by Siân James
Apparently, he'd also picked up some French along the way and seemed to revel in delighting Camille with his knowledge every chance he got.
“Tout est-il satisfaisant?” he continued.
“Oui, monsieur.”
“Cut it out, Romeo.” Tash swatted at him, and he held up his empty tray in defence.
“Hey! I’m just practicing, no one else in this town speaks French, and here I have a native speaker to correct my pronunciation.”
“Your pronunciation is superb, as you well know,” Camille offered, and an endearing blush appeared on his cheeks.
He cleared his throat. “Merci, mademoiselle.” Shifting his gaze to my notes on the table amongst the dirty plates and cups, he asked, “How’s the planning coming?”
I sighed. “Well, it’s early days but good, I hope.”
Camille took a sip of her coffee and shook her head. “Non, it’s not good—it’s stupendous. Izzie has had the keys for two days, and already she has had five quotes from tilers, carpenters and plumbers. We are promised the remaining quotes by the beginning of next week. Then we will make our choices and work will begin.” Camille finished with a flourish of one hand, making it seem as if I was doing magic, or maybe that was her.
“Brilliant. Well, let me know if you need any help with anything.” He gestured back to the pub behind him. “This place pretty much runs itself these days, and I'm great at painting.”
“Thanks, Jake. I will.”
He gave me a wink, collected our empty plates and left, passing Andy and Luke who were headed in our direction.
“Ladies.” Luke surveyed our table, brows raised at the early morning drinks while Andy pinched a piece of Tash’s toast. She swatted at his hand.
Andy was the male version of his sister. He had the same lean build as Tash, the same hazel eyes—brilliant green in the middle, merging into a soft light brown around the edges, and the same lithe wave of moving as if he were gliding through the air. Where Tash had let her voluminous, highlighted hair tumble mermaid-like down her back, Andy kept his unruly mop more-or-less contained so it was only in the summer that the ends curled and lightened and gave away the tell-tale sign of a life lived in the sun.
Luke, on the other hand, was fair-haired and brown-eyed. Not quite as tall as Andy, maybe just under six feet, his shoulders appearing slightly broader because of it.
Aside from being best mates since they met as four-year-olds in kindergarten, they also ran the very successful Cove Surf School and were set to open a surf shop which would debut their own surf brand, Cove Surf, as well as host a small café in the old cinema complex.
“I hear we’re going to be neighbors?” Luke jerked his chin at my plans strewn across the table.
“Yup!” I grinned.
“Congratulations. Let us know if you need any help with your set up,“ Andy added as Tash scoffed.
“What?” Andy bit out.
She gave him a withering look. “What do you know about setting up a florist?”
Andy grinned and shrugged, ignoring his sister’s tone. “Nothing. But we can pick heavy shit up and, uh—” His expression morphed into mock confusion as he turned to Luke.
“Put heavy shit down, uh—” Luke offered, matching Andy’s expression.
“In different places,” Andy finished triumphantly, and Tash whacked him in the stomach. They grinned at me, unrepentant.
Everyone in town knew Andy and Luke’s favourite thing to do was surf. Those closest to them knew their second favourite thing to do was mess with Tash.
“Thanks, guys, I’ll let you know. I’m sure I’ll have lots of heavy shit that’ll need picking up and putting down.”
“Teaching today?” Camille asked, referring to their surf school lessons.
“Yep.” Luke waggled his eye brows above his sunglasses. “Got a hens party coming in the next hour, so we’re off to get prepared.”
“Off you go, then.” Tash’s tone made Camille and I both swing our heads in her direction. “You wouldn’t want to be late,” she added sweetly.
“Too true, my good sister. Thank you for your consideration.” Andy stole a peck on the cheek from her. “Have a good day, ladies.”
Luke waved a good-bye, but I noticed his mouth remained in a firm, unhappy line when he looked at Tash.
When they’d left, I turned to her. “What was that about?”
