Freezing cold ice-cream, Patrick decided as he stared at the ceiling with a sleeping Tash cradled under his arm, wasn’t quite as much fun as warm chocolate sauce, but Tash enjoyed it and that was all he cared about.
He smiled and kissed her hair and held his face there, breathing in her Tash-ness. She smelled of shampoo and vanilla and good things. And she was good. Good, kind, forgiving. Finding out she knew about Farmer Fred had been awkward. He’d felt about a foot tall, not to mention like a creepy stalker when she realised Fred wasn’t his only fake persona, but Tash had seemed okay with his explanation, a bit sad for him if the truth be told. Patrick hadn’t liked that much. He didn’t want her feeling sad for him. He wanted her to love him.
He closed his eyes and listened to her breathing and felt her sweet softness until his arm turned dead and he had to ease her onto her side. She made a whimpering noise of protest but soon settled down with his quiet ‘shhs’ and promises that he was still there.
Outside, the night grew older and colder but Patrick couldn’t sleep. His mind kept drifting to Tash and her plans for The Urban Ranger—whether she’d stay beyond her year, how he could make her see she belonged here. The fear she might not made him tense and restless. He wanted to hold her badly, in an embrace so close and tight she’d sense and absorb his need, and see that she couldn’t leave.
He rolled out of bed instead, pulled on his trunks and padded out into the living area. On the far side of the bench, Tash’s big camera loomed like a creature from War of the Worlds. His phone was on the sideboard next to his keys. Patrick snatched it up and wandered to the sliding door, peering outside as the phone came to life. He scrolled though his contacts until he found Maddy. Her last texts were still there. It had been months since he’d looked at them. Once, back in the early days after her accident, he’d read them two, three, ten times a day, seeking hope. Reminding himself of who she used to be, how much he’d loved her.
There were a dozen or so, sent from her at Springbank while he’d driven with his mates to Melbourne for the buck’s do. Stupid messages reminding him to behave himself and not drink too much, followed by his jokey replies that he had no intention of doing either. Maddy’s comebacks were confident, teasing, made from the safety of knowing how he felt about her. Then came the last few, true messages of love and caring.
Times that were now over.
His thumb hovered over the delete button. Anguish twisted his insides. He didn’t love her anymore, but she’d meant so much. Extinguishing the messages felt like he was extinguishing the last of her.
Lowering the phone, Patrick pressed his head against the cool glass of the sliding door. He needed to sort this, for Tash’s sake, if not his own.
‘Patrick?’
He jerked around. Tash was huddled in the doorway wearing his T-shirt, her hands clamped together against her belly. In the oversized top she looked like an uncertain little girl. An ache throbbed in his chest, demanding, desperate and deep. His love for Tash had penetrated his bones, his soul. Everywhere. The realisation made him blink and whisper ‘Jesus’ under a shuddery breath.
Tash made no move into the room. Even through the darkness he could see her worry.
‘Sorry,’ he said, smiling in a way he hoped was reassuring. He lifted his mobile. ‘Thought I heard the phone go off.’
‘Oh. Did it?’
‘Yeah. Stupid thing. Just some spam message.’
‘I hate those.’ She folded her arms across herself and rubbed her shoulders. ‘Come back to bed. You have footy tomorrow and I’m cold.’
‘I’ll just delete this, then I promise to cuddle you until you’re toasty again.’
She smiled and turned back into the room. Patrick watched until she’d gone. Then he lifted the phone and this time his thumb didn’t hover. It hit home, disappearing Maddy’s messages forever.
The weekend and following two weeks swept by, filled with laughter, sex, food, football, friends and family. Thrilled his son was happy and embracing life again, Patrick’s dad cut him some slack but Patrick’s fatigue and lack of concentration soon began to wear thin. Farming wasn’t a free ride, it was a business, and Patrick wasn’t just an employee now—he had his leased Springbank acreage to look after. Given how Grant had let it go, there was plenty Patrick needed to sort out but it was hard when his head was full of Tash.
Even when he did sleep in his own bed, the nights tended to be late. Missing Tash even though she was just down the road, Patrick took to lying in bed and messaging her as Farmer Fred, who had become very dirty-minded and forward in his familiarity. Tash played along. Used to writing fast and eloquently, it wasn’t long before she made Patrick’s erotic efforts look like the bumblings of an uneducated, oversexed idiot. Idiot or not he loved it, and from her cheeky grins and asides when they met up, so did Tash.
