Meet Me in the Middle (Wattle Valley, #2)

by Jacquie Underdown

  Pushing through the front door, breaths still heavy, she stopped by the kitchen for a drink of water. Empty coffee cups sat in the kitchen sink and Jager’s golf clubs, which he hadn’t moved from the corner of the dining room for the last month, were gone.

  ‘Good,’ she said. Not at all disappointed that she didn’t get to see Anders this morning before he left. ‘Good,’ she repeated as she headed to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

  Even after Neve’s reasoned resolution to keep things platonic with Anders, a part of her—her long-evolving human nature—had hoped for some acknowledgement from him that their leg-weakening, breath-stealing kiss had happened. But, during the week, Neve didn’t hear from him. He had obviously decided that their kiss meant little and that nothing further would eventuate. All for the best, really.

  Thankfully, she had to go to Melbourne on Monday for a make-up video collaboration with an influential YouTuber. She got to test the new make-up line from Lavish Beauty and had so much fun shooting the video.

  She stayed in the city a couple of nights because she was running a free two-day workshop—the second one she had held since her accident—for people with facial injuries, burns and scarring. She joined forces with a nurse who spoke about hygiene after operations and when it was okay to use make-up again, while Neve gave practical tutorials on how to best work with, and be creative around, facial injuries and scarring.

  Through her YouTube presence, she was able to gain donations and sponsors who offered sample cosmetic bags and helped cover the costs of each attendee’s make-up on the day. In the end, the only expense she had was her time and hotel accommodation.

  When back at home on Thursday, her calendar was free. She got her morning jog and housework out the way and settled in to use her free time to edit then upload the footage she captured during the workshop and create new content for her various social media platforms.

  What she really needed to do, though, was film a make-up tutorial video. Her fans expected content each fortnight, and she was already a couple of days behind because she was stumped coming up with a creative new make-up look she hadn’t done before or that wasn’t already doing the rounds on the internet.

  A knock came at the front door mid-afternoon. She was waiting on some make-up samples to arrive. If they got here today, then sampling and reviewing them would be a good direction for her video.

  Neve jumped from her chair and raced out to the lounge to answer the door. Her heart sped up when she found Anders standing on her doorstep. He smiled, and her breath caught in her throat because those dimples, lips and hazel eyes were everything.

  She smiled back. ‘Hi? Are … you here to see Jager?’

  Jager came up behind her then, and Anders’ eyes widened to find him at home. His farm management job usually had him out of the house by 5.30am, six days a week.

  ‘Come in,’ Jager said, opening the door wider.

  ‘I would, but I’ve got to get to the footy fields for Auskick. Wil came over last night with photos from the wedding and asked if I could drop Neve’s off to her. I didn’t realise you’d be home from work.’

  ‘A bloody migraine. I’m feeling a little better now, though.’

  A yearly migraine was something Jager had been having for as long as Neve could remember. He’d go down with it pretty fast, spend the day in a dark bedroom trying to sleep it off until he vomited. Then after more sleep, he’d rise again a little fatigued but as though it had never even happened.

  ‘I better let you rest up then.’ Anders passed a big yellow envelope to Neve. ‘I think you’ll like them.’

  She smiled, trying not to read anything more into this surprise visit than the explanation Anders gave. ‘Great. Thanks for dropping them over.’

  ‘No worries. Have a good afternoon. I’ll see you both later.’

  Jager closed the door and nodded towards the envelope. ‘Let’s have a look.’

  She opened it, slid out the photos.

  The first one was a group shot of the entire bridal party dressed in their vintage clothes, the backdrop of the rolling green paddocks behind them. They were all laughing hard, some leaning over, others with their heads tilted back, hands on stomachs. Emily was almost crying with laughter, head on Wil’s shoulder, hand on his chest. Wil’s mouth was wide with a grin as he looked at his bride.

  Neve handed it to Jager to see.

  The next photo was of the bridesmaids with Emily outside the church, each holding their bouquets and standing in a line.

  The last one was of her and Anders on the horse. A Catch Me a Cowboy logo was printed in the bottom left corner. Neve was gazing up at Anders and he was peering down at her. His expression of honest affection reached into her chest and squeezed her heart.

  She drew herself up straighter, trying to hide the way this photo was affecting her and handed it to Jager.

  Jager looked at the photo for a long moment, then back to her. He tapped it with his finger. ‘That’s a really nice photo.’ A hint of curiosity lingered in the background of his words. He opened his mouth, but he shook his head instead of speaking and smiled.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Jager handed the images back. ‘I’m going to head back to bed for a while. Just until I kick this headache completely.’

  She nodded. ‘Sure thing.’

  Back in her studio with the door closed, she laid the photos out in front of her. Her attention kept being pulled to the image of her and Anders on the horse. She considered every part of that photo, from the way his hand intimately held her waist, and how her body fit so well against his big, broad chest.

  What she couldn’t ignore was her own expression. She remembered being completely present in that moment—her true and honest self. That look on her face had to be real. And what that look said, spoke so much about what she hadn’t been willing to admit: she was attracted to Anders, big time.

