Thom peered at Tash’s face. ‘Are you getting laid?’
If it weren’t for the hairpins sticking from her mouth, Tash would have poked her tongue out at him. Instead she gave an enigmatic smile—which was probably more like a horror-movie leer given the pins—and continued moulding her hair into a bun.
Thom folded his arms and tapped a foot while he waited for her to finish. Tash took her time just to torture him. That he should notice her excitement was no surprise. Tash had been fizzing worse than a shaken can of cola since Patrick’s kiss the previous night.
‘Not yet,’ said Tash when Thom’s tapping had accelerated to machine-gun-fire rapidity. She performed a twirl and finished with a self-congratulatory wiggle. ‘But I will be.’
‘Patrick,’ said Thom.
‘Patrick,’ replied Tash.
Thom collapsed onto his sofa. ‘I want to be jealous but you look too happy.’
She sank down next to him and gave him a squeeze. ‘And you have Ceci.’
‘I wish.’
She squeezed him harder and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘It’ll happen, you’ll see. She’s probably just wary after what happened with Brandon. She got a fright. A bad one. She’s not going to be looking for another relationship for a while.’
He sighed. ‘I suppose.’
‘Anyway, how can she resist? You’re looking pretty sexy these days.’ Tash ruffled his new short, neat haircut.
Thom rubbed his jaw. Like his old shaggy hairstyle, the manscaped beard was gone, replaced with clean-shaven slickness. He was dressing differently too. Less urban mod and more casual country, and not a pair of braces in sight. Tash wondered if it was Ceci’s influence or Thom copying Patrick. Knowing Thom, it could simply be the latest trend.
‘You should do something for her,’ said Tash. ‘Buy her flowers or something. Be romantic.’
‘Is that what Patrick did with you?’
‘Not quite. Patrick made himself a hero on the footy field, danced with me in the dark, got jealous of you,’ she nudged Thom, ‘and told me I was the best thing in his life.’ She sighed happily. ‘Then he kissed me until my toes curled. I have never been kissed like that before.’
‘Thanks,’ said Thom drily.
‘Oh, stop it. You were lovely.’ Tash’s voice turned dreamy again. She couldn’t help it. Her feet and head had been permanently in the clouds since the night before. She’d been so excited about Thursday she’d rushed off to Melbourne a day early so she could return Wednesday night and spend all Thursday cooking seduction food. And spend Monday morning at a day spa, getting beautified. She released another long sigh. ‘There’s something really special about kissing someone you’re falling in love with.’
Thom twisted to face her. ‘You’re in love with him? When did that happen?’
‘I don’t know. It just kind of happened without me noticing.’ She put her hand to her chest. ‘One day it was just there.’
‘So Ceci was right. You won’t be coming back.’
Tash opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned. ‘I hadn’t got that far.’
‘Better start thinking about it. ’Cos he’s not going to move to Melbourne.’
Tash did think about it. All through her Monday-morning pamper session and after her first meeting with a branding consultant that afternoon. The spread of products she could attach to the Urban Ranger brand was enormous, everything from chopping boards to aprons to tea towels to utensils. Some, however, would require more time and cash investment than others, and the pipe-dream items, like her own cookware range, would require partnerships. Her audience had grown dramatically since her move to Castlereagh, but Tash wanted more data before she made any commitments.
‘You’re going to send me an invoice for this,’ she said to Thom that evening. They were huddled around his dining table in front of their laptops, notebooks alongside. Thom was deep into Tash’s website and social media analytics, digging out the information she’d requested. Tash waggled her pencil at him again. ‘I mean it.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Did you know you have a couple of thousand fans in Albania?’
‘I have fans everywhere. That doesn’t mean they’ll buy anything off me.’
‘Good for advertising.’
‘I can’t keep relying solely on that.’ Tash tapped the pencil against her chin. ‘Not long-term. It leaves me too much at the mercy of the tech companies.’
‘Everyone’s at the mercy of the tech companies, Tash.’
She sighed and looked glumly at her screen. Analytics drove Tash crazy, too boring and mathematical. She was much better at creating things than analysing them, but understanding her fan base—where they came from, what they liked—was vital for the long-term prosperity of her business.
She skipped over to her social media accounts to see how her morning ‘pamper’ posts were faring. Tash had conned her beautician into taking a snap of her in a candlelit room with a towel wrapped around her, lying on her belly with her chin on her folded hands and her legs curled up, grinning at the camera. Later, Tash had snapped a wonderfully unflattering selfie with her face covered in a clay mask and her hair in an equally ugly hairnet. She’d followed that up with another selfie, made-up and businesslike in a figure-hugging blue skirt and hot pink blouse, ready for her appointment.
