‘She’s a sweetheart. When I first got her she would cower with her tail between her legs if she ever got near to a man. For her to have taken to you is a huge step forward.’
If it were Tori, Josh would joke it was purely because of his natural charisma and she would slap him down in a sisterly manner. Instead with Eloise he was serious. ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ he said. ‘Shall I throw her ball for her?’
‘Oh, my gosh, you’ve still got it in your hand. Is it horrible? I mean, covered in doggy slobber?’ She looked at him, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh at his dilemma. She was enchanting.
‘It is a tad on the damp side, but what do you expect from a well-loved dog ball?’ He didn’t think wiping his hand down the side of his trousers in disgust was the way to impress Ms Evans.
‘I’m glad you understand.’ Her lips curved into a smile that lit her blue eyes. ‘I’m sure Daisy would love you to throw her ball for her.’
Josh had grown up with dogs. He donated substantial sums to dog rescue organisations. But he didn’t want the responsibility of owning one himself. He never wanted to be tied down by anything or anyone. Not even a dog. Certainly not a woman. He’d been driven to prove himself to people who didn’t believe in him and that had left no room for emotional entanglements that might have hindered his race for his first million, then the next and the next.
Eloise handed him the launcher. He looked down at Daisy. ‘Do you want your ball?’ The dog yapped her assent, her eyes following the ball. Josh was determined to throw it as far and fast as he could. For the dog’s enjoyment, of course. Not just to impress Eloise with a testosterone-fuelled show of strength.
The ball flew across the width of the park and Daisy scampered after it. ‘She’s loving it,’ said Eloise, clapping her hands in enthusiasm. ‘I could never throw the ball that far.’
The little dog ran back, ball triumphantly in her mouth. She paused, her eyes going from Josh to her foster mother. Then she deposited it at Josh’s feet, sat and looked up at him. He felt curiously moved by the gesture. Eloise’s eyes were misty and her voice unsteady. ‘That’s really something. Thank you. I never thought she’d trust a man with her precious ball.’
He had to clear his throat. ‘Shall I throw it again?’
‘Please,’ she said.
Josh threw the ball and again the little dog brought it back to him. Only this time she came back via the muddy area around the doggy watering station. Her paws were dark with mud, and before Josh could stop her she jumped up and streaked mud on his biscuit-coloured linen trousers.
‘Daisy! No!’ Eloise took hold of her dog’s harness and gently tugged her down. ‘I’m sorry. She didn’t mean to make that mess,’ she said to Josh.
‘Of course she didn’t,’ he said. He patted Daisy to show there were no hard feelings. She smiled her doggy smile.
‘I hope she hasn’t ruined your trousers.’ Eloise had a small handbag crossed over her shoulder. She burrowed into it and pulled out a handful of tissues. ‘Take these. They’re clean. Might get the worst off. You can’t use a wet cloth on mud; water makes it worse.’
He took the tissues and wiped the surface dirt off his trousers. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s just mud.’
‘I know about fabrics. That’s very good linen. Mud can stain. Of course, I’ll pay for your trousers to be dry cleaned. Or replaced if you can’t get the stain out.’
‘There’s no need. Really. I have other trousers.’ He’d have them dry cleaned at the hotel. If the mud stained, he’d throw them out. It would be worth it for the story he’d tell Tori. She loved a good dog story.
‘I insist.’
‘I refuse.’
‘So we’ve reached an impasse,’ she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
‘It appears so,’ he said.
‘Can I at least buy you a coffee? Daisy and I usually go for coffee at a dog-friendly café further up in the park and we’re heading that way now. Would you like to join us?’
Josh didn’t hesitate. The dog had decided this course of action and this was a better way to make contact with Eloise than he could ever have engineered himself. Thank you, Daisy.
‘I’d like that very much,’ he said.
CHAPTER TWO
ELOISE WOULD NORMALLY never invite a man she’d just met in the park for a coffee. The words had just slipped out of her mouth, much to her own astonishment. However, strictly speaking, it was Daisy who had made the approach. Eloise could still hardly believe the little dog had displayed such trust in the tall American when she was normally so wary of men. It was a huge step forward in her rehabilitation. Dogs could be very good judges of character.
She looked up at the man. With his thick brown hair, lean face and hazel eyes he was strikingly handsome. Probably around her age, she figured. He’d been so kind to Daisy, a little survivor who was in such need of kindness. And he’d been so good about the mud on his very expensive-looking trousers when he was quite within his rights to be cranky. The least she could do was offer him a coffee. He was a stranger and she should be cautious but there was actually very little risk to her in doing so—she was a regular at the café and she could always find a table out in the open for Daisy or the other dogs she had fostered.
‘I’m glad you can join us. However, if you change your mind about letting me pay for your dry cleaning just say so.’
‘I won’t change my mind and I’m looking forward to the coffee. I’m Josh Taylor, by the way.’
‘Eloise Evans,’ she said. ‘And you’ve met Daisy, of course. Let me put her lead back on. The café is further down the park.’
They started to stroll along the waterfront path towards the café. She never tired of the sight of myriad yachts moored near the yacht club, the distant view of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. This was one of the most elite areas of the city.
