2 Emily
"I swear there weren't this many boxes when we packed," Ryan complained, wiping his sweaty forehead with the corner of his t-shirt.
"Of course there were," Zoe objected. "Boxes cannot multiply in the back of a van."
"There's only a couple more," Emily said, trying to reassure her tired and increasingly begrudging helpers. "Then we'll be done." She picked up a box marked 'Boots, Heeled' and marched it into the cottage.
She heard Ryan sigh behind her and knew he was hefting the last box of books from the back of the moving van. He might complain, but Ryan was one hell of a good brother. He'd never abandon her before the job was done.
Emily turned and saw Zoe coming up behind Ryan, holding a handful of garment bags high in the air so they didn't touch the ground. Zoe was Emily's sister-in-law, and much as she genuinely loved her and thought she was good for Ryan, Emily had to admit Zoe was weird. Ryan had told her that Zoe had grown up in a hippy commune in rural Sweden, and that was why she didn't seem to get pop culture references or technology, but it didn't explain why Zoe took everything so damn literally. Perhaps that was just a Scandinavian thing.
"Where should I put these?" Zoe asked her, holding up the garment bags as Emily set down the box of boots in what would hopefully soon start looking like her bedroom. "There is no wardrobe," she frowned.
"I still have to put the wardrobe together," Emily said, frowning at the box that was still very much a flat pack and not a wardrobe. "No built-ins here." She sighed. "Um, just chuck them over those boxes." Emily pointed to a tall stack of boxes piled in a corner.
Zoe gave her a bright smile, and carefully draped the garment bags over the box tower, crossing her arms in satisfaction.
"You know," Zoe said thoughtfully. "It would have been much faster to pack and unpack your possessions if Damien had been available to help. The timing of your break-up is most unfortunate."
"Thanks, Zoe," Emily said through gritted teeth. She knew that Zoe didn't mean to upset her by bringing up her newly minted ex-boyfriend. As far as Zoe was concerned, she had merely made a helpful observation. "The timing wasn't unfortunate. He decided I wasn't worth driving up to the Blue Mountains for every weekend. That's why we broke up."
"Very foolish of him," Zoe said, shaking her head as though she thought it didn't make sense. "I think you are worth a much longer drive. You are highly intelligent, kind, and extremely attractive. He was clearly unworthy of you if he made such a serious error of judgement."
And that? That was why Emily loved Zoe, even if she was weird. Zoe was never shy about saying exactly what she thought, and it made Emily's chest blaze with warmth to know that Zoe, at least, believed that those words were absolutely true.
"Thanks, Zoe," Emily said, pulling Zoe into a tight hug. Zoe was rigid for a moment but returned the hug once she realised what was required of her.
"Everything okay in here?" Ryan's voice broke the moment.
Emily pulled back, smiling. "You have a really great wife, Ryan," she said, looking on as Zoe took Ryan's hands, looking up at him with easy affection.
"That I do," Ryan said, putting an arm around Zoe and placing a kiss on the top of her blonde head. "And my sister's pretty cool as well." He grinned, and Emily poked her tongue out at him, just like she had done so many times growing up.
"Your sister is awesome," Emily corrected him, scrunching up her face. "Thanks for helping me, guys, I'm really grateful."
"I would have been happy to pay for, you know, real movers," Ryan said, leading them into the cosy living room with its rustic wooden floorboards, original fireplace, and chintzy floral curtains that Emily couldn't wait to rip down.
Emily sat down heavily on her plastic covered pink linen sofa, the one piece of furniture that was where it was supposed to be, and sighed.
"I could have paid for them myself," she said, a little defensively. She was hardly a tech millionaire like her brother, but she had a savings account she was proud of from her heyday as a social media influencer. "But I don't like movers. They're rude, and they're not careful with your stuff."
Ryan huffed out a breath. "Gotta be in control, huh?" he teased.
"Maybe just a little," Emily admitted, raising her eyebrows.
Ryan smiled and shook his head. "This is a nice place," he said, looking around the room. "And you've got your own yard. We'll have to bring the dogs up when we visit."
