A Kiss For Carter

by Davina Stone

  “You’ll leave me some instructions?”

  “Ah, Jesus, you’ll work it out. It’s hardly rocket science.”

  There it was, his workload was going to triple next week. A host of frustrated small business owners expecting him to fix up the fact they’d kept three years of receipts in a shoebox and now the tax office was breathing down their neck. Somehow he’d cope. He always did. Ron might bend him, but he sure as fuck would not break him. “Not a problem. Anything else, Ron?”

  “Calling it a day already, are we?” Ron made a big deal of looking at his watch. “Off to that weird woo-woo stuff you get up to on a Friday?”

  “No, not tonight.” He’d made the mistake a few months back of telling Travis he did yoga and it had spread like wildfire round the office.

  Ron gave a snort of derision and returned to his computer screen. “Go on then, scarper.” Carts made for the door, “Oi, one more thing—”

  Fingers gripping the doorknob, he muttered, “Yes, Ron.” He knew what was coming.

  “Get a bloody haircut.”

  Carts shut the door just hard enough to send a clear message.

  Not that the old sod would notice.

  On the street he tried to breathe out the tension from his exchange with Ron and checked his phone. There was a text from Dan, distorted by his crazy-paving screen.

  Stop being a soft cock and come to the pub.

  Carts grinned. Since Aaron had left for an extended trip to Europe with Alice, and Carts had taken up yoga, the third member of their trio, Dan, regularly grumbled that the Friday night drinking tradition had ground to a halt. Despite his complaints, Carts knew Dan was happy enough to scull pints of Guinness and talk tackles with the guys from his rugby team.

  He contemplated a response along the lines of a hard cock, but immediately thought better of it. That would be disrespectful to Judith.

  He was thirty. Time to man up.

  He might even put his own swear jar in the kitchen at home; when he had kids, he wouldn’t want them to be lisping out bad language at kindy, would he?

  A sudden warm glow spread through his chest. He’d never hidden the fact he’d love to have kids in the not-too-distant future. That he wanted to marry and settle down. He had the house, but it needed a woman’s touch. And you could bet Judith’s would be tasteful. His eyes must have gone kind of dreamy because when his phone pinged with another message he had to blink to focus on the cracked screen.

  It was from Mum: I’ve decided to let Avery go. As long as you take her and pick her up at 10 sharp.

  He sent a thumbs-up emoji.

  A win. So why did he feel vaguely queasy? Had he done the right thing? After his talk with Avery yesterday, he’d spent an hour persuading Mum that it was a good idea to let her go to the party. That it was important for a girl of sixteen to fit in, to be part of the group. That giving a little would result in a gain in the long run. He’d reassured Mum that Avery still loved the flute and it was just a hang-up about French food. Mum had looked sceptical. “She didn’t mind eating a witchetty grub at the science expo your dad put on at her school.”

  Carts shrugged. “Bravado. Probably showing off to her mates that her dad’s a big wig science lecturer.”

  Mum grunted. Her onion chopping got fiercer. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

  “Not tonight. Got a big day tomorrow.”

  Mum cast him a dark look. “When are you going to get another job? That man’s a slave driver.”

  “He’s okay,” Carts said, avoiding her eyes while shunting on his jacket. She didn’t believe a word, of course, but he wanted to strut his stuff in front of the mirror, not get into another discussion about his self-worth.

  When he kissed her goodbye, she’d grudgingly said she’d think about the party issue.

  And now it had come down in Avery’s favour. She owed him big time.

  He checked his phone once more. No message from Judith, so presumably she wasn’t running late or standing him up.

  Then he messaged Dan back.

  Shanti, dude. Shanti.

  A bit of yoga speak would surely get up Dan’s nose.

  Not wanting to be early, he slowed his pace and regretted leaving his briefcase at work, because now he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He shoved them nonchalantly into his pants pockets and sauntered towards the river. He’d organised a fantastic restaurant on Elizabeth Quay. Spent a couple of lunch breaks this week checking the options out before booking, ensuring he found one with the right ambient lighting and seating arrangements, not to mention polite service. The woman who took his reservation had been delightful. These things mattered when you were courting.

