About Three Authors

by Patti Roberts

  “It’s for a friend.”

  He nodded. “A friend. I see. Is this friend of yours a good friend, or just a casual acquaintance?”

  Becky shrugged. “Not a good friend, no. Actually, he isn’t a friend at all. Look, does any of that really matter? I just want to buy a tool bag.”

  What was with all the questions? All she wanted to do, other than rake her hands through his mop of burnt honey brown hair and kiss those gorgeous lips, was buy a freaking tool bag for a guy that, if the floor of his vehicle was any indication, was seriously deficient in the cleanliness department. There was no way he could smell as divine as Hardware Guy, for example.

  He stepped closer to her, just the fabric of his shirt separating them. If she moved just a fraction closer, her arm would be touching his.

  “Well, hypothetically, let’s just say you were buying this tool bag for me… I would go for something more like this.” He took the tool bag Becky was holding out of her hands, and handed her the one he had in his hands. “See, this one has eight pockets. Whereas that one,” he held up the tool bag he had just taken from her, and put it down, “has only five pockets. And I happen to know that any decent builder needs at least eight pockets.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said. She could play along with this game. “So why not ten pockets, then? I mean ten pockets have to be better than eight, right?”

  He shook his head. “Ostentatious,” he replied. “No need to overdo it, otherwise the poor fellow might think you’re trying to impress him.” He smiled again.

  “Oh, well, we can’t have that.” She smiled back. “This one it is, then. Eight pockets.” She held it up triumphantly in her hands.

  “Excellent choice. Your friend will be more than happy with the gift, I can assure you.”

  “You think so?”

  “Positive.”

  “Great. Thank you. Your expert insight into tool bags has been most helpful.”

  “No problem. Just doing my job.”

  “Well, you do your job very well. I hope your boss appreciates you.”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  They both stood in silence for a moment, neither wanting the friendly interaction to be over, but there was only so much small talk a person could make before they started to sound ridiculous.

  Finally Becky said, “I should probably go pay for this…”

  “Yes, you probably should. Shoplifting is still very much a criminal offence in this country.”

  Becky smiled. “Ha. Right. You are right. I’m so glad you reminded me about that. The last place I want to end up in is prison with a criminal record scarring my squeaky clean reputation. Not to mention that it would totally ruin my holiday.”

  “Well, we can’t have that now, can we?”

  “No, we can’t,” Becky agreed, smiling again. She turned away.

  “Wait.”

  “Yes.” Becky turned back quickly to face him, slamming right into his chest. She could feel his breath on her forehead. Her heart began to pound from the closeness of him. She took a small step back. “Sorry.”

  Without his eyes leaving hers, he leaned down slowly and picked up her shopping bags. “You forgot these,” he said, handing them to her. “Joe at the front counter will take care of you.” He quickly rephrased himself. “What I mean is, Joe will take care of your purchase at the front counter.”

  “Yes. Right. Thank you. Well… thank you again.” She held up her shopping bags. “And for your help with,” she held up the tool bag. Stop blabbing, she instructed herself as she turned and finally walked away.

  “You’re more than welcome,” he said, his face turning serious. He folded his arms across his chest and watched her leave. “Don’t even think about it,” he told himself. “She’s just here on holiday.”

  Outside the hardware store, Becky’s heart began to slow down, then quickly escalated again when the phone in her bag began to trill. “Jesus.” Juggling her bags, she slipped her free hand into the side pocket of her shoulder bag and slid her finger up the screen. “Hello.”

  “Becky. It’s Polly. You sound a little out of breath. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Umm. It’s just very hot.”

  “Okay, then. There’s been a change of plan. I’ll meet you at the Malanda Hotel for lunch instead. My son, Gary, is going to meet us there.”

  “Oh, alright.” She wasn’t sure if she was in the mood to meet Gary yet. She wondered if he’d cooled down, or if he was still angry with her for ruining his tool bag. At least she had a peace offering in the way of a brand new one, which had cost her far more than she’d imagined it would.

  “Where are you right now?” Polly asked.