Eloise appreciated the way Josh Taylor slowed his long stride to accommodate Daisy trotting happily along between them. This was a man who genuinely liked dogs.
‘You’re American. Do you live here? Or are you visiting Sydney?’
‘I’m visiting for a few days.’
‘Business or pleasure?’ she asked.
‘A business trip,’ he said. ‘Although it’s always a pleasure to visit Australia.’
‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You’re from Boston.’
‘Correct,’ he said. ‘I’m told we have a distinctive accent, although I don’t hear it myself, of course.’
‘My dad was from Boston,’ she said. ‘Your accent is like his. It’s nice to hear it again. Brings back happy memories.’
‘Was?’
‘He died thirteen years ago when I was fifteen. I adored him and still miss him.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She made a dismissive gesture. ‘It was a long time ago.’ She didn’t want a gloomy conversation, although her heart still spasmed with grief every time she thought about her father.
At the café, she and Josh were quickly shown to her favourite table outside, in the shade of an awning and near to the doggy water bowl. She noticed the little dog’s tail went down at the friendly male waiter’s greeting but wagged when Josh showed her attention. ‘You’ve certainly won her heart,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘Could be my magnetic personality, but she can probably sense I like dogs. My dog was my best friend when I was a kid. Sadly, I travel a lot and—like you—I’m not in a position to have my own dog right now.’
Daisy had taken a shine to Josh Taylor and Eloise found herself drawn to him too. In her experience it wasn’t often you got both outrageously handsome and personable in one man. These were only first impressions of course, and she couldn’t always trust them. But she could trust her dog’s instincts. ‘It gives me hope we can get her over her nervousness with men. Though she’ll probably d
o better rehomed with a woman.’
Josh looked into her face and she saw compassion in his hazel eyes. ‘It must be hard to let a foster dog go when you’ve put so much care into them.’
‘I fall in love with them every time. Saying goodbye is hard. But I have to force myself not to get too attached. The work I put into them helps them get a forever home, then frees me up to socialise another traumatised dog. Most of the dogs’ new owners keep in touch and send me photos.’ She reached down to pet Daisy, who sat between them.
‘She’s a lucky little dog to be cared for so well by a kind person like you.’
Eloise surprised herself by blushing. ‘Thank you.’
Their coffees arrived. An espresso for him, a cappuccino for her, and a ‘puppuccino’ for Daisy, served in a shot-sized paper cup. ‘It’s just frothed lactose-free milk, no harmful chocolate or caffeine,’ she explained.
‘What’s life without an occasional treat?’ Josh said, smiling.
‘I like your philosophy,’ she said with an answering smile.
She liked him. It was a long time since she’d felt so at ease in a man’s company. He was easy to chat to and she had no trouble opening up to strangers. It was one of the reasons her business did so well. Apart from the superb design, craftsmanship and sheer beauty of her couture wedding gowns, her clients also had a warm, friendly shopping experience. Eloise had a gift for drawing them out, particularly the shy brides, and to do that she had to sometimes share some of her own life.
‘You must be enjoying the glorious weather we’re having here,’ she said. ‘I imagine it’s getting chilly back in Boston now.’ Weather was always a safe topic for conversation.
‘Mild one day and back to winter the next. That’s typical. You said your dad came from Boston. Have you visited there?’
‘I was actually born in Boston,’ she said.
‘Really?’ he said.
‘I left there when I was eight years old.’
‘So you’re an Aussie now?’
‘I have dual citizenship. My mother is Australian and my father was American.’
‘Best of both worlds,’ he said.
‘I think of it that way.’
‘What brought your family back here?’
‘My dad used to joke it was the relatively mild winters we have in Sydney.’
‘I can see the appeal,’ he said. ‘Boston winters are bitterly cold.’
‘I remember.’ She pretended to shiver and wrapped her arms around herself, which made him smile. ‘But seriously, my mother got homesick. Her family was here. When he was alive we used to go “home” to Boston to visit my grandparents.’
She didn’t want to tell him that conflicting loyalties between Australia and the United States had put stresses on their family. Her grandparents had never forgiven her mother for taking her father away and she’d lost touch with them after he’d died. That was only part of it, though. The more painful truth was that they didn’t consider her their ‘real’ grandchild. Not when she was adopted and not her father’s ‘real’ child. Not that her father had thought that. Not at all. ‘My darling daughter,’ he’d used to call her. DD for short.
Which had made it all the more painful when she’d discovered, quite by accident, at age thirteen, that she was adopted. She’d needed a vaccination certificate for school and had burrowed through where she knew her parents kept the family medical records. And there it was, proof she’d been born to a Boston woman who had died when Eloise was two, and then adopted to the people she’d believed she’d been born to. There was a notation on the document that the family history of both parents was unknown.
She’d been too stricken by shock to move. Just stood there with the document in her hand for heaven knew how long. How hurt and angry she’d been, how betrayed she’d felt, how humiliated that everyone knew the secret of her birth but herself. When she’d confronted her parents she’d lashed out at them, too hurt to listen when they’d said they’d intended to tell her but had never found the right time. She’d screamed at them that she could never trust anyone again if she couldn’t trust them. Only their obvious devastation at her words had tempered her anger.