  Courting. Jeesh, that sounded like a line out of one of the old-fashioned novels Alice used to read. And then he realised something. He wasn’t sad, he wasn’t envious.

  About Alice choosing Aaron over him.

  Because if she hadn’t, he would never have met Judith.

  She saw him first. You couldn’t miss the dark head bobbing several inches above the crowds on the busy Friday night precinct.

  She had the opportunity to study him before he spotted her. Sharp cheekbones, an expressive mouth, currently a little tight-lipped, his angular jaw made more rugged by a shadow of a beard. She liked the way he wore his hair almost touching his collar, how it hung rakishly over his eyes. It offset the fact that those eyes were officially the gentlest she’d ever seen. And a touch sad. If his hair was shorter, he’d look almost too vulnerable, like a lost boy out of Peter Pan.

  Suddenly he spotted her, quickly sweeping back his fringe with the back of his hand, and a little zing of heat swirled into her belly as those eyes lit up and his mouth shaped into a heart-stopping smile.

  When he got up close, she could really admire how much effort he’d made.

  “I love your tie.” She stared hard at the shell pattern as shyness threatened to overwhelm her.

  When her eyes flicked back to his face, the smile had turned gorgeously goofy and his cheeks were flushed. “Thanks. If I may say so, that’s a very pretty dress.”

  “Oh, you like it?”

  “I do. Give me a twirl. Er, if you like twirling, of course.”

  Judith laughed. “I’ll twirl for you if you twirl for me.”

  “Done.”

  He tucked his chin with a smirk and did a 360-degree turn, hands dug deep in his pockets. His shoulders looked fantastic in that jacket, she thought. When he turned to face her again his eyebrows lifted into his hairline in a way that made her giggle.

  “Score out of ten?” he asked.

  “Definitely a ten.”

  “Your turn now.”

  She shimmied her hips awkwardly, then twizzled on the spot, slightly lost her footing, and faced him again, feeling utterly stupid.

  But Carts was gazing at her so warmly that the feeling vanished, leaving nothing but the thud of her heart and a honeyed warmth thrumming in a place so long forgotten she’d thought it had grown over with briars and moss. “That’s a twelve,” he said.

  “Twelve!”

  “Yep. Twelve out of ten.”

  She laughed and Carts added, “The thing about being an accountant is you can break the rules.”

  “Well, I’ll happily take a twelve from the expert. It’s new,” she said, brushing nervous hands down the folds of her skirt. “I bought it yesterday.”

  “Me too. The suit. And the tie. To be honest, the tie was a gift. From Baz.”

  “Baz?”

  “The guy I bought the suit off. He threw in the tie.” His sharp bark of a laugh told her he was as nervous as she was. “Not that I was buying a new suit for any particular reason, of course.”

  She cast what she hoped came over as a flirtatious glance from under her lashes, saw him draw in a breath and knew she’d hit the mark. “Are you sure about that?” she asked, and wow, did her voice come out low and sultry.

  Carts gave a little cough and adjusted his tie. Her gaze sprang to his th
roat and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I think on that note we should probably go and grab our table,” he said huskily.

  As he stood back to let her go first, his height made her feel safe, and… petite. Mark was several centimetres shorter than her and it had always been a bone of contention. He’d insisted on her wearing flats, otherwise he said he felt like a kid out with his mum.

  The memory brought on the familiar droop to her spine. She straightened, but try as she might, she couldn’t quite get that sultry vibe back. Luckily a waiter swooped and showed them to their table.

  Judith sat down, put her bag on the floor, flicked her hair around her shoulders and found herself playing with a strand. Oh god, why couldn’t she just be calm and sophisticated? She tethered her hands tightly in her lap.

  By now Carts had removed his jacket and placed it carefully on the chair back and sat down opposite her. An awkward silence ensued while the waiter shook out their napkins, placed them on their laps, and then left them with the drinks menu.

  Carts frowned as his eye travelled up and down the page.