  She collected the photos quickly and slid them back into the envelope. Here she was meant to be working and, instead, she was ogling a man who could never be anything more than a friend.

  For the next hour, she distracted herself by creating catchy images and posting them onto Twitter and Instagram. Her edited footage from the workshop finished uploading and went live on her YouTube channel.

  As usual, when she released new content across her platforms, her notifications went crazy. But what she hadn’t expected to see was an Instagram notification from Anders—they weren’t following each other on any social media.

  He had liked a photo … from eighteen months ago. She rolled her head back and laughed. He had obviously been trawling through her account and accidentally tapped the photo, which automatically sent a notification to her. She giggled again. The old photo was from a rural mental-health fundraiser. She was dressed in a long, sleek, tightfitting red gown.

  She typed out a text and sent it to him.

  NEVE: I noticed you liked one of my Instagram photos. You weren’t Instastalking me, were you?

  She shouldn’t tease him, but this was too much fun to ignore.

  ANDERS: Merely ‘Insta-curious’ about your work.

  She laughed at his unconvincing excuse. He was totally busted. Without a doubt, he had been stalking her account.

  NEVE: You could always ask and I’d gladly show you in person what I do for a living.

  Cheeky, yes, but she was curious how he would respond to that.

  ANDERS: When can you squeeze me into your schedule?

  She stared at the screen, excited flutters in her belly.

  NEVE: Tomorrow morning at about ten?

  Surely if he was playing her, he’d reveal his cards now.

  ANDERS: Looking forward to it.

  She leant back in her chair, eyes closed, and pressed her phone to her chest. It dinged again.

  ANDERS: Did you like the wedding photos?

  NEVE: Loved them.

  ANDERS: Me too. I thought they were beautiful.

  Her heart stuttered and her lips cur
led into a wide grin. Deep breaths, Neve. Don’t go making this a bigger deal than it really is.

  NEVE: We are talking about the photos on my Instagram account, right? ;)

  An Instagram notification dinged. From Anders. A picture of her from October last year where she had used make-up to turn her face into an old, haggard witch. It was a horrendous look, but perfect for Halloween.

  She burst out laughing.

  ANDERS: Both. But maybe the wedding photos a little more.

  Again her heart fluttered. Until another message came through.

  ANDERS: Because I was in those too. And, you know, I didn’t earn the nickname Supermodel for nothing.

  Another laugh filled the otherwise silent room. How to reply to that? She started typing only to delete her text at least five times until she decided on:

  NEVE: The angle obviously worked well for you.

  Her body grew hot with regret. Why bring up the arrogant photographer and producer’s stupid behaviour again? And why do it in such a way that would make Anders need to defend his previous text?

  Was she fishing for compliments? For reassurances? Or maybe, and this was most likely, she was trying to sabotage this light-hearted, flirty moment between them.

  His reply dinged. Her stomach lurched. She inhaled deeply before she read the text.

  ANDERS: All jokes aside, I loved those photos. Because you made them beautiful. No matter what angle the dickwad photographer took them.

  She released a long sigh, a sigh that spoke of how much she had needed him to say that and how much she hated herself for needing to hear that from him.

  NEVE: I’ll see you tomorrow.

  ANDERS: Looking forward to it.

  ***

  All of Neve’s flirtatious prowess flew right out the window when Anders arrived the next morning well after Jager left for work.

  Anders stood tall and broad in her doorway dressed in a pair of jeans and a stylish navy-blue knitted jumper. His eyes flashed in the morning sunlight that was a haze behind him. A thick spattering of dark stubble covered his jaw and upper lip.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said in his deep voice.

  ‘Good morning. Come in.’

  Since waking, Neve had spent the morning convincing herself that there was no ulterior motive to inviting Anders over today other than to show him her work. Exactly as he had requested. Her sole motivation was to appease his curiosity.

  Deep down, she knew the real reason. The same reason she texted him yesterday to tease him about trawling through her social media pictures. The same reason she let him kiss her last Saturday night. Her heart flourished with the answer, but her mind was many paces behind and not ready to play catch-up.

  He stepped through the door. When they were this close and she had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes, she realised how tall he was compared to her. How easy it would be for him to lift her into his strong arms …

  ‘Coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not about to say no to caffeine.’

  Her giggle was too high-pitched. She was nervous, which was silly. She had made coffee, dinner, you name it, for Anders over the years, many times, and spent countless occasions with him.

  But Neve had come to understand the only time she was ever nervous was when she was trying to prove that she was something other than who she truly was. Fear of letting the act slip was what triggered the nerves.

  The solution was simple—be herself. But that was difficult to do when she was suppressing how she felt about this man.

  Anders followed her into the kitchen and stood at the bench—a towering form in this small space. His presence made everything else diminutive in comparison.

  ‘No migraines for Jager today?’ he asked.

  She read between the lines: are we alone?

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘He came good early yesterday evening.’

  ‘Good to hear. So how has your week been?’ he asked, as she ensured the coffee machine was stocked with richly aromatic coffee beans and water. Again, it was what he wasn’t saying that she heard: How do you feel about our kiss?