Her parents had worked hard to win her trust back, to seek forgiveness, to assure her everything they’d done had been out of love for her. Eventually they had won her around. She was so glad she’d forgiven them, as her beloved father had died two years later of an unexpected heart attack. But she sometimes felt she was like a cracked vase that had been repaired but was never quite the same. There was a weaker seam running along that crack that had left her with a nagging distrust because the people closest to her had lied to her—and conspired to make sure she was oblivious to it.
When their waiter asked if they wanted another coffee, Eloise looked to Josh. He nodded. ‘And another puppuccino for Daisy?’ he asked.
‘But of course,’ she said, smiling. She was glad she’d have some more time with this thoughtful man. ‘What line of business are you in?’ she asked, to change the subject from the personal.
‘Tech entrepreneur just about covers it. As a teenager I started developing apps and trading gaming codes and went from there.’
‘Clever you,’ she said.
So he was smart as well as handsome. He wore a very expensive watch and his jacket and trousers were tailor-made from Italian fabrics. She figured he was about her age, so she could add successful to the list of his attributes.
‘What about you?’ he said.
‘I’m a dress designer. Bridal wear mostly.’
‘Always a market for that, I guess,’ he said.
‘Indeed,’ she said.
But not for her. She made her living ensuring her clients’ dreams of fairy-tale weddings came true. However, she had no intention of walking up the aisle herself any time soon.
Once, she’d been idealistic about the concept of romance, of falling in love at first sight the way her parents had—the story of their meeting at summer school had become family mythology—but those illusions had long been shattered. Perhaps because she had gone into her early relationships too ready to fall in love, and got too easily hurt and disillusioned as a result. These days she seemed to attract controlling men who hid behind superficial charm. Just because her business was ‘girly’—their word—and she liked dressing in a feminine, vintage-inspired style didn’t mean she wanted to be submissive. She’d escaped a difficult relationship a year ago and wasn’t looking for another one.
‘My gowns are exclusive and unique. I say without boasting that I have a long waiting list. Women in the know put their names down as soon as they think there’s a chance of their guy proposing. Or their girl in the case of a same-sex couple.’
‘It sounds a romantic way to make a living.’
She laughed. ‘People often say that. Most of the time it is romantic and beautiful. To create an exquisite gown for a bride is a truly joyous thing. But have you heard the term Bridezilla?’
‘Yes,’ he said quickly. Too quickly. ‘I...uh...have a friend who works in catering in Boston. She knows all about demanding Bridezillas.’
Eloise wondered how serious the ‘friend’ was and noted that he didn’t wear a wedding band. It was just coffee, she reminded herself.
‘The stress of organising a wedding can bring out the worst in people. Dream weddings can turn into nightmares.’ She stopped herself. Okay, so she could get a touch cynical about happy-ever-afters that went wrong. But she would be wise to keep that level of detail to herself when she was chatting to a stranger.
Since she’d gone to Los Angeles and dressed the bride and eight attendants for the extravagant wedding of mega American pop star Roxee—the diva used only the one name—Eloise had been pestered for interviews. And learned how easy it was to be misquoted. She was very careful what she said now and never revealed anything confidential about a client.<
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‘Thankfully Bridezillas are the exception,’ she continued. ‘Most brides are awesome and it’s lovely to work with people at such a happy time of their lives. There’s nothing I love more than being invited to their weddings. I go to mush and cry my eyes out every time.’
‘Do you have a retail outlet? A factory?’ She noticed he kept the conversation business-focused, which she liked. No disparaging ‘girly’ comments here, which she appreciated.
‘Yes, to the store—no, to the factory. I have a storefront. In the window I display just one perfect dress that changes weekly. There are fitting rooms at that level. Upstairs is my atelier, which is a fancy name for a designer’s workroom. But the French sounds classier, doesn’t it?’ She’d learned the term during her internship at a Paris couture bridal house.
‘Branding is everything,’ he said seriously.
‘Eloise Evans Atelier works for me,’ she said lightly. Her last boyfriend had been pushing her towards marriage. And expected that she would change her surname to his and her business name to reflect the change. As if!
She had worked too hard to build up her business, to make sure it was hers and hers alone, and no one would be allowed to take it from her.
‘How long are you in Sydney?’ she asked.
‘Until tomorrow, then I fly to Melbourne,’ he said. ‘My time in Australia depends on how negotiations go with a start-up I want to buy.’ She understood he would be tight-lipped about the details of his business. It must be highly competitive.
‘I hope this lovely weather holds for the rest of your stay.’
The waiter came with their bill. In spite of the agreement that she would pay for the coffee, as he wouldn’t let her pay for his dry cleaning, Josh went to pay for it. Eloise insisted she should pay. ‘I invited you,’ she said. ‘Please.’
She didn’t like it when men high-handedly insisted on paying, as it too often became a ‘now you owe me’ situation. Another way of them trying to assert control over her independence that she fiercely resisted. Not that she thought that would be the case with Josh. She suspected it was purely good manners on his part. Thankfully, he graciously conceded.
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