“Guess what I learned at school today?”
“How to tame a dragon?” Angie asked.
“No.”
“How to burp the alphabet?”
“No one can do that.”
“Wanna bet?” Angie said.
“I learned how to do a cartwheel. A proper one, not just a handstand.”
“Wow. That’s pretty cool.”
“Look,” Eva said.
She raised her hands over her head, ready to throw herself at the floor.
“Whoa there. No cartwheels inside, please,” Michael said.
“Da-aaad.”
“There’s a perfectly good lawn outside. Show Auntie Angie your circus tricks out there.”
“They’re not circus tricks. They’re gymnastics,” Eva said with great dignity. “Come on, Auntie Angie.”
Eva took her hand and tugged until Angie followed her to the sliding door and out onto the deck. Angie looked doubtfully at the overly long grass.
“Might be a bit wet, sweetie.”
“I don’t care. Watch!”
Angie suppressed a smile as Eva bounced down the steps like Tigger.
“Okay. Here I go.” Eva hurled herself forward, hands hitting the ground, feet making a wonky, off-balance arc in the sky. She landed and looked at Angie expectantly, her face flushed, her eyes bright.
“Look at you go! That was fantastic.”
It was enough to set Eva off again. Each time she completed a cartwheel, she looked to Angie for approval, her small face expectant. Angie showered her with praise and Eva redoubled her efforts.
Angie sipped her wine and laughed at her antics, her gaze drifting around the yard. It occurred to her that she hadn’t been out here since the day Billie had died. The lawn needed mowing, and leaves were piled high beneath the two oak trees in the far corner. The bare wood of Billie’s studio was weather-stained, the glass and wood door faded to a silvery gray.
Angie considered the small wooden structure. She hesitated a moment, then crossed the deck and peered through the grubby glass.
The space was as she remembered it—concrete floor, bare plaster walls, exposed wooden beams overhead. The boxes containing Billie’s pottery wheel and other ceramics supplies were piled in a corner, unopened and untouched. Angie remembered her friend’s intense and sudden passion for all things ceramic. Like so many of Billie’s crazes, it probably wouldn’t have lasted, but that was beside the point.
After a few seconds she walked toward the house. Eva continued to whirl through the air, her skirt up around her ears, underwear shamelessly on display.
“Did you ever get the electricity connected to the studio?” Angie asked as she entered the kitchen.
Michael was taking the pizzas out of the oven. “No. Why?”
She watched as realization dawned. He wiped his hands on a tea towel before crossing to the door. They both considered the studio.
“Would it be weird for you?” Angie asked after a moment. After all, this was Billie’s studio.
“Someone should use it. It’s not doing anything for anyone the way it is. The question is, is it big enough for you?”
“Absolutely. And it’s well ventilated. At least, it will be if I keep the windows open.”
“What about being near your suppliers?”
“I’ll just have to be more organized. The important thing is that I could pick Eva up from school three days a week, no worries.”
Which would leave Michael to collect Charlie from day care on his way home from the office. The perfect tag-team arrangement.
Michael frowned. She could almost hear the internal debate he was having. Pride versus need, his sense of fairness versus practicality.
“Just say yes. It’s a perfect win-win and you know it,” she said with a grin.
He met her gaze. “It has to work for both of us. This can’t be a roundabout way of you doing me a favor.”
He looked very serious standing there, his dark hair touched with gold by the dying sun. She fought the urge to reach out and ruffle the strands like a little boy’s to get a rise out of him and loosen him up. This was a great idea. The best she’d had in ages.
“I wouldn’t have even brought it up if I didn’t think it could work.”
He contemplated the studio again. “I’ll need a couple of weeks to get it ready for you.”
“Oh, good decision, Mr. Robinson. Excellent decision.” She clapped her hands together, delighted.
Finally Michael smiled.
CHAPTER FIVE
ANGIE UNPACKED THE LAST of her sanding disks onto the workbench, setting them in a neat row between the polishing mops and drill bits. Satisfied everything was in its rightful place, she turned to survey her new studio.
In the three weeks since they’d struck the deal, the walls had been painted a crisp, warm white, and Michael had installed a bank of lighting overhead. Her equipment had been moved in and set up over the past two days and her gaze slid over familiar things made strange by the unfamiliar setting.
For the first time she admitted that it would take a while to get used to the new space. Not only because it was all so nice, but also because it had been intended to be Billie’s studio, her secret hidey-hole where she could be creative. Gripped with a momentary sadness, Angie moved to the window, looking out to the green of the backyard.
That was something else she’d have to get used to—instead of the teeming city and the hum of traffic and the clang of trams passing, she had grass and trees and could hear nothing but silence and the occasional dog barking or bird calling.