Tash shrugged and took a bite of her fruit salad. “I just get sick of hearing them objectify women. They should know better.”
I caught Camille’s eye, her face saying the same thing I was thinking—Tash wasn’t telling the whole truth.
Camille sat back and surveyed me over her lowered sunglasses. “So, I have two important questions I must ask you.”
“Shoot.”
“The first is, are you absolutely sure this is what you want? You are now the owner of a successful online consulting business in which you are the sole employee and consultant, and a growing brick-and-mortar” business that is most likely only going to get bigger and busier. Do you not think it's time to step back from the consulting until the Little Flower Shop is up and running? You are magical, ma cherie, but you cannot do it all.”
I surveyed my friends over the rim of my mimosa, Camille looked intent while Tash’s two mimosas meant she couldn't hide the concern in her eyes.
I gave Camille's question due consideration. It was a too late now to back out of the contract for the Little Flower Shop, though there was a one week cooling off period written into the clause for both myself and the landlord to back out if we so desired, but aside from being all in, no way was I giving Matt the opportunity of even thinking I couldn't handle it.
Plus, I had a vision. If I could make it work, it would only give credence to my qualifications to run my online consulting business. The more people I helped with clarifying and streamlining their accounts, so they could plan and execute their business dreams, the more I realised how much I enjoyed helping them to consolidate not just their financial knowledge, but also their business plans and help them build successful careers in which they could work for themselves. It was the most rewarding thing I'd ever done.
Maybe, in due course I'd back off from the Little Flower Shop and focus my energies on AWT Consulting, but for the time being, I couldn't deny the clients I already had, and I wanted and needed the Little Flower Shop to work.
Plus, I really, really loved flowers.
“I understand your concern,” I said to Camille, “but I have a plan, and I know I can make it work. By the time I'm thirty, I think I'll be in a position to sell one or both of the businesses and start something else, or maybe sell one and grow the other.” I shrugged. “We'll see. I have a few other ideas for when that time comes.”
“Aren’t you the little entrepreneur?” Tash murmured over her coffee.
I rolled my eyes. We’d talked about my entrepreneurial bent or lack thereof. I knew it appeared I was into business start-ups, but I was passionate about the follow-through. I wasn’t in it to flip it and move on.
“Thirty? Ma cherie, that is, what five years away?”
“Four,“ Tash confirmed. “She's two years younger than me.”
Camille shook her head. “Regardless, it's wonderful you have a four-year plan, but what about living your life as well?”
I grinned at her. “What makes you think I'm not? I love what I'm doing. I have you guys, I surf—”
“Not very often,” Tash interjected with a raised brow, and I knew she was still sore I'd missed a few sessions when the waves were pumping the last few weeks. I'd been packing up a business and trying to keep on top of my online clients.
“I'm sorry. You know I'm up for a session tomorrow morning.”
She grimaced. “It's a mess out there for the next few weeks because that cyclone. Plus, rain is on the radar for the next month.”
I scrunched my nose. “Oh.” Messy waves meant being beached, which was never fun. Secretly I was more concerned the ra
in might hold up the renovations. I made a mental note to discuss possible rain delays with the contractors to find out if anyone could foresee any issues.
“You mistake my meaning.” Camille brought the conversation back to her thread. “What about love? A relationship? Since I have known you, you have been alone—”
“I'm not alone—”
“You have been alone in all this work you do. You push, push, push, and you work, work, work, but you have no one to share it with.” She reached across the table and took my hand. I could tell she was feeling her words deeply because her accent was getting thicker. “Ma cherie, we are ’ere for you always. We are so proud of you and all you achieve, as are your parents, and all the other friends you ’ave. But to ’ave someone special in your life—” She sighed in the way romantic people did when they're contemplating romance. ”To ’ave someone special in your life,” she repeated. “A joy shared is a joy multiplied. Life can only get better.”
I tried to smile in gratitude at her concern, but her words jarred. I knew a relationship was something most people aspired to, as did I, but just … not yet.
