by P. L. Harris
Were changing room tents always this hot?
He tugged at the collar of his work shirt, then reminded himself he had a job to do.
“Right. I’ll be over at your stall, dusting for prints.”
’Cause that was much safer than standing here a second longer.
“Be there in a minute,” she called.
He grabbed his badge and retreated.
From his tactical vest, Koen retrieved gloves and his fingerprint kit. He dusted the trestle table and took notes of the surrounding stalls. Their owners were all potential witnesses. His senior officers would expect him to be thorough. Consumed by his task, it took a moment for the telltale sensation of awareness that she was near him. That, and Nerida’s sweet scent teasing and tormenting him.
“That powdery stuff comes off, right? I didn’t think it would make such a mess.”
“Yes, it comes off. I’ll get that sorted once I’m done.”
That’s it, Koen. Be professional.
Nerida smiled, and his heart pounded. It was no good. He couldn’t keep his serious expression, not when she looked at him with such trust, like she was certain he wouldn’t let her down. And he wouldn’t. Just like he hadn’t stopped her from following her dreams, no matter how much he’d wished she’d stayed in ‘the Bay’.
Distracted by his mental berating, it wasn’t until he met her gaze that he caught something deeper in her eyes. He couldn’t help but notice how dilated her pupils were as she stared back at him.
Was she checking him out?
He swallowed. Hard. He needed a distraction. Fast. Before he gave in to the crazy impulse that wanted him to believe their attraction was mutual.
If only that were true.
He pointed to her clean T-shirt.
“So, why Passionberry Dreams?”
It took a moment for her to reply.
“It’s something your grandmother said to me once.”
He paused while twisting the fingerprint brush back and forth. With both parents on the force, he’d spent much of his youth in his grandmother’s loving care. She’d been proud of her indigenous heritage, and Koen was, too. He’d sat for hours listening to her stories of the land, the Dreamtime. Nerida spent as much time at her house as her brothers did, listening to tales about the native ingredients and foods his grandmother ate as a child.
He shook off the nostalgic feelings.
“Word is you could work anywhere you wanted. Why come back to Trinket Bay?”
“I...wanted to honour your grandmother’s memory. She taught me where to find the best native ingredients and what flavours went together. I wouldn’t have my career if it weren’t for her.”
Nerida beckoned him over to the cooler.
“These are the cupcake versions, but she inspired my Wattleseed and Muntries Macaron Cake. The coffee and spicy fruit mince flavours taste amazing together. And the pale lemon ones, they’re my Passionberry and Vanilla Shard Cakes. Everyone who loves banana and caramel flavours adores them. She suggested that combination.”
He remembered standing in his grandmother’s kitchen the day they kissed, and his gaze dropped to her lips while she talked. Nerida leaned closer so she could point out yet another cake, and he inhaled sharply. And damned if she didn’t look up. He leaned towards her.
Static crackled, and the voice of his commanding officer sounded over his radio.
NERIDA TOOK THE INTERRUPTION as a sign to take another calming breath. Never mind she’d almost died of embarrassment when he caught her half-naked with her hair tangled in her top. Now he turned his back to her again, listening intently to whoever was speaking, and once more, she gazed at him.
She’d admired him while he worked, enjoying the way the material of his proper uniform clung to his body. Then she imagined what it would be like to have him pressed against her because he wanted to, not because she’d knocked him down.
They’d shared a moment, hadn’t they? An almost kiss?
Koen turned. His demeanour focused. She had the distinct impression he was as annoyed with the interruption as she was.
“I’m sorry, Nerida. I have to go. Seems yours isn’t the only donations box the thief stole today.”
“I see.”
He stared, and it was the same deliberate expression he’d given her right after that first mind-blowing, heartbreaking kiss. Like he’d regretted their moment then. Was he regretting their almost kiss now?
She stepped back, her chest tightening.
“You’d better go. I need to get back to the patisserie.”
