by Rhian Cahill
“I have a weekender down south, near Walpole. Tall trees and sea. I thought you might be interested in coming with me.”
She whirled around. Tea spilled over the rim of her mug. Absently, she shifted her mug to her other hand and licked up the drops.
Nick’s gaze followed her action.
She blushed at her gaucherie and whipped her free hand behind her back. “You have a house in Walpole?”
“Nearby. You can see the sea from the front veranda. I thought you might want to take photos.” He glanced at the corkboard. “Of the beach.”
She didn’t mention that there were beaches in Fremantle and all along the coast or that she had hundreds of photos already. “I…um…”
“Obviously, you don’t have to. But there’s plenty of room. I’ll be driving down Thursday to avoid the weekend traffic.”
“What will you do, there? I mean, do you have a potting studio?”
“No. For me it’ll be a complete break. I’ll surf a bit, maybe fish.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“It’s okay, I wouldn’t make you clean them.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No problem.” He finished his tea and stood. “Anyway, think about it. The offer’s open. We all need a break sometimes, even if we love what we’re doing.”
She nodded as her heart beat fast and heavy. She wondered he couldn’t notice it pounding beneath her cotton shirt. Nick had invited her to his house. It was a sign of trust that she treasured, but without the distraction of work and customers, would she give away her feelings? Could she risk stealing this time with him?
She watched him walk out of the room and realised she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her painting now. She cleaned her brushes and forced a smile as one of the three art students, who helped out as casual sales employees, entered.
“Sorry,” Marly called as the wind caught the front door behind her and slammed it shut. It might be early spring, but the weather was still blustery. The Indian Ocean could brew up a powerful storm.
Two customers entered on Marly’s heels.
Zoe welcomed them easily—years waitressing in her uncle’s restaurant had honed her customer skills—before leaving them to Marly and retreating to her back- room. She needed breathing space.
Instinctively seeking comfort, she lifted the top three sketchbooks from her desk and picked up the fourth. It fell open at a sketch of a hand and arm. Nick’s hand and arm. This book was her guilty pleasure. Here she indulged her artist’s soul’s craving to record the beauty of his body and how she ached for it.
She’d done life classes at art school. Other pages showed Nick as she imagined him, stripped even of the body suit he wore for surfing.
If she spent a week with Nick, would he let her sketch him for real? It would seem a natural enough request from one bored artist to another?
Her tummy clenched at the thought of having permission to study Nick as long as she wanted. She ached to draw him as he lay stretched out in front of a fire or lazing in a hammock with an invitation in his eyes.
It was all too easy to imagine taking his hand and falling on top of him in the hammock, loving and touching till the hammock tipped them both softly to the ground.
She shivered and dropped the sketchbook onto her desk. It was dangerous how real her dreams seemed sometimes.
Common sense dictated that she refuse Nick’s invitation. To share a weekend house with him would be the most torturous illusion of intimacy. She would smell him fresh from the shower, laugh with him in front of the television, cook and eat with him.
“I can’t.” She abandoned the sketchbook and moved clumsily to the far corner of the room. Her hands closed around the edges of the most damning evidence of her preoccupation with Nick.
She lifted the painting out of the stack of discarded canvases that waited for resurfacing.
Unlike the delicate detail of her landscapes, this square canvas was filled with bold slabs of colour, all centring into the male figure that stood in a doorway, arms raised to grip the frame. It was Nick’s characteristic pose, straightening his spine after hours spent bent over his pots. Yet somehow, in her painting, his braced posture showed so much more. He occupied the edge, claimed and owned it, but wouldn’t venture into the room.
It was how Nick lived his life, not risking being trapped into a relationship.
She sighed and replaced the painting in its hiding place—not that anyone here would be rude enough to rummage through her private room.
“Hey, Zoe, about Walpole…”
She spun around and lunged for her desk so fast that Nick rocked back on his heels in the doorway.
“Whoa.” He braced his hands on the doorframe. “Secret project?”
Her heart galloped as she slapped the sketchbook shut, hiding her drawings of naked Nick. “Uh, you could say that.”
If he’d seen her sketches, he’d have retreated like a man burned and she’d have died of embarrassment. She’d have had to give up the studio, his friendship, maybe move country.
She hugged the book to her chest. “Walpole, you said?” Too bright, too cheerful. She sounded like an inane game show host. No wonder Nick was giving her a narrow eyed look. On him, suspicion was sexy. Worse luck.
Nervous, she flicked her tongue to her top lip.