All in all, it was a huge shift—and not just for her, either. Michael’s car had been gone when she arrived this morning, even though it was a Thursday which meant he should be working from home. She’d guessed he was dropping Eva at school and let herself into first the house, then studio. It had felt strange making free with his home, but one of the things they had discussed while hammering out the details of the arrangement was the fact that she needed access to the kitchen and bathroom. At the time, Michael had seemed supremely comfortable with the notion of having his home invaded, but Angie couldn’t help wondering how the reality would feel for him. She wasn’t sure how she would cope with having a stranger encroach on her personal space—but then maybe she was more of hermit crab than Michael. He’d lived with Billie, after all, and had two small people who invaded his personal space every chance they got.
Satisfied she was as set up as she was ever going to be, Angie crossed to her safe and pulled out the job bag for Dr. Mathews. A successful dermatologist, he was planning to propose to his live-in girlfriend and wanted the engagement ring to be both personal and spectacular. He’d selected a stunning princess-cut Australian sapphire in an unusual green-gold hue to be the centerpiece of the design—now Angie had to decide what, exactly, that design would be.
She sat at her table, pencil in hand. After contemplating the diamond, she started to sketch. An hour later, she eased the crick in her neck, stood and arched her back. She grabbed a mug from the sideboard and headed into the house to make coffee and get a little perspective.
She was spooning grounds into the French press, lost in thought, when a deep voice sounded behind her.
“How’s it going?”
She whirled to face Michael. “Bloody hell! You scared the bejesus out of me.”
His mouth quirked at the corner and she guessed she’d amused him. “Sorry. No shoes.”
She saw that his feet were bare yet again. True to form, he was also wearing faded denim, but instead of his usual sweatshirt he had on a wrinkled white shirt.
“What is it with you and the no-shoes thing?”
“Don’t know. I’ve never really liked them, ever since I was a kid.”
“Heathen.” She lifted her mug. “Want one?”
“Sure. Why not? It’s better than staring at the Watsons’ beach house for another hour.”
“Problems?”
“Just the usual. They have about ten different ideas and styles they want incorporated into one building, yet they still want it to be coherent, clean and modern.”
“Bah, clients. Who needs ’em?”
He smiled. “Yeah. If only we could build houses without them.”
“If only.”
She passed him a cup and they sat on adjacent stools.
“How about you? How are you finding things?”
“It’s been three hours, but so far so good.”
“Let me know if there’s enough light because I can talk to the electrician again.”
“Michael. It’s so bright in there I almost need sunglasses.”
“If it’s too bright, we can do something about that, too.”
“It’s perfect. Relax. I’m a very happy freeloader.”
He frowned. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”
“I wish you’d let me pay rent.”
“You can pay rent if I can pay you for helping with Eva after school.”
“You know I can’t let you do that.”
“Then you can’t pay rent.” There was a smile lurking in Michael’s gray-green eyes as he waited for her response.
It hit her that he’d been lighter, less grim since starting work.
“You want a cookie? I hid some Tim-Tams from the kids the other day.”
“As if I’m going to say no to a Tim-Tam.” Chocolate on chocolate with a chocolate filling, they were practically an Australian icon.
He went to rummage in the pantry. She watched as he reached for the highest shelf, the movement tightening his shirt over the muscles of his shoulders and back.
“You realize Eva is only four foot tall, right?”
“You think the top shelf was overkill?”
She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a little.”
He dropped the Tim-Tams in front of her. “You can never be too careful with the good stuff.”
“True.”
She tore open the package and offered him a cookie before taking one herself. She immediately bit off both ends then dunked the exposed parts in her coffee.
“You’re a dunker. I never knew that about you,” Michael said.
“Isn’t everyone when it comes to Tim-Tams?”
“I’m not a fan of the dunk.”
Angie blinked, genuinely surprised. “Really? How can you not enjoy a dunk?”
“I don’t like it when the biscuit gets all soggy and waterlogged.”
“But that’s the best part!”
Michael laughed. “There’s no need to look so outraged.”
“I feel outraged. Next thing you’re going to tell me you don’t like The Sound of Music.”
“I can take it or leave it.”
“Get out of here.”
He laughed again. He looked so carefree, so much like his old self that she felt a warm sense of achievement.
She wanted him to be happy.
The thought had barely registered when she became aware of two things in rapid succession. The first was that his shoulder was solid and warm against her own, their upper arms touching.
And the second was that they were completely alone in the house.
A strange heat raced down her spine and spread throughout her body. It was the third time it had happened now and she recognized it for what it was straight away—sexual awareness.
Or, more accurately, sexual attraction.
I am not attracted to Michael. No way.