Koen opened his mouth but closed it without a word. He turned to leave.
Nerida couldn’t help herself.
“Stay safe,” she said.
A moment’s hesitation, and a brief nod was her reply.
KOEN SAT IN THE CAFETERIA that overlooked the foyer and the administration counter with a perfect view of the donations box on display. It wasn’t the worst stakeout he’d been on. At least there was air-conditioning. A nurse wheeled McClane over, and they talked about their commanding officer’s plan to use the display as bait. Well, McClane talked. He’d been busy thinking about Nerida and their almost kiss.
She wanted him to kiss her, didn’t she? He wasn’t imagining it?
“Did you hear anything I said, Constable?”
“What? Sorry, I was—”
“Miles away. Yeah, I noticed.” He grimaced and gripped his thigh. “Time for medication. I’ll get admin to call a nurse for me. You stay here and monitor things.”
“Want me to wheel you over?”
“Stop worrying about protecting me and worry about protecting that box,” McClane grouched, then grinned. “You were thinking about Nerida, weren’t you?”
Koen glared, then turned his attention back to the donations box, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His conversation with Nerida played over and over in his mind. She was honouring his grandmother, and he should, too. He should focus on making sure the hospital she’d once worked in had what it needed. Why couldn’t he get the look on Nerida’s face when he leaned into her, out of his mind?
STREETLIGHT SHONE THROUGH the patisserie’s kitchen window as Nerida worked. She sliced her Quandongs and set them to poach in sugar syrup. The radio was playing love songs, and it was under serious consideration to turn it off when the DJ added some commentary about the hospital. She almost dropped the spoon when the words registered.
Why would the police allow the hospital to display a donations box with the money collected so far when they knew someone was stealing them? It made no sense. Unless...
Nerida turned off the stove.
Oh, no. No way she was letting him do this without her. The thief had stolen her donation box, and this was almost as important to her as it was to him. They’d both loved his grandmother.
She made it to the hospital in record time.
Dear lord! He looked every bit as enticing in his jeans and T-shirt as he did in his uniform. Two coffee cups were on the table, but as far as she could tell, he was alone. Undaunted, she headed towards him.
“What are you doing here, Nerida?” Koen all but hissed.
“Joining you on stakeout duty,” Nerida said, sitting beside him. He stared at her wordlessly, so she shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, it would be weird if I just got up and left.”
Koen sighed and put a hand to his head as though he had a headache. “And I thought your brothers were stubborn.” He threw her a sideways glance. “They’d kill me if they realised you were here.”
“They’re on the other side of Perth helping with the bushfires. And they know you’d keep me safe.”
“Always.”
Her chest clenched, and she turned towards him. “Koen, we need to talk.”
He turned back, eyes widening. “In the middle of a stakeout?”
“Yes...no...”
Wait! What did he mean, ‘if they knew she was here’?
Her mouth dropped open.
D
amn it!
Her overprotective brothers had stuck again.
Why couldn’t they mind their own business and let her make her own decisions?
She whirled on an unsuspecting Koen.
“My brothers told you to stay away from me, didn’t they?”
His mouth dropped open. “I...”
She glared. “The truth, Koen.”
He fish-mouthed before finally speaking. “They didn’t want me to get in the way of your dreams. And I understood that.”
He glanced down at her lips again, the way he’d done that afternoon.
“They also told me if I so much as thought about kissing you, they’d make sure I disappeared like Golding did twenty years ago.”
She looked away, her heart pounding in combined anger at her brothers and thoughts of the past. “That night in your grandmother’s kitchen...”
A stifled laugh showed his thoughts turned the same way.
“To this day, I can’t smell Native Lemon Myrtle without thinking of that kiss.”
His gaze darted around her face, but she was looking past him.
“There! The thief!”
BEFORE HE COULD EVEN react, she was up and out of her seat. She dashed in the thief’s direction, and he swore. Her brothers and McClane were going to kill him.