  She had to refrain from saying, Outside Mitre 10, and I just met the most gloriously sexy man. She opted for the shorter version instead. “Outside Mitre 10.”

  “You should be able to see the Malanda Hotel from where you are.”

  Becky shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Yes, I see it. Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

  “Perfect. Find a table inside near the windows somewhere. I’ll tell Gary to keep an eye out for you. I should be there in about ten minutes or so.”

  “Okay. See you then,” Becky said. Hanging up, she dropped her phone back into the side pocket of her bag, then headed towards the hotel.

  In contrast to the Red Lion Pub in London, with all its pomp and grandeur - and a clientele which dressed in smart business suits - the Malanda Hotel was almost prehistoric, with its aging interior. There were no business men here in designer suits. No yuppie haircuts. Perched on stools along the bar, a small group of old-timers, along with burly labourers with two-day stubble on their chins, drank ice-cold beers. They chatted amongst themselves about one thing or another.

  The barmaid joined in on conversations as she swished a damp cloth along the counter, lifting up coasters as she went. She was a slim young woman, with ink-black hair tied back into a long ponytail, which swung back and forth as she cleaned. Various tattoos of all shapes and sizes coloured her bare arms.

  Becky walked attentively into the dim room that reeked of beer and sweaty bodies. She quickly located the bathroom and went inside. Heaving her shopping up on the counter, she let out a long sigh. The humidity was going to be the death of her, she decided. She washed her hands, then pulled out her small make-up bag, unzipped it, and set it down next to the hand basin. Next, she extracted a clean, neatly folded handkerchief from her handbag. Holding the handkerchief under the running water, she wet it, then patted her face. The dampness of the cloth on her face, neck and shoulders was a refreshing reprieve from the heat. She sighed again, enjoying the coolness of the cloth on her skin. “You couldn’t do that with a tissue,” she imagined her mother saying.

  She wrung out the handkerchief, and then held it under the hand dryer until it was dry enough to put back in her bag. Next, she reapplied blush to her cheeks, and a fresh layer of gloss to her lips. She looked at her reflection, and then smacked her lips together, trying to think of an excuse to re-visit the hardware store. It had to be the heat, she decided, that had her thinking about the hot hardware guy again.

  Loaded up with her shopping bags, she walked over to the bar and purchased a bottle of water from an elderly man. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw heads pivoting in her direction, motivated by curiosity. Thanking the elderly man, she put the bottle of water into her handbag and then turned around to scan the tables near the windows.

  A young man wearing shorts and a blue short sleeved shirt sat at one of the tables reading a newspaper, an empty plate to one side. At intervals, he raised his right hand to take a swig of his beer. His fair hair was neatly combed, and his chin was stubble-free. Gary, Becky surmised, striding towards him. May as well get the introductions and any awkwardness out of the way before Polly arrives, she decided. Plonking the shopping bag housing the tool bag down on the table, she sat down opposite him.

  “Hi, I’m Becky,” she said, reaching out across the table.
“I’m told you’ve been expecting me.”

  The man looked up from his newspaper. Hesitantly, he let go of his beer, and then shook her extended hand. He opened his mouth, about to speak, but Becky waved her free hand to silence him before he could utter a word. He closed his mouth.

  Becky let go of his hand, then pushed the Mitre 10 bag closer to him. “Before you say anything, I just want to tell you how sorry I am. This is for you. I hope you like it and forgive me for any inconvenience.” She pushed the bag a little closer.

  He frowned, then opened his mouth again and began to object.

  Becky shook her head. “Please take it. I feel so embarrassed about everything, and it would make me feel so much better if you just accepted the gift.”

  He smiled at her suspiciously. “It’s just that I don’t normally get offered gifts in bars from women I don’t know. Hell, I don’t get gifts from women I do know. The thing is, I’m sure it’s a very nice gift, but I think-”

  “Really, I insist,” Becky said. “Open it. I was assured from someone in the know that this was a very good tool bag, not ostentatious at all…”

  He raised his eyebrows to look at her, then glanced around the room. “Is this a prank?” he asked. “Did Tom put you up to this?”