Patrick lost count of the number of times he went to sign off with ‘Love Patrick’ but he kept hoping she’d be the one to open that door. She never did though. Tash left multiple kisses and, once, a short video of her sitting in bed in a silky nightie, one strap falling sexily from her shoulder as she blew him a kiss, but no ‘Love Tash’.
He didn’t know what it meant, only that it bothered the shit out of him.
‘Guess what?’ said Tash as she dug her spoon into a serve of tiramisu and lifted it to Patrick’s mouth. Though it wasn’t yet 8 pm, they were in bed, having ended up there when a muck about over the dinner dishes had turned into something else. Hungry again after their exertions, Tash had scooted out for dessert and returned with a bowl of tiramisu to share.
He sucked the spoon clean and watched Tash’s mouth close around her own spoonful. Lately he’d spent entire afternoons thinking about that mouth. And mornings. Nights, too. ‘What?’
‘Thom and Ceci are coming for the weekend.’
Patrick took care to hide his dismay at the news. They were her friends, and it was selfish to want her to himself all the time, but he couldn’t help the fear that their time together might not last. It was dumb, not to mention weak, and he needed to man up. Easy to say, not so easy to do. Patrick had learned too well the preciousness of every moment.
She fed him another spoonful, outlining the weekend ahead as he ate. ‘They won’t get here until late on Friday but seeing as the Saints are at home, Saturday I thought we’d all go and watch you play footy, then Clip and Bec and whoever else wants to could come back here for pizza.’
‘Sounds good.’
She nodded. ‘I thought so.’ She sighed. ‘It’ll be good to see them. It feels like ages, especially with Ceci. Did I tell you she’s moved house?’ At Patrick’s ‘no’ Tash went on. ‘Thom’s devastated but her lease was up and Ceci thought it might be smart after what happened with Brandon.’
‘I thought Thom scared him off?’
‘He did. At least, he hasn’t shown his face again, but Ceci decided to move anyway. She’s found a unit a bit closer to work. Cheaper than the townhouse too, but still close to the tram line and some really cool restaurants. So all good.’
Patrick shook his head when Tash tried to feed him another mouthful. For some reason, he’d lost his appetite. He watched her finish it off and set the bowl aside, then she snuggled under his arm, resting her hand on his belly. Her fingers were cold from the bowl.
Patrick toyed with her hair. ‘You miss Melbourne.’
Her head lowered a little, hiding her face. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Are you any closer to deciding what you’re going to do?’
‘Sort of.’ She stretched her hand, splaying her fingers. He wished he could see her face but she kept it ducked.
Patrick swallowed, afraid of the answer, needing to know. ‘And?’
‘I don’t know. I’m trying to be rational, make a business decision, but it’s hard. I keep thinking I should wait until the cookbook is done and see what happens with the pre-orders. I should also get the shop up and running and have at least a few months’ worth of financials in hand too.’ She sighed, her fingers curling into a protective ball. ‘That all takes time though.’
‘You have plenty, don’t you?’
‘I guess so. It’s just that dithering means I lose opportunities, like the chance to get an orchard planted this year, that kind of thing. But there’s also the risk that I might be investing in infrastructure that ends up going to waste.’
He let silence fall for a while. ‘What about what you want, Tash? Surely that’s what matters most.’
She was quiet for such a long time he worried she was listening to the fear in his heart. ‘I want what’s good for The Urban Ranger.’
Patrick closed his eyes. Fuck The Urban Ranger. Fuck it to oblivion.
Except he couldn’t. Like her friends, it was hers and it was important. And that meant it mattered to him. Besides, being jealous of a business was stupid, even by his current standard of idiocy.
‘I’ll help,’ he said. ‘Whatever you need.’
‘Just keep doing what you’re doing.’
‘What? You mean like this?’ He had her rolled on her back in a flash, hands fluttering over all the places he’d discovered she loved to be touched as he kissed her. Her giggly struggles were more delicious than any dessert she could ever make for him.
His kiss turned languid and slow. Tash’s arm curled around his neck as he nuzzled her throat.
‘You’re a bad influence,’ she whispered.
‘Not me.’
‘Yes you.’
‘Oh, yeah? How?’ He moved his hand over her peaking nipple and gently tweaked it, wallowing in her groaned response. ‘Because of that?’
‘No.’
His hand slid lower. ‘Maybe that then?’
Tash arched beneath him, her upper body flushing with pleasure. The next ‘no’ came on a gasp.
‘Then what? Why am I such a bad influence?’ He continued his teases, his mouth close to her ear, his voice as breathless as hers. ‘Tell me.’
‘Because you make me want to stay forever.’