"Yes," Zoe said, nodding earnestly. "Misty and Hugo will be most eager to explore the range of new smells that your yard has to offer."
Emily snorted. "Rather them than me," she said. But she did like the little cottage she'd be calling home for at least the next year, aside from the chintzy curtains. The kitchen was tiny and old-fashioned, but the owner had, at least, renovated the bathroom sometime in the last decade. "It'll be strange, not sharing walls with other people," she mused.
"Country living," Ryan said. "It'll be a change for you, Em. Never really imagined you as a country girl."
"It's hardly the country," Emily objected. "I'm only two hours from Sydney, and this is, like, a small town." She paused for a moment. "It will be kind of weird, though. I don't reckon I'll be able to get a superfood smoothie bowl any time soon."
"Probably not," Ryan snorted. "It's nice around here, though. Quiet, serene."
"All the things I hate," Emily said, only half-joking. "But the job offer was too good to pass up, so here I am. Until I get something back in the city."
"Did I tell you I'm proud of you, Em?" Ryan said. "Because I am. First real job as a psychologist working with kids. Just like you always wanted. That's pretty cool."
"It is a great achievement," Zoe nodded. "Initially, I was somewhat concerned when you decided to complete your training to become a psychologist. I thought it would give you improper access to my thoughts. But," Zoe went on, smiling brightly. "It did not, and so I too am proud of your achievement."
Emily couldn't help laughing at that. "No one could get into your head, Zoe," she said with a grin. "Except maybe Ryan."
"Only because she lets me," Ryan said, squeezing Zoe's hand affectionately.
Emily couldn't help feeling a stab of envy as she looked at her brother and his wife. They were so happy together, so comfortable with each other. She had never felt like that with any of her boyfriends. Certainly not with Damien. She had only been seeing him a couple of months when she got the job offer in Mountain Glen, and he had informed her she wasn't worth the drive. Damien had been great on paper; good-looking, gainfully employed, knew all the cool brunch spots. But as much as her pride had been hurt by his rejection, she couldn't say she really missed him.
"We should get going," Ryan said, standing up suddenly. "Let you enjoy your new place in peace. Unless you need help with the flat packs?"
"I can do it myself," Emily said, with a lot more confidence than she felt. She wasn't exactly the master of the Allen key, but surely YouWatch could fill in the blanks on flat pack furniture construction.
"You sure?" Ryan pressed.
"I'm not incompetent, Ryan," Emily said, rolling her eyes. "I can make a damn wardrobe. There are instructions and everything."
"Didn't say you were incompetent," Ryan said mildly. "Just offering to help."
"I do not think I would be able to offer valuable help in putting together flat-pack furniture," Zoe said thoughtfully. "But I would have been content to watch."
Emily laughed. "Thanks, Zoe."
She walked them to the door, hugged them both, and promised to buy them lunch the next time she saw them. Ryan, of course, said it was unnecessary, but Zoe told her that she thought it would need to be a very expensive lunch to be worth the labour she had exerted.
Emily smiled as she watched them drive away, waving vigorously until they were out of sight. Then she closed the door and looked around at the piles of boxes, the haphazardly stacked furniture, and let out a deep sigh. She could start unpacking, or . . .
After quickly touching up her makeu
p and brushing the dust off her tight t-shirt, Emily was back on the front veranda of the little cottage, scouting for a perfect location. A trellis of roses was growing up one side of the house, and the ideal blend of light and shadow was calling to her like a beacon.
Emily whipped out her phone, positioned herself in front of the roses, and began to take snap after snap until she was satisfied with the outcome. She might not be a full-time influencer any more, but she couldn't deny the buzz she got from the likes, the hearts, the comments that rolled in every time she posted on PhotoGram.
Moving day was tough, but I'm loving my new digs, she captioned the photo, and after a moment, added a string of emojis. She took a breath and posted it. Almost immediately, the likes began to roll in. A rush of endorphins flooded through her, dopamine receptors in her brain lighting up like she had taken something illicit at a rave.