  “A prank? No.”

  The barmaid walked across the room and stood beside the table. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, emphasizing her perfect cleavage, and gave Becky the once over, then turned to the man. “You done with your plate, Leon?” she asked, shooting another weary glance at Becky.

  “Hey, Simone,” Leon said winking at her.

  Behind Simone a man said, “Leon, Joe’s been looking for you.”

  Leon pushed the plate towards Simone, his gaze taking in her breasts. A moment later, he tore his eyes away and looked over Becky’s head. I’m a bit busy here, mate,” he said, picking up his beer. He took a long draw on the beer, his gaze returning to Becky.

  Simone snatched the empty plate off the table and marched away.

  Leon? Becky spun around in her chair. Hardware Guy was standing directly behind her.

  Hardware Guy raised his eyebrows and smiled. “We meet again.”

  Becky nodded mutely.

  “I see you’ve met Leon,” he said, nodding to the man sitting opposite her, who was obviously enjoying the puzzlement that that was no doubt obvious on her face, as she looked from one man to the other.

  Finally her gaze settled on the grinning man sitting across from her. “You’re not Gary?”

  Leon lowered his beer and rested it on the table. “I’m not,” he said. “But just to put it out there, I can be whoever you want me to be.” He laughed, finished off the remainder of his beer, and then stood. “It was nice meeting you, Becky. I hope we can do this again sometime. All yours, mate,” he said, walking towards an exit door. He raised his hand, giving Simone a quick wave. She returned the gesture with a broad smile. “Later,” he called over his shoulder.

  Humiliated, Becky gathered up her other shopping bags from the floor, then looped her handbag over her shoulder. She stood, her cheeks flushed with humiliation and humidity.

  “Don’t go,” Hardware Man said. “Sit down –”

  Becky shook her head. “That’s really not necessary. I’m meeting friends here at any moment.”

  “I know,” he replied. “Please, sit down.”

  “Becky.”

  Becky swung around. “Polly,” Becky replied, smiling at the familiar face, and then raising her eyebrows as Polly walked past her, and into Hardware Guy’s arms, giving him a motherly hug.

  Polly beamed with pride. “I see you’ve already met my adorable son.”

  Becky’s mouth fell open as she looked from Gary to Polly, then back to Gary. Adorable son? “You’re Gary?”

  Gary nodded.

  Becky didn’t know what she was feeling most –anger or gratitude. Did she still want to fall into those muscular arms, or did she want to slap him? Was the flush colouring her cheeks humidity or humiliation? It was impossible to tell.

  Polly glanced curiously from Becky to Gary, then frowned. “Have I missed something?”

  Without a word, Becky sank down onto the chair, pulled the small bottle of water out of her handbag and drank the entire contents in one go.

  Polly turned and looked quizzically at Gary, her hands on her hips. “Is everything okay?”

  Chapter 11

  Cupcakes And Story Time.

  BECKY JENSEN FACEBOOK STATUS: Met a very hot guy! Way to get over a broken heart - just saying…

  It was late afternoon by the time Becky swam leisurely over to the small timber jetty, and eased herself up onto it. After her awkward lunch with Gary and Polly, the swim in the lake was just what she needed to relax and regain her composure. Thankfully, Gary had been called away on a job, so her embarrassment over the whole tool bag incident had been cut relatively short.

  He had thanked her graciously for the gift, which she insisted that he take with him. He had also apologized profusely after a talking down from Polly for not letting on to Becky sooner who he was. In his own defence, he had said that he simply could not let such a perfect opportunity to play a joke on her pass. “An ice breaker,” he’d said. She had, after all, thrown up in his tool bag, which he’d found most humorous, after Elise and Mallory had explained the whole story to him.

  “It was so good to see the old Gary back,” Polly had explained after he had left them to enjoy their lunch. “He hasn’t been quite himself lately. Moping all over the place… He’s just recently been through a nasty breakup, you see.”