The comments ranged from the praiseworthy and ‘You go, girl!’ to the ‘Why aren’t you cooking?’ to the downright dirty, along with the usual misogynistic trolling that Tash deleted without hesitation. She searched hungrily for one from Patrick but all that appeared was a ‘like’.
Perhaps he was grumpy that she’d left early for Thom’s without saying anything, but one toe-curling, lust-exploding kiss didn’t make a relationship, no matter how much she craved it. And Tash wasn’t that naive to think that the change in their friendship had nothing to do with Maddy. This had everything to do with her. Patrick had said as much himself with his admission of confusion over his feelings of relief, and whether it was wrong. Plus people coming out of relationships tended to be vulnerable to kindnesses, and Tash had done her best to be caring and compassionate. Then there was the likelihood that he hadn’t had sex since Maddy’s accident. That’d make any normal male go a bit crazy and latch onto the nearest warm body.
Tash desperately wanted to believe she was more than that but she’d been wrong before. About a lot of things.
She checked her messages and smiled when she spotted one from Farmer Fred, then laughed when she read his comment about her face mask and there being plenty of free mud on his farm. She wrote a quick note back and returned to sorting through her other messages. Two minutes later an instant messaging request popped up.
She thought about rejecting it, but she needed the break. She and Thom had been at their computers since returning from dinner at a local Greek restaurant.
‘Hi Fred. How are your cows?’
‘Happy. They get to eat, burp and fart all day, who wouldn’t be happy?’
‘You’re such a man.’
‘I hope so. Having fun in the big smoke? You looked amazing today. Happy.’
‘Thanks. I’m feeling pretty happy.’
‘Because you’re back in Melbourne?’
‘Yes, but mostly because I have LOTS of exciting things happening.’
‘Exciting things? Tell Fred …’
‘Just business things. And a date.’
‘A date? With who? He’d better be a decent bloke or I’ll sic my cows onto him.’
Tash grinned. ‘He is.’
‘I bet he’s crazy about you.’
‘I hope so.’
‘I know so.’
Thom pushed his laptop around so she could see the screen. ‘See this?’
Tash held up a finger. ‘One sec.’
‘How?’ she typed.
‘Because I would be if I were him.’
She started to reply but Thom raised his eyebrows. ‘Sorry,’ she said and leaned over to read his screen. She sat back, nose scrunched up. ‘It’s just charts and numbers to me.’
‘Tash,’ he said with weary patience, ‘your growth since moving has been exponential.’
‘Surely not. I mean, I know it’s been pretty good but …’ She peered at the screen again, trying to make sense of it.
‘You need to look deeper. Your blog stats are through the roof but what’s important is that when people get to your website they stay. For a long time. They search for recipes, watch videos, read about the farm, about you. This is gold, Tash. There are companies that would kill for that kind of stickiness.’
‘So what does that mean in terms of adding a shop?’
‘It means, my soon-to-be bazillionaire friend, you’ll do all right.’
‘Wow,’ said Tash, sitting back and blinking. ‘Wow.’ She looked at Thom and grinned, then made shooing motions. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, webmaster? Hurry up and build my shop!’
They settled into a discussion about what she’d need, the size of her product range, where it would ship from, and a dozen other things she had mulled over but hadn’t yet gone into detail about. By the time she remembered she was mid-conversation with Fred and turned back, he appeared to have gone.
Two messages remained. The first simply read ‘Bye, gorgeous’ while the second said ‘I’ll dream of you’.
Tash closed the conversation box. Time to stop talking to Fred. As much as she liked him, he was becoming too attached and she’d learned from experience it was better to cut these relationships earlier rather than later. She’d thought the mention of a date might have put him off but it didn’t seem to have registered.
She’d have to be careful how she let him down in case he turned nasty. Not that she thought he would, but the internet was full of people who could turn weird at the drop of a hat. Although the internet didn’t have a monopoly on people turning weird, as real-life Brandon had proved.
She and Thom stayed up until midnight running over shop designs and other plans. They met the following morning over breakfast, yawning and bleary-eyed.
‘So what’s on the agenda for today?’ asked Thom, forking up the pancakes Tash had made him.
‘Markets early, then a meeting, then hairdresser. After that I’m meeting Marrtje for a late lunch. Then I’m going to raid the shops.’ Tash didn’t mean clothes shopping; she had providores and chef’s supplies in mind. The cupboards at Castlereagh were looking more than a bit bare but, more importantly, she had seduction food to make and that called for specialised shopping.