  “Do you prefer red or white?” He shot her a slightly panicked look. “Or we could go for a rosé… or even a sparkling?”

  “How about we get a bottle of the house white?” she suggested, and his face immediately relaxed.

  “Easy-peasy,” he agreed, and placed an arm on the table. His elbow knocked his water glass and he grabbed it quickly to stop it upending. Judith’s heart went out to him; long arms and small tables, she knew from personal experience, were a bad combination.

  When the waiter had taken their order and left, she drew in a deep breath.

  Carts did the same.

  “How was your day?” they both said in unison.

  After the first course Carts could feel his nervous system dialling down from flame-grilled to nicely marinated. Nothing at all to do with his twice-cooked lamb shank, excellent though it was, and everything to do with basking in Judith’s attention.

  After those awkward first moments, they’d talked with relative ease. If there was a brief moment of silence, Judith would say something, and he’d look at her and shake his head and say, “Oh my god, I was just about to ask you that.”

  He’d even managed to remove his tie, flip open the top two buttons of his shirt and bask in the glorious feeling of Judith’s gaze roaming to his neck. When he’d glanced at her she’d flicked her eyes away quickly. But he’d seen it, and it felt like a warm hug around his heart.

  By dessert they’d worked through why they’d chosen their careers—briefly, on his part, because he knew he was prone to yabbering on about himself. Besides, what was remotely interesting about choosing to be an accountant? Instead, he’d let Judith talk about how her love of people and the arts had combined in her dream job as an occupational therapist. And now they were onto siblings.

  “So, I’m the oldest, Luke’s the middle child and then Pippa’s the youngest. She was a kind of afterthought. And she’s really different from the rest of us.”

  “In what way?”

  “Rambunctious, I’d describe her as.”

  “Good word. What’s it mean exactly?” English never had been his strong suit at school.

  “I guess like it sounds. Energetic. Boisterous.”

  “Not at all like you then.” He softened his tone, gazed deeply into her eyes. Until a sliver of hair fell across his vision, and he had to flick it out of the way.

  “Should I take that as a compliment?” Judith asked, toying with a piece of chicken.

  “Absolutely.”

  She looked down, her cheeks pink. He hoped he wasn’t being too forward with the compliments; it would be awful to come over as a sleaze. Frankly, this whole dating business was a minefield of possible wrong moves.

  “Avery is a lot younger than you, isn’t she?” Judith said, smiling in a way that was definitely encouraging. Nevertheless, he was relieved at the subject change. He’d told Judith proudly about Avery’s music talent at one of their after-yoga chats a couple of weeks ago. Of course, he’d wanted to impress someone as artistic as Judith, but also, he was seriously proud of his little sis.

  “Yes, there’s fourteen years between us. Mum had some fertility problems, hence the big age gap. She’s sixteen.” He thought about the party problem and sighed.

  “Is something the matter?” Judith asked. Perceptive or what?

  “Oh just… things aren’t the best with her right now.”

  “Oh dear, why not?”

  “Teenage stuff. Giving my parents a bit of grief, that’s all.”

  “Can I ask why?” She was leaning her chin in her hands, her eyes full of genuine concern, and despite vowing he wasn’t going to talk too much about himself, the whole problem spilled out. “So now she’s threatening to give up the flute if Mum stops her going to this party, which is crazy because she’s so talented. She was on track to get accepted for a scholarship in Paris, but now I feel like she’s about to throw it all away.”

  “It’s probably just a phase; it’s normal for kids her age to experiment.”

  “Yeah, but I’m worried she’s out of her depth with this one. Avery’s not… how do I put this?” His lips thinned for a moment. “She’s not one of those kids who knows much about life and, erm, sex and stuff—bit of a late developer, I guess. She’s never worried about what she looks like until recently, then suddenly she pulls out this dress and it’s tiny and silver with sparkly things all over it, and, you know, kind of—” He gestured at an imaginary lowcut neckline. “And…” He stuck his leg out from under the table and made a slicing motion at the top of his thigh. “The hem’s, like, right up here…”

  He glanced up to see Judith frowning and folded his leg back under the table, feeling sheepish. “Sorry, am I sounding like a judgemental prick?”