Nick swayed forward in the doorway. “About going away together…”
Excerpt from Short Soup by Coleen Kwan
“You’re listening to Port Stephens FM, coming to you from Piper Bay, where it’s a balmy twenty-seven degrees and looking great for the weekend…”
Toni Lau eased her foot off the accelerator as she reached the crest of the last hill before the long descent into her home town. The radio announcer was right about it looking great. The air was warm, the waters of the bay shimmering. A large white vessel edged out of the marina, laden with tourists on a dolphin-watching cruise. On this early summer day the blue water paradise looked picture perfect, but the sigh escaping her lips was heavy rather than carefree.
This wasn’t the trip home she’d envisaged during her years abroad. Half a world away in foggy London, wrapped up in scarves and spreadsheets, she’d dreamed of the warm sea, the clear Australian light, the small town quiet. One day, she’d hoped, she and Nick would take a break from their busy careers and fly back for a visit. Well, she was back all right, but without Nick, her wedding ring, or her job.
“Coming up on the drive show,” the radio announcer warbled, “we ask – is it ever okay to spy on your partner? Can it be justified, or is it a breach of trust?”
Huh. Well, she knew the answer to that. If you got to the point of spying on your partner, then the relationship was already doomed even before you discovered the smutty text messages and photos on your husband’s mobile phone.
A spasm twisted her belly. Damn. Even though she’d been looking forward to seeing her parents again, right now she wasn’t ready to face their well-meaning inquisitiveness. Especially from her mum. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d picked over every bone of Toni’s failed marriage.
Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. At the next intersection, instead of turning left towards her parents’ home, she hooked right and drove away from the town centre, past the marina and the main beaches, heading east until she pulled up at Fly Point, a small promontory near the lighthouse. She got out and took the steep wooden stairs leading down the cliff face to the beach. Fly Point was rocky, inaccessible, and often deserted, which was why she and Dion had spent so much time here in their teens.
From the last step she jumped down onto the beach. The tide was out, revealing an expanse of smooth sand and weathered grey rock. The heat of the sun soaked into her shoulders. The sunlight was dazzling. Shading a hand over her eyes, she squinted out to sea and saw a man sitting on a rock a short distance to her right, looking out at the horizon. As if he could sense her eyes on him, he turned towards her, rising to his feet at the same time. Against the afternoon
glare he was a dark silhouette, his features shadowed, but there was no mistaking who he was.
For a moment the man tensed as he caught sight of her, and then he came bounding towards her, his broad, bare feet kicking up sand.
“Hey, chuckle berry.”
Only one person in the world would call her “chuckle berry”. She peered up at him, a weird constriction crimping her lungs. “Dion?”
He spread his arms wide. “You don’t recognise me?”
Dion Chan. Her childhood buddy. His parents and hers co-owned the Happy Palace, a Chinese restaurant in town, and she’d known him all her life.
She gave a laugh. “Sure I do. Who else would greet me with ‘Hey, chuckle berry’ after all this time?”
Oh boy. She couldn’t stop staring at him. Dion had changed. He used to be elongated and lanky, his jet-black hair all long and shaggy, his body spare and loose-limbed. Now he was broader, more muscular, which seemed to add inches to his height. His shoulders and chest had filled out. His hair was cut short and no-nonsense, revealing a more angular face, all greenness gone, like an image brought into sharp focus. He wore black board shorts and white T-shirt, the thin material clinging to his solid upper body. Toni sucked in another breath. Jeez, why was she nervous about running into Dion again?
He smiled, his whiskey-brown eyes flicking over her, making her aware that the years had changed her too. A lot. “Yeah, it’s been a while.”
“I’m trying to remember how long ago since I last saw you. Were you here when I came up just before leaving for London? No, I don’t think you were.” She was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
He shook his head, his smile fading. “No, I wasn’t here.”
Now she remembered. The last time she’d seen Dion had been five years ago at her wedding. She had a vague memory of him hanging in the background looking moody, but at the time she’d been too stupid in love with Nick to care about anything else.
“Oh. Right.” Bugger. Since when did she get tongue-tied in front of Dion?
“Welcome back, Toni.” A husky note lurked in his voice. An awkward pause developed before he moved forward and wrapped his arms loosely around her. “It’s good to see you again.”
As their bodies met, she found herself tensing. Over the years she’d received hundreds of hugs from Dion. But this one felt different. Now she was hyper-conscious of his physicality. His biceps were rock-hard, his chin rough stubbled, the mound of his shoulder disturbingly smooth. He smelt of sea and masculinity. Unfamiliar. This wasn’t the Dion she used to know. She pulled away, perplexed.
“Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I probably need a shower.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s just–” She broke off, unable to explain why she felt so off kilter. “I’m not exactly myself today. That’s why I stopped here for a breather when I arrived.”
He nodded in sympathy. “Not ready to show up at your folks’ place, huh?”
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing them so much, but now I kind of have to gather my thoughts first.”
He pushed sand around with his foot. “Your mum’s been worried about you. Your dad too, though he doesn’t say as much.” He pressed his sole down on the sand hill he’d created. “I know I’ve told you before, but I’m sorry about you and Nick.”
The words sounded flat, rehearsed. She couldn’t decide whether he meant it or not. Dion barely knew her ex-husband. She’d met Nick at Sydney University where they’d both been studying commerce. Nick’s busy social calendar meant he’d only accompanied her to Piper Bay a handful of fleeting occasions. Soon after graduation, she and Nick had married and migrated to London, both of them landing jobs at the same investment bank. They were going to work and travel all over the world, forging their careers, then when they tired of globetrotting they would return to Sydney, buy a house together and start a family. So much for their dreams.
Toni drew in a deep breath. “Thanks,” she replied. “So am I.”
“You’re better off without him.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.” But it didn’t always help.
He shot her a sharp glance, his eyes not soft any more. He looked like he was about to say something, but at the last moment he changed his mind and shook his head. What? she wanted to challenge him. What were you going to say about Nick and me? I need to know. But he turned away to pick up his beach towel, leaving her to stare after him in disappointment.
“How long are you staying?” He was all politeness now. Unusually polite. In her company Dion had never pulled his punches. She could remember him calling a boy she had a crush on a douche bag – several times – until she told him to nick off. So why was he biting his lip now? Maybe her mum had said something to him, maybe told him of the last time she’d burst into tears on the phone. Ugh, she didn’t want to remember that.
“Just a few days.” She mimicked his casual tone. “I have a job interview in Sydney middle of next week. I need to get back for that.”
Using the towel he wiped some specks of sand from his upper arms. The sun gleamed on his tanned skin. He was summer-dark, sleek and fit, shimmering with vitality.
“Still doing that bean-counting stuff, huh?” The corner of his mouth twitched.
Her back stiffened. “I’m a qualified CPA now,” she couldn’t help saying.
“A qualified bean counter, then.” He lifted his eyebrows. She opened her mouth to shoot back at him before the grin stretching across his face halted her. “Still so easy to tease. Glad you haven’t changed that much.”
She let out her breath. “I’ve changed?”
“Yeah, you’re all …” He waved towards her. “I dunno, all citified and cosmopolitan now. Before, you’d be wearing a singlet and shorts and rubber thongs, and your hair would be in pigtails. Now you’re … all that.”
She glanced uncertainly at herself. Boutique cotton and linen dress. Flat leather Italian sandals. Toe nails varnished pearly pink. Turquoise and silver medallion. Slimline wristwatch. Hair loose and long down her back. Altogether far more fashion-conscious than she used to be. What did she look like to Dion? High maintenance? Precious? She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m still me,” she said defensively. Wanting to deflect attention, she added, “What about you? I hear you’re practically running the restaurant on your own these days. How’s that working out for you?”
“The jury’s still out. We’ll see once the relaunch happens. Either it’ll succeed or both our parents will come down on me like a ton of bricks.”
For thirty years the Laus and the Chans had been turning out unpretentious Cantonese meals; the husbands manning the woks while the wives took care of everything else, but recently there had been a radical change. According to her mother, the two couples were moving into semi-retirement and leaving most of the operations to Dion.
“You’re braver than me,” she said. “They’ve been running the place the same way for so long, I don’t know how you convinced them to hand over the reins to you.”
“It’s conditional, didn’t you know? If I don’t make a good fist of it and very soon, my dad will step in.”
That was no idle threat. The relationship between Dion and his dad had often been testy. “I’m sure it won’t come down to that,” she said.
He shrugged, still cagey. “Tomorrow, we’ll see.”
Tomorrow night was when the Happy Palace would be relaunched after several weeks of renovation. A party would be held, with lots of influential people invited. Toni had heard all the details via her mother and been none too subtly urged to come up to Piper Bay for the event. Toni had been meaning to visit her parents anyway, and she was curious about the changes Dion would make. Plus, it was her birthday in three days’ time. She’d be turning twenty-seven. Damn – not even thirty and already divorced. Not a record she’d envisaged in her teens.
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said. “You always do.”
For as long as she’d known him Dion had
coasted through life, reluctant to break out in a sweat over anything. She was the one