I had things to do. I wanted to achieve success independently of someone else. Relationships complicated things, made you forget your life goals, your friends, and in some cases—my mother for example—could derail your plans for the rest of your life.
Realistically, the right relationship would probably lead to conversations about things such as marriage and children, and statistically speaking, women almost always ended up surrendering their careers to care for their families while husbands continued in their work.
I knew enough of myself that while I'd find it a difficult balance to strike, I would want to spend more time with my hypothetical children than a full-time career would allow, especially while running a business. And at this point in my life, I didn't have the time or the inclination for such a sacrifice.
Even the thought of renouncing my goals in favour of someone else's made my stomach twist in anxiety.
I didn't get the impression that Camille, the forever romantic, had the same preconceptions, so I weighed my words before answering.
“I hear you, Camille, and I appreciate the sentiment. But in order to have a relationship, there needs to be a second person, and I'm missing that part of the equation at the moment.” As I spoke, the image of Matt Carter’s wary eyes popped into my head, making those strange flutterings appear low in my belly, and I faltered over the words.
This was not the first time this had happened.
Since I'd seen him two days ago, he'd entered my mind uninvited on many occasions. Mostly it was his disarming eyes bothering me when I least expected, but on occasion, I'd also found myself thinking about his deep, rumbly voice, wide shoulders and delicious bottom.
I know. I was a walking, talking romance novel cliché.
Yesterday, I'd seen him from a distance at the Old cinema. He'd been talking with Andy and Luke out the front of the building and across from my shop front, probably discussing the café and surf shop they were planning to open there.
Andy and Luke had called out in greeting while Matt had simply lifted his chin in acknowledgement of my presence. Cool, calm, professional.
I'd daydreamed about his chin lift while I cooked dinner last night. Weird.
This morning however, was a different story.
I had my headphones on, head down as I jogged back to our apartment complex. It was early, not yet seven, but being January and the middle of summer, there'd been lots of people out already to beat the heat.
Distracted as I was with thoughts of my imminent online consultation, as well as the contractors I needed to call for quotes for the shop's renovations, it was no wonder I didn't see him until I'd almost passed him by.
Whether he'd moved or not I wasn't sure, but something alerted me to his presence, standing beside his truck about five metres from where I was making my way up the path. I jumped and put my hand to my chest in the universal sign of fright, sending him an attempt at a glare, but I was pretty sure I was too embarrassed to pull it off.
It was wasted on Matt anyway because his eyes were doing a slow perusal of my body, starting with my legs and making their way up to my hips, waist, boobs and finally my face in a languid and blatant tour of appreciation.
This was decidedly not professional.
By the time his eyes reached mine, they were burning—a blue fire scorching through my feeble attempt at a barrier I'd constructed against my own growing attraction.
He was hot.
He was so hot I couldn't stop thinking about him.
There, I said it.
I reminded myself I could look but not touch, gave him a jaunty wave as if the last few moments of mutual lusting hadn't happened, and hightailed it up the stairs to my apartment where I took a cold shower.
“Well, I think there's a very obvious solution to that problem.” Tash's voice brought me back to the present.
“You do, do you?” Shit, I knew where this was going.
Camille nodded her head decisively. “Oui. Matthew.”
“Here we go.” I rolled my eyes and yanked my hand back, hoping to hide my reaction. It was one thing to fantasise but quite another for my friends to actually suggest the object of my fantasies as real relationship material. That was much too … real.
“Izzie you'd have to be an idiot not to notice the man is very, very interested,“ Tash added.
“He is not.” I pinched the skin of my thigh for my half lie. I couldn’t hide from the fact that he enjoyed looking at me. Whether he was interested in anything more was a different matter. “Besides, he's my landlord. It would be totally unprofessional for us to engage in any kind of relationship other than that of tenant and landlord.” When neither of them immediately responded I added, “Plus he doesn't even know me. And I don't know him.”