  Fresh from her own recent breakup, Becky could certainly empathize, but still, did Gary have to make her look like a complete and utter twat? She’d refrained from talking about her own breakup. She was here to do a job, after all, and talking about personal problems might be viewed as being unprofessional. She nodded sympathetically as Polly spoke about her concerns for Gary, how badly he had taken the breakup with Wendy, and how happy she was that he was eventually moving on.

  “Mallory did mention something to me about the breakup the other day,” Becky said. “So I completely understand.” Understanding did not stop her from feeling humiliated, though, and she would tell Gary, too, as soon as the opportunity arose, unless of course the mere sight of him left the words on the tip of her tongue, and unspoken.

  Becky ran her hands over her hair, squeezing the ends to expel the excess water. Picking a beach towel up off the ground, she patted her face dry, and then spread the towel out and lay down on her belly. She closed her eyes and smiled with utter contentment.

  On the patio, Mallory sat down next to Elise and sighed. “Do you remember when we were that young, that slim, and that beautiful?” All three women looked at Becky and smiled wistfully.

  Elise smiled. “I can hardly remember the time I looked that good in a two-piece. Actually, I don’t ever think I looked that good in a two-piece, or that pretty.”

  “Nonsense,” Polly chirped. “Don’t you remember that snazzy little yellow one-piece you wore on our diving trip?”

  “Oh, I do. I absolutely loved that on you,” Mallory said.

  Elise’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, I remember. It cost me an absolute fortune, but you insisted that I buy it anyway.” Elise wagged her finger at Polly. “You were a bad influence on me, woman.”

  “But aren’t you glad I did make you buy it? It looked absolutely fabulous on you. The way I remember it, you turned every head on that trip. The only guys that didn’t goggle at you were either seasick or gay, and even some of those looked like they were about to swap teams for you.”

  Elise chuckled. “It did look good, didn’t it? Makes me want to drag out the old pictures to remind myself how beautiful and skinny we all were, but then again, it might only depress me.” She picked up an iced cupcake with sprinkles and took a bite. “Cupcakes and chocolates trump sexy swimsuits these days.” Mallory nodded in agreement.

  “The swimsuit really did
look great on you, though,” Mallory said. “What was the name of that guy who wouldn’t leave your side the entire trip? You know, that cute guy who looked like a French underwear model?”

  Elise leaned back into the wicker chair and frowned. She crossed her arms across her chest and scratched her chin. “You know, I actually have no idea. He was just a rebound guy, a guy to help me forget, but he was really cute, wasn’t he?”

  Polly nodded. “Absolutely. What was his name? Fraizer, Franchot, Francois? I’m sure his name started with an F.”

  “How can you be so sure his name started with an F?” Mallory asked.

  “Word association,” Polly replied.

  “Word association? What word?”

  “Fuckable,” Polly said with a straight face. “I remember when I heard his name, I thought, F word, and then I thought, fuckable. Very fuckable.”

  Elise nodded. “Well, you were right about that, he was very… you know-”

  “Fuckable,” Polly repeated.

  “Yes. Alright. He was very fuckable, but nice, sophisticated ladies our age do not use that kind of language,” Elise said.

  “Like fuck we don’t,” Polly retaliated, smiling proudly.

  “Well, whatever his name was, you sure rang his bell, along with other things,” Mallory said, grinning. “I could hear you both at it from my room. I had to sleep with the pillow over my head, and the television turned up.”

  “Oh, rubbish,” Elise said.

  “Truth,” Mallory shot back.

  “It was probably Polly you heard.”

  Mallory shook her head. “It was you.”

  “Alright then, enough about me,” Elise said. “What about that Danish guy who wanted to “follow” Polly back to her hotel room? I bet you remember him. All that messy blond hair, he was a dead ringer for Heath Ledger.”

  Mallory slapped her knees and laughed. “Oh yes. And you told him that, in this country, we call that stalking, but you let him “follow” you back to your room anyway.”

  Polly nodded. “I want to follow you home,” she said, mimicking his Danish accent. “He left bread crumbs in my bed.”