Emily wasn't stupid. She knew her need for validation from strangers online wasn't entirely healthy. If Emily had been her own psychologist, she would have gently suggested that they explore why she felt the need to get that external endorsement. She had told herself plenty of times that she'd give it up. And she had, for a day or two. But then something would happen - a disappointment at work, no return text from a guy, a painful reminder of the awkward teenager she had once been - and the siren call of those little hearts and thumbs up was too strong to ignore.
When Emily had taken a unit on addiction during university, she had identified far too many of the symptoms in herself when it came to PhotoGram. Right down to almost physical pain when she tried to resist the urge to use. But, she reasoned, she wasn't hurting anybody. It didn't cost her any money - in fact, at her peak, brands had been more than willing to pay her to pose with their products. It was a harmless addiction, she thought, like coffee or chocolate.
Emily shook her head and slipped her phone into her pocket. She had only delayed the inevitable for a short time. Those flat-packs weren't going to construct themselves.
✽✽✽
"Why won't you goddamn fit?" Emily cursed the plywood shelf she was holding as she tried, and failed, to slot it into her almost completed wardrobe. In the last three hours, she had gained a nasty cut on her hand from a stray screwdriver, two broken nails, and a whole new hatred for affordable Scandinavian furniture.
She threw down the shelf. "Screw this," she said out loud, stretching her tired muscles. Looking out through her chintzy curtains, she could see that it was almost sunset. The leaves of the Eucalyptus trees behind her yard were almost golden as light and shadow flickered across them. The outdoors was calling to her, and Emily figured she had earned a break.
There was a little track leading off into the dense bush at the end of her quiet street, and Emily felt like there was nothing she wanted more than to feel a cool breeze on her face, hear the crunch of leaves beneath her feet, and maybe grab a few quick photos of herself amongst the trees.
Her moving day outfit of a t-shirt and leggings would have to do, she decided. Usually, she'd ensure she was in colour-coordinated and flattering activewear, but that would mean opening more boxes, and she really didn't have the energy for that right now.
✽✽✽
It had gone from glorious sunset to increasingly dim twilight when Emily reached the lookout at the end of the track. She knew she should turn back soon. She didn't know her way around this area all that well, and she'd be damned if she got lost in the wilderness on her very first day living in Mountain Glen. She'd be a laughing stock before she ever started her new job.
But damn, she needed to take a few minutes to look at the view. It was incredible, the sun low over the mountains, and she could see the shadowy valley below her, all dense trees and scrubby bush. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she surveyed what kind of felt like her new kingdom. It was nothing like the inner city suburb she had left, but maybe living out in the sticks wouldn't be so bad if she could enjoy this kind of beauty every day. Shame it was too dark for a photo - it would have made an excellent post for PhotoGram.
A darting movement in the distance caught her eye, and she strained her eyes against the growing darkness, trying to make it out. A massive dark shape, moving through the trees. It seemed too big, just way too freaking big, to be any animal that could conceivably live here. It was moving quickly too, and it wasn't the characteristic bouncing gate of a kangaroo. What the hell was that thing? A cold shiver of fear ran down her back, and she suddenly felt horribly exposed and vulnerable. Just a young woman with nothing defend herself but a handful of house keys, alone in the growing darkness.
Emily swore out loud. There was nothing she hated more than feeling vulnerable. She shook her head, trying to master herself. The shape must be a kangaroo. They could get huge, and it wasn't like she was an expert on marsupial physiology. Maybe they moved like that sometimes. How would she know?
All the same, Emily began to make her way back down the path that led to her little cottage on its quiet street. She had explored more than enough for one night.
3 Dan
There wasn't much that made Dan smile these days. It wasn't as though he was trying to be a grumpy bastard; he simply didn't see much in the world that was worth smiling about. But the promise of a load of premium timber, all his, for free? That definitely put a grin on his face.
When Dan wasn't working or running through the wilderness as the jaguar, woodwork was his pet hobby. His first project was an extremely rickety side table that tended to spill anything he rested on it. But he had improved since then, and there was immense satisfaction in taking planks of wood and turning them into useful and beautiful things with nothing more than his bare hands.