  “No, you sound like a concerned older brother.”

  “D’you reckon I made a mistake talking Mum into letting her go?”

  “No, actually I don’t. When Pippa was fourteen she took a whole lot of risks, staying out late, not letting our parents know where she was, that kind of stuff. Mum and Dad had no idea what to do with her. So, they grounded her. Took away her phone, picked her up and dropped her at school every day. They were really strict.”

  “Did it work?”

  She shook her head. “No, it just made her more secretive. Unbeknown to any of us, Pip would climb down the tree next to her bedroom window at night. No-one could work out why she was so tired at school. Mum was convinced she had glandular fever. They took her to several doctors, but the tests were all negative. Then one night we got a call from the police to let us know she’d been caught spray painting hoardings with her gang. Luckily she was linked in with a school counsellor who was fantastic.” Her voice warmed. “She helped Pippa to find other outlets. For Pip it was sport. She still loves netball, plays twice a week with her team. Her energy just needed to be directed into something that wouldn’t stuff up her life. Now she’s a qualified sports physio.”

  “Wow!” Carts threw himself back in his chair. “That’s an amazing story.”

  “Yeah. Not that it happened overnight. Pippa pushed back—at Mum particularly. They’ve never really seen eye to eye.” She frowned, and he wished he could reach out and smooth the little crease away from her forehead. “The thing is, if my parents had allowed her to experiment a bit more… not been so rigid with the rules, maybe she wouldn’t have felt the need to rebel.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  “Perhaps Avery needs to try out new things to know what she really wants. I bet it will end up being her music.”

  “Maybe.” He paused. “Do you mind if I ask you something, like, personal?”

  She laid her knife and fork down neatly on her plate. “Of course, anything.”

  “Well—I mean at school, being quite, um, tall. As a girl. What was that like for you?”

  She took a slow sip of her wine, and he worried he’d brought back memories she didn�
��t want to talk about. “Avery is about your height, that’s why I ask. She’s terrified of growing any taller.”

  “I know how she feels.” A little grimace. “To be honest, school wasn’t great for me. I wasn’t in with the cool crowd or sporty. It would probably have helped if I’d been like Pippa in that regard. But I was the quiet skinny tall girl who loved hanging out in the art room and barely spoke. Not a great recipe for popularity. How about you?”

  Carts suppressed a grimace. “Horrible in my early teens. I had a massive growth spurt at thirteen and was mega skinny and nerdy. The perfect combo for being picked on. Then when I was fourteen, this super-cool, confident kid arrived at the school and for some reason took a shine to me. That’s my mate, Aaron, who’s in the UK, I think I may have mentioned him to you before.” She nodded. “Having him in my corner meant I wasn’t the weirdo they’d all labelled me as. Things got better after that. Can’t say I ever had a lot of friends, but I did okay.”

  “He sounds nice—Aaron.”

  “Yeah, he’s a great guy. Majorly conceited on the outside, especially about his hair, soft as a marshmallow on the inside. He’ll be back in about six weeks… You’ll meet him. Maybe.” No assumptions. No assumptions. Nor was he going to tell her how they’d both fallen for Alice. He did, however, mention how Alice worked in her mum’s shop, the Book Genie, because anyone who loved reading would know that ramshackle marvel of a second-hand book shop in Northbridge.

  Sure enough, Judith clasped her hands in front of her face and said, “Oh, I love that place. And Alice… straight brown hair and glasses, right? She was really helpful when I was looking for a book one time. She’s Polly’s best friend.” He nodded and she added, “Polly and I didn’t really become friends until Alice left Perth. I think Polly decided I’d do as a back-up.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re the nicest friend anyone could wish for.”

  “I—oh.” She shrugged. “I didn’t try very hard to make friends when I was younger. I’m close to Pippa, and being with Mark, I suppose I didn’t make a lot of effort.” She gave a little huff and placed her napkin next to her finished meal. “And that was a big mistake. You get to your late twenties and when things blow apart, you’re like… now what?”