“Neri!”
He chased her, surprised at how easily he overtook her, but then he glanced ahead to where she was looking, and the reality of the situation became all too clear. A glint of metal flashed in one hand of the thief. The donation box was in the other.
“Stop! I—I have a knife!”
The boy’s voice and hands shook. Koen stepped in front of Nerida and lifted his hands in a surrender gesture. He was about to use de-escalation techniques when Nerida ignored him and stepped forward again.
“Max?” she said, voice breaking. “What are you doing?” The thief shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Miss Graham. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to help my sister,” Max said. He gripped the donation box tighter. “There was an accident. We can’t afford to go to Perth for her rehab.”
“Oh, Max.”
She moved again, but Koen’s arm darted out to block her. She glared at him, and then down to where his other hand hovered over the taser hidden in his pocket.
Her eyes narrowed. “I know him,” she said sharply. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
He opened his mouth silently, watching her.
Nerida softened her gaze. “Trust me,” she mouthed.
It went against all his training to let her talk down a potentially dangerous thief, but if he didn’t trust her now, would she ever trust him again?
Slowly, he let his arm fall from where it was blocking her.
Nerida moved closer. “I understand, Max. I have two big brothers who would do anything for me, even if it wasn’t the right thing to do.”
Max’s posture changed. Koen didn’t move.
Nerida continued. “The patisserie will be busy for the next few months. I have loads of orders coming in.” She tilted her head. “Think you could help me out, Max?”
“You’d...you’d hire me?” The knife hand fell a little. “After what I did?”
She nodded, her movements slow. “We all deserve a second chance, Max.”
The kid lowered the knife entirely, and it clattered to the floor. Koen relaxed as he saw it properly. It was a butter knife.
Nerida strode forward, and Koen’s anxiety spiked again, but he watched as she enveloped Max in a hug. The boy’s shoulders shook as she embraced him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Max said.
NERIDA WATCHED THE senior constable walk Max out of the building before turning to Koen, only to find him already looking at her, his eyes lingering on her mouth before meeting her gaze.
“Thank you. For trusting me, I mean.”
Koen smiled. “You’re amazing, Neri. You know that, right? The way you convinced the hospital not to press charges.” He swallowed. “Did you mean what you said before? That everyone deserves a second chance?”
Nerida nodded.
“Good, because I’d like...I’m sorry. I was so busy protecting you, I never stopped to think about protecting us. I wanted you to fulfil your dreams. My grandmother was so proud of you.” His knuckles brushed gently against her cheek. “I’m proud of you too.”
Nerida leaned into his touch. “You know, there’s one more dream I’m yet to fulfil. One I’ve had since that night in your grandmother’s kitchen.”
Koen grinned and moved closer. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“This.”
She drew him down, their lips colliding in a wave of pent-up, heated adolescent passion, and it was as though they were standing in the lemon-scented kitchen again. He leaned forward, forcing her to cling to him, deepening the kiss, inviting her to respond to his intoxicating promise of the pleasure yet to come.
Breathless, they drew apart and Koen cleared his throat. “I should take you home.”
“I...need to finish something in the patisserie first,” Nerida said, her heart racing.
“No problem,” he said, leading her out. “When we get there, I’ll have a piece of Passionberry cake as my reward.”
“A reward for what?”
“Solving the case.”
Nerida laughed. “You deserve a piece of cake for your brave deed.”
“Brave deed?”
“Somehow, I doubt you chose the uniform you wore in the fashion parade.”
His soft laugh stole its way into her heart. She stopped and grabbed his hand. He stopped too, staring at their entwined fingers, and then at her.
“You know, I’m not opposed to wearing it again.” He pressed her against him, his voice lowering to a sexy growl. “For a private viewing.”
Welcome Home, Jemma Harlow
Mandy May
“Thanks for doing this, Jem. Really, I mean it.”
Jemma Harlow grinned at her sister sympathetically. “It’s the least I can do—you look like crap.”