‘I have indoor cricket tonight, don’t forget.’
Tash shrugged. ‘No prob. I can amuse myself.’
Thom returned home from cricket to find his flat steaming like a laundry, the kitchen in chaos, the music channel blasting on the telly, and Tash singing loudly as she stirred salt into a giant pot of soup. She’d been horrified on arrival to find Thom’s freezer and cupboards full of pre-packaged meals and intended to leave him well stocked with healthy, hearty homemade food.
‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you?’ he said as he passed the kitchen to dump his gym bag in the laundry.
‘I have. Thanks. Have you had dinner?’
‘Grabbed a chicken burger at the kiosk.’
‘Eww,’ said Tash.
‘Don’t be a food snob.’
‘Ewwing chicken burgers is not being a food snob. I bet it wasn’t even made of chicken.’
‘Still a food snob.’ He ducked away from her tea-towel flick and headed off for a shower.
When he returned, Tash handed him a beer and steered him to her computer. Thom had promised to give it an update and go over her security. ‘Do your thing, maestro.’
Tash was ladling soup into single-serve containers when Thom turned the television volume down and regarded her seriously. ‘This Farmer Fred …’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s been messaging ever since I sat down.’
‘Ignore him.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Just some dairy farmer from Tassie. I’ve chatted to him a few times. He seems nice enough.’
Thom regarded the screen with his lips tight. ‘Hmm.’
‘What?’
But he shook his head and resumed clicking and tapping. With a mutter he reached for his own laptop and fiddled for a moment, his expression intense as he returned to Tash’s computer. A few minutes later he looked up. ‘Tassie, you reckon?’
‘That’s what he said.’
‘I don’t think he’s from Tassie, Tash.’
She slid the last container in line with the others to cool and carried the stock pot to the sink. ‘So he lied. Hardly unusual.’ When Thom didn’t speak again she looked at him. ‘What?’
‘Tash, I think he’s local. As in Emu Springs local.’
Alarm had her almost dropping the pot. ‘Local?’
Thom nodded.
Tash turned the tap off and stood back with her hand to her throat. This was dangerous territory. If he was local, then who was he? Her eyes closed as she mentally replayed their conversations. There was nothing to indicate anyone she knew or any malicious intent.
‘But who could it be?’
Thom focused on the screen again and clicked some more. Then he leaned back with his hands behind his head and grinned.
‘What?’ said Tash.
‘I know who it i-is,’ he sang.
‘Who?’
Thom kept grinning.
Tash balled up the tea towel and launched it at his head but it fell well short. She stalked from the kitchen and tugged on his ear. ‘Who?’
‘Ow!’ said Thom, batting her away. ‘Jesus, Tash, who do you reckon it is? It’s Patrick. Who else?’
‘Patrick?’ She planted her hands on her hips. ‘No.’
‘IP address is the same. It’s him.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘What did I just say?’
Tash pulled out a chair and flopped down. ‘Bloody hell.’ She stared blankly at the wall for a moment then shook her head. ‘Why?’
Thom shrugged.
She snapped her hands around the laptop. ‘Gimme that thing.’
He snatched it back. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
He sighed. ‘Because you’ll make him feel like a dickhead, that’s why.’
‘Well, yeah.’ That was the point.
‘Come on, Tash. Give the man a break. He probably felt like he couldn’t talk to you properly as himself.’
‘Bullshit.’ This was a man who’d come to her when he was falling apart, who she’d seen at his worst, who’d told her his secret feelings, exposed his raw insides. How could he possibly feel like he couldn’t talk to her properly?
‘I’m serious. Just leave it.’
Tash studied him for a moment. ‘You’re being very forgiving of someone who’s been taking me for a ride.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Thom rubbed the back of his neck.
Tash’s eyes widened. ‘Have you done the same thing with Ceci?’
‘Maybe,’ he mumbled, not looking at her. ‘It’s just a way to see how’s she’s going without coming across as too needy or like a stalker.’ He looked up, embarrassment pinking his neck and ears when he caught Tash’s incredulous expression. ‘Where’s the harm? It’s not like I’m leaving love hearts everywhere like that other fucker did.’
‘It’s still a form of lying.’
‘Only if you get caught. And unlike Patrick, who clearly knows jack-shit about covering his tracks, I don’t intend to be caught.’
Tash threw up her hands. ‘So what am I meant to do about it?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
Thom nodded. ‘Nothing. Until after you get laid.’ He grinned. ‘Then you can go your hardest.’