”
Josh cuts me off. “It’s my turn to ask the questions, cupcake girl.”
I shake my head, chuckling at my new nickname. “What do you want to know?” I ask, praying he doesn’t ask the wrong, or maybe the right, questions.
“You know something about my parents. Can you tell me a bit about yours?”
Okay, so I can answer this one. “My own mother never really wanted me. We haven’t spoken in almost five years.” I don’t tell him that I left a message on her phone when I found a place to live in the city, but she never called me back. “And my father . . .” I blow out a long breath. “Let’s just say I was the result of a good time, not a long time.” I shrug. “I never met him, and I have no idea who he is.”
“Did you ever ask your mum about him?”
I nod. “I went through a phase of being desperate to find out about him, but my mother claimed she didn’t know, and it just made her angry if I asked too many questions.”
“I’m sorry, Emerson.” Josh places his hand on my knee and squeezes it gently. “I hope you don’t mind talking about it.”
Staring at his hand on my knee, I reply, “I do my best not to dwell on it.”
“There’s is a big part of you that’s completely shut off, and it makes more sense to me now.” I raise my eyes to his. “What you do show is sweet, compassionate, talented, and beautiful, but I want to know what’s hidden beneath all that.”
“You think I’m ugly and evil below the surface?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. I think there’s something infinitely more beautiful.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make those kind of judgements.”
“I can’t really explain it, but I feel like I’ve known you for a lot longer than I have. What I really want to know is what happened to make you stop drawing and following your dreams.”
“There are so many things I’ll share with you, but I’ve already told you that isn’t one of them,” I say honestly and with conviction I hope he takes seriously.
“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Emerson.”
“That’s what any good shrink would say, and I get it, but this is my way and my choice.”
“Thank you.” He takes a sip of his wine, never taking his eyes off me. “You’ve shared a lot with me tonight.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “I didn’t tell you what you wanted to know.”
“I didn’t know for sure that something happened to you to make you quit your art, and now I do.”
My stomach drops. I’ve never spoken about this before with anyone and, without realising, I’ve opened that can of worms. “Can we drop this subject please?”
“Of course,” he says. “Would you like some more wine?”
I shake my head. “I think I’ve probably had enough for the evening. I’m really tired.” Glancing at my watch, I see it’s almost midnight. I’m shocked it’s so late, and a yawn follows. “Do you mind if I call it a night?” I’m emotionally and physically exhausted and desperately hope the sleeping arrangement isn’t awkward. I can’t take things any further with him.
“Absolutely. I’m ready to turn in, too.” He holds up his hands obviously as a response to my stricken look. “Don’t worry. Separate rooms.”
I smile, embarrassed by my rudeness, but relieved at the same time. “Thank you, Josh. For everything.”
He smiles and picks up my empty glass, and I follow him back to the kitchen. Once he’s placed the glasses in the sink, we make our way back to the bedrooms and stop outside the one I used earlier.
“This is you,” he says, then pulls me into him.
My initial reaction is to tense up, but something about being cocooned in his arms makes me relax in moments. It’s undeniable how safe and protected I feel with Josh’s hard body pressed against mine and his muscular arms firmly securing me to him. I want to be a strong, independent woman, but it’s nice to feel cared for and precious. It’s been a long time, and I miss it desperately. Clinging to the back of his shirt, I bury my face into the soft material and inhale. He still smells of soap, probably from a shower he had before I arrived. I remember when he first opened the door, I was struck by his fresh-out-of-the-shower appearance. Damp hair, effortlessly tousled to perfection. I am really freaking attracted to this man both on the superficial, physical level and the deeper, more important level of feeling connected in a unique way. That’s something some people search for their whole lives. Is it possible I’ve found it twice?
“Goodnight, cupcake girl,” he whispers, then kisses the top of my head. His lips stay there for what feels like a really long time, but when he pulls away, it’s nowhere near long enough. Looking me right in the eye, he says, “Thanks for coming back to me, and I promise I won’t push you for anything you’re not completely ready for.”
I smile. “You can thank my irresponsible car ownership skills.” I have relaxed considerably knowing this isn’t going to go any further than it has already. I need some space and some sleep to work out why I feel so desperately disappointed that he’s leaving me to go to his own room.
Ki . . . I’m so, so sorry. My heart is torn in two.
I’m in a world of trouble.