Melody rolled her eyes. “Thanks. Always appreciate you making me feel better.”
The sisters giggled before Mel was overtaken by another bout of coughing. Jemma sighed. Poor Mel. Today was supposed to be the best day of her life—she had finally landed her first big wedding gig, creating a double-barrelled masterpiece of mud cake and buttercream for the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Whelan. Instead, here she was; a snotty, coughing mess the morning of the big day. Jemma had heard the tears in her voice when she’d rung before dawn that morning, wailing that everything was ruined. There had been no hesitation—she’d promised to get that cake to the wedding, no matter what.
Now, standing on Mel’s doorstep, she was beginning to question her decision. Planting a smile on her face, she propped her hands on her hips and demanded, “Where’s this cake, woman? I have a deadline, you know.”
Mel laughed, another cough rocking her body. “Alright, keep your shirt on. Here, it’s in the big fridge.” As Jemma followed her into the house, Mel listed off instructions like a drill sergeant. “Now remember, you can’t let your car temperature get above eighteen, okay? Otherwise, the buttercream will start to melt. Make sure you cushion the box in—like, as if it’s a baby. I mean it—it cannot be given any space to slide around. There are fresh flowers in a container, these will need to be arranged at the venue. Follow the drawing to the last detail. If I see photos of the flowers all higgledy-piggledy, I’ll roast you. Oh, and make sure—”
“For crying out loud, Mel, it’s a cake. I’ll handle it, okay?” Jemma rolled her eyes. “I know what a wedding cake looks like, remember?” Mel paused, turning back to her sister worriedly.
“Jem, I’m sorry. If it’s too soon...”
Jemma huffed out a breath, blowing a lock of red-gold hair off her face. “No, forget it. I’m fine.” An image of Brodie came unbidden into her mind. His dark curls, his piercing blue eyes, his shirt collar, stained with the lipstick
of that other woman...
Shaking her head, Jemma clenched her fists tightly. Meeting Mel’s worried eyes with a forced smile, she continued, “Besides, there’s no way you can do it. You’ll infect the whole town—you know how many people are going to be there, don’t you?”
With a groan, Mel covered her face with her hands. “I know—don’t remind me! There’s so much riding on this. It could make or break my career. Please don’t stuff it up.” Jemma threw her hands in the air with a sigh.
“How can I ruin it if I never even get there? Hurry it up already!”
“Fine, fine,” Mel tutted, sniffing loudly. “Don’t drive too fast, okay? The dirt roads are slippery, we can’t afford to have the cake toppling over. Once you get to the venue, make sure you...” Jemma let Mel’s voice fade out as she bit down hard on her trembling lip. She knew she’d have to face them eventually—it was impossible to hide in a small town for long. She’d managed to avoid it for a whole month since moving back into her parent’s house. But now, there was no escaping it.
The drive from Mel’s farmhouse into town was a long one. Jemma gripped the steering wheel tightly, eyeing the precious cargo in the back. Her faithful old Festiva had many flaws, but a boot tall enough to house a two-foot wedding cake box was not one of them. Melody had been a nervous wreck, spending more time fussing about the cake than farewelling her sister. Jemma snorted, gazing into the rear-view mirror once more. Checking that the air con was still turned as low as it would go, she let out a long sigh.
“Alright, let’s get some tunes happening. The tension’s going to kill me.” Cranking her stereo, she tapped her fingers along to the bouncy pop song, singing loudly and off-key.
Settling back against the seat, Jemma let her mind wander. Her engagement to Brodie had been a short one—hardly six months after he’d popped the question, she was ready to walk down the aisle. Then, the week before their big day...Jemma flinched at the memory. Brodie had tried to explain himself, telling Jemma it was pre-wedding jitters, that was all. If she could just forgive him, they would be able to move on and be happy, right? Jemma had packed her suitcase that night and booked a flight home to South Australia the next morning.