“Well, let him get to know you, ma cherie.” Camille rolled her eyes.
I pushed back from the table in irritation. Whether or not either of us were interested in the other, there were so many very good reasons why I would not go there. “I don't have time for a relationship,” I pointed out. “And besides, I heard he's only in town for a few months, and, as I mentioned, he's my landlord.”
Camille made a face at Tash, one I bet she hoped I wouldn't see. It said something like, For Christ’s sake, she's dense.
“What?” I cried.
Tash rolled her eyes. “We know he's only in town a few months. It’s a good way for you to get a little action without having to commit. He's a nice guy, a really nice guy. He wouldn't hurt you.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise. This was Emerald Cove, not Sex and the City. I pulled my chair into the table and leaned in to hiss at them, “You want me to have a fling?”
Camille's mask of concern relaxed into one of relief. “Oui, this is what we suggest.” She turned to Tash accusingly. “You said she wouldn't go for it if we said it bluntly.”
”She was right! I won't go for it! I can't just have a fling. Especially not with someone my business depends on,” I hissed. “Who even does that sort of thing?”
Camille blinked at me like I was adorable. “Ma cherie, you are asking me? You know I am French, oui? We invented the brève liaison.”
I turned my eyes on Tash, who held her hands up in defense. “You know I'm always in favour of a fling. I had one last September school holidays when I was in the Whitsundays for two weeks with a German backpacker, and it was glorious.”
She had. When she returned, I'd heard every sordid detail and seethed with envy.
I sighed in defeat. “You're assuming he's also interested in a fling. And I'll repeat, in a fling with me. Maybe he's just not good at being discrete when he checks women out. Some men suck at discrete ogling.”
Camille scoffed in exasperation, and I didn't blame her. I was being exasperating.
“Now you're just being obtuse.”
“Come on Izzie, at the very least you could
agree not to knock him back if he makes a move. A little loving ain't ever hurt nobody,“ Tash pleaded. “In fact, it'd help you relax a bit and lose some of your prudish attitude.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but her eyes dared me to make a case against her accusation, and I knew I couldn't.
She was right; I was a prude.
Elbows to the table I sank my face into my hands and moaned. How did this conversation get so out of my control? The truth was, I'd had my head down for so long, working on my businesses, and I thought I had it all handled. The proverbial duck gliding serenely over the pond while their little feet paddled like crazy underneath. Maybe I hadn't been hiding the frantic quality as well as I thought. Maybe I was more pigeon-esque.
I eyed my two closest friends and realised they only wanted the best for me, one aggravated and one beseeching, both on my behalf. Honestly, I was lucky I was to have them.
“Oh, all right.” I sighed and Camille's demeanour instantly changed to one of supremely satisfied triumph, while Tash bounced on her chair and clapped her hands. “I'm not agreeing to anything—”
“But?” Tash prompted.
“But if he makes a move, and that's a big if, I won't knock him back.”
And assuming he did make a move, they didn't need to know about it.
Chapter 5
“No worries, thanks anyway, Jim. I’m sure I can find someone to help. Bye.” I pushed the red button to end the call with my stepdad, whose ancient flatbed truck wouldn’t start for some reason. This was bad for me because he was supposed to pick me up and drive me to Lismore, an hour inland, to pick up the beautiful antique dressing table I was repurposing as a display table. I’d been looking for a while, and my contact at the antique store in Lismore had just sent me photos of the perfect vanity for a bargain price.
He’d already had a lot of interest and said he could only hold it for a few days for me. But I wanted to get it today.
“Shit.” I stared at my phone, wondering what to do.
It was the Wednesday after I’d had brunch with Camille and Tash. Tash had been busy with holiday projects of her own, but Camille and I had been hard at work negotiating contracts and directing contractors. Work had begun on the florist, and as I stood at the front doors, I could hear the clanging of metal and whirring of tools as the plumbers and electricians did their thing.