  She didn’t know why people tiptoed around the real subject, but it was human nature. She could come out now and directly confront him about that night, but she was just as guilty of side-stepping the real issues too.

  ‘I had the best week.’ She told him about her annual workshop she ran and all the amazing people she helped.

  ‘That must be really rewarding,’ he said.

  ‘It is. And sad too. Many of these people have experienced a lot of trauma. Some have been disfigured in domestic violence situations, house fires or glassing incidents at clubs. And it’s like these scars are constant reminders of it. It’s tough sometimes, but I like that I can help them in this small way I know how.’

  Sure, there was a large portion of the population who disagreed with her—evident from the trolls who left comments on her social media. They believed she thought people were ashamed of their differences and that she promoted they hide behind a mask or pretend the facial disfigurements didn’t exist. If that was their opinion, she wasn’t about to argue because everyone had their own path to tread. All she knew was that it was her love for the art of make-up that got her through what was one of the most difficult times in her life.

  When you could never be considered normal and were constantly given reminders—by stares or comments or questions—it was lovely to participate in normal activities like applying a beautiful face of make-up each morning.

  She should not be barred from that because her canvas was different. And she shouldn’t be told she was doing it to hide.

  ‘I think it’s great. If it makes people happy, there’s no harm in that.’

  She smiled. ‘Exactly. So what I’m going to show you today is how I earn a little extra money outside of my make-up artistry business and how I fund my workshops.’ She set the machine to grind enough coffee beans for two espressos.

  ‘I always knew what you did—I mean, you talk about it and Jager mentions it from time to time—but I’ve never known exactly how you operate it. Your Instagram account is incredible. I see why you call yourself an artist. You’re like an entirely different person by the end of your tutorials. Such vibrant colours and looks.’

  She nodded, a smile on her face. ‘I love it for that exact reason. Body art has existed for millennia in so many different cultures.’ She poured milk into a small metal jug and began frothing it. ‘People have always been into it. Look at how many people have tattoos and piercings. Fashion is enormous. Not many people dress for purely practical purposes—it’s about expressing and presenting yourself in a certain way.’

  ‘I’ve never looked at it that way before.’

  She shrugged. ‘No different to make-up. Except people argue that it’s all about this suppression of women by imposing unobtainable beauty standards. And I get that, but that’s not what I’m about at all. For me, it’s about appreciating what you have and looking good for you—so you can go out into the world confident and happy.’

  The milk was to temperature, so she turned off the steamer and poured the hot milk into the expressos. The scent of fresh coffee filled the kitchen.

  ‘That’s an honourable approach.’

  ‘I think so.’ She pushed Anders’ mug towards him. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Come on, now that we have our caffeine hit, let me give you the tour.’

  Chapter 12

  Anders held the hot mug of coffee between his hands as Neve led him down the hall to her studio. He’d been in this house countless times and always smelled the soft-scented cosmetics that drifted down the hall and seen, in passing, what was inside Neve’s studio, but he never gave it much attention.

  She gestured with a wide sweep of her arm that he head inside. He stepped into the room and his eyes darted all around, to the camera, the lighting, the big screen hanging on the wall. But his focus was pulled to the long desk jam-packed
with more make-up than he had ever seen other than in a big department store.

  ‘Wow,’ he said, eyes wide, as he took it all in.

  ‘Take a seat,’ she said, gesturing to the chair seated at the desk, the camera focused upon it. He did so as she put her coffee down and shuffled behind the camera, adjusting the height and a few other knobs.

  She flicked on the laptop and he could see himself in the monitor. He looked away immediately. After being harassed endlessly in his late teens about his appearance, he had trained himself to never show attention to how he looked in front of others unless in a joking or self-deprecating way.

  ‘The camera likes you,’ she said and flicked on the lighting. She dragged a spare chair over beside him. ‘This is where I record all my videos. I do all my own editing, which is probably the most boring and time consuming part. Sometimes I get sick of hearing myself and wish I earnt enough to pay someone to do it for me. Fingers crossed, one day that will be a reality.’

  ‘That’s a goal for you? More so than your business?’

  She nodded. ‘For sure. It never used to be. It was always a hobby that I did in my spare time. Hardly anyone watched my videos, but I had a small, dedicated following. I wasn’t making any money back then. After my accident, I gave up on it completely. You have to bare all of yourself online, so it took me a while to feel safe enough again to make another video.’

  He arched a brow. ‘Safe enough?’

  ‘The internet can be full of some really nasty people, and I was battling my own demons, I didn’t need them adding to the pile.’

  He shook his head, rumblings of anger making his muscles tic. ‘Seriously? I don’t know why you’d bother dealing with that.’

  She gave a sad smile. ‘For a good twelve months, that’s exactly what I did. But I missed it. And then I thought, why can’t I be a part of something that I enjoy because I no longer look like all the other people on YouTube? So, I decided to be myself, be honest about what happened to me, show my face completely bare, and make videos about being confident enough to be your true self even if you’re outside what society perceives as normal. The response was so surprising. My subscriber numbers climbed and continue to climb. I began to see this as a real career possibility.’