The denial was instant, a knee-jerk response. She shifted on her stool, moving away so that they were no longer touching. The feeling remained. She frowned, shifting her coffee mug unnecessarily on the counter.
“You know what I’ve always wanted to try? The straw thing. You ever done that?” Michael asked.
“Um, I don’t think so.”
“Guess there’s no time like the present.” He bit off both ends of his cookie then stuck one end in his mug. His cheeks hollowed as he attempted to suck coffee through the center of the cookie.
Even though she was more than a little alarmed and unsettled by her reaction to his closeness, she couldn’t help laughing as the makeshift straw dissolved in his fingers and crumbled.
“Now that’s what I call waterlogged,” she said.
Michael stared into his mug for a second before shrugging. “You win some, you lose some.”
He had melted chocolate on his fingers and he licked it off as unconsciously as a child. He should have looked foolish, or at least mildly silly. He didn’t. He looked like a grown, sexy man enjoying one of life’s little hedonistic pleasures and something warm and heavy settled in the pit of her stomach.
Retreating from her own feelings, she stood, her feet hitting the ground with a thump. “I’d better get back to it. Got lots on at the moment.”
She didn’t look at him as she gulped the remaining coffee then rinsed her mug. She raised a hand in farewell, saying over her shoulder, “See you later. Thanks for the empty calories.”
She didn’t stop until she was safely in the studio. Then she stood at her desk and tried to understand what was happening to her.
I am not attracted to Michael. It’s not possible.
She wanted that to be true, but there was no denying the surge of heat and awareness when she’d registered how close they were sitting. She didn’t even want to begin to think about her reaction when he’d licked chocolate off his fingers.
Then there was that frisson she’d experienced when he’d hugged her in her vandalized studio and she’d become aware of the fact that he was a man…
She’d acknowledged it a number of times—Michael was good-looking. The strong planes of his face, those clear gray-green eyes, the dark, rumpled hair. And his body. Even in his current lean-and-mean state he was still built on heroic lines. She’d have to be blind not to notice so much male beauty.
But he’d always been tall and dark and handsome and he’d always had the body of a god and it had never bothered her for a second before.
Yes, but he belonged to Billie then.
The realization hit in a cold rush.
She’d never been the sort of woman who coveted other women’s men. It wasn’t part of her makeup. But Billie was dead, and even though Angie would never, ever dream of looking sideways at her best friend’s husband, on some subconscious level she was obviously aware of the fact that Michael was now a free agent.
She shook her head, deeply uncomfortable with the direction of her own thoughts. She didn’t want to be aware of him in that way. He was her friend. She wanted to help him. She did not want to be aware of him on a physical level. She definitely didn’t want to feel self-conscious and antsy and stupid around him.
For a moment she teetered on the brink of panic. This was the last way she wanted to be feeling when she’d given up her studio and thrown her lot in with him. She was going to see him every day during the working week. Every day.
Anxiety tightened her chest and she glanced toward the pile of flattened boxes in the corner. How hard would it be to find a new studio
?
Then reason came calling.
It wasn’t as though she would suddenly leap on Michael because she’d tuned into the fact he was a hottie. He was still Billie’s husband and she was still Billie’s best friend. Angie’s awareness that Michael was an attractive man didn’t change a thing between them.
Not a single thing.
There had been lots of men in her life whom she’d found attractive who she hadn’t so much as sneezed on. It was…uncomfortable that Michael now appeared to be one of them, but she could live with that. She would live with that, because she wasn’t about to give up her friendship with him or her relationship with his children. They were all far, far too important to her.
And no doubt, as with most cases of sexual awareness and attraction, familiarity would quickly wear her unwanted feelings down to nothing. Routine and overexposure would soon return him to the status of platonic friend he’d always occupied.
It was a reassuring thought, enough so that she was able to return to the design she’d abandoned for her coffee break and take up her pencil again.
* * *
HE LIKED HAVING ANGIE in the studio. Until today, Michael had only thought about it in terms of helping her out and how handy it was for Eva’s after-school care. He hadn’t anticipated how much pleasure he’d gain from having Angie close by. She was good company, and he’d enjoyed the sense of comfort he’d had all day, knowing that she was only a few steps away.
Not that he’d abused the privilege. If anything, he’d gone the other way, resisting the urge to go to the studio to see if she wanted another coffee or to share a stupid joke someone had sent via email. He didn’t want to cramp her style, and she was here to work, after all.
For the same reason, he waited until she came into the house at the end of the day before asking if she wanted to join them for dinner. He was watching Eva play Dora the Explorer when he heard the French doors open, announcing Angie’s arrival.
“Whoa, Eva, you are on fire, girl,” Angie said as she joined them.
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