Well, his bare hands and a shiny array of power tools. Auntie Tess would have been proud of the way he had chosen premium brands, even if she couldn't understand why he'd want to do something so messy and dirty. Why didn't he just buy furniture from a store, like a normal person?
Dan had seen an ad on a local buy, swap, and sell noticeboard offering a load of free timber to anyone willing to pick it up. The woman had said, somewhat bitterly, that it had been all her boyfriend had left behind when he had taken off with someone else. The guy might be a dirtbag, Dan thought, but the dirtbag had great taste in timber. He was sure he had spotted some Tasmanian Oak in the photo.
Dan had felt a rush of something almost like joy when he had been first to claim the timber, and now he was on his way to collect it, driving to a remote property beyond the outskirts of town. In his mind's eye, he could already see a pair of Adirondack chairs on his tiny porch. And maybe only one of those chairs would ever be occupied, but the thought gave him great satisfaction just the same.
Dan was so pleased by the promise of the timber that he was even singing along to the radio. He was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel like he didn't have a care in the world. The sun was shining, the whole day stretched out in front of him without any commitments, and damn if he wasn't in a good mood for once. Dan knew it wouldn't last, but he'd enjoy it while he could.
Maybe his good mood was responsible for his distraction. These back roads, only newly sealed, were notoriously full of suicidal wildlife: kangaroos, wallabies, the occasional feral goat. With Dan's better-than-human reflexes, he had never had a close call. He was glad not to have contributed to the roadkill he always saw when he drove out this way.
"Country road, take me home," Dan sang out loud. "To the place where I belong." He took a deep breath. "WEST VIRGINIA, mountain— FUCK!"
A kangaroo suddenly bounced out only a few metres ahead of him, right into the path of his pick-up truck. Dan slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching in protest, and missed the roo by a fraction. He had a brief, tiny, moment of relief before a deafening thud rocked his truck, slamming his body forward. It took him a second to process what had just happened. He turned around, dazed, and saw that yes, somebody had just rear-ended him on this deserted back road. He turned off the engine and threw open his door, ready
to give whoever it was a piece of his mind.
Dan didn't know what hit him first. The smell or the sight of the other driver. As he advanced towards the other car, a woman got out, her face contorted with fury. Before Dan could even think about what he was going to say, he was hit by her scent. New, exciting, intoxicating, and almost irresistibly desirable. The jaguar inside him growled, letting him know in no uncertain terms that his inner animal was very interested in this woman. Dan was so surprised by the sudden and overwhelming feeling that he just stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, as the woman advanced on him.
"What the hell was that?" she demanded, pointing her finger at him. "You just stopped out of nowhere!"
Dan came back to himself in an instant, rage flaring even as he noticed that, scent aside, the woman currently telling him off was gorgeous. She was petite, with curves in all the right places. Her long dark hair was pulled into a ponytail high on top of her head. She was frowning, and her dark eyes were flashing furiously as she advanced on him.
"Why were you so close on my ass?" Dan demanded. "There's no traffic, if you had been a reasonable distance behind me, then this never would have happened. Why didn't you brake in time?"
"I did!" the woman objected. "Excuse me for not having superhero reflexes, I did the best I could! Why the hell did you stop in the middle of the damn road like that?"
"There was a kangaroo," Dan said. "Came out of nowhere."
"A kangaroo," she repeated, shaking her head like she couldn't believe it. "I nearly died over a damn kangaroo?!" She turned, looking at her car. Dan could see that the front bumper was crushed, while the back of his pick-up truck had sustained nothing more than a scratch.
"I think that's a bit dramatic," Dan said, rolling his eyes. "If you had been paying more attention to the road—"
"So you think this is my fault?" she said, hands on her hips. Dan noticed then that she was wearing expensive-looking workout gear in a bright pink print. Her leggings clung to the curve of her ass, showing off her athletic figure. And that scent . . . He shook his head, he had to ignore it. He wasn't interested in her scent, he told the jaguar.
Witch Way Now: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Raising Hell Downunder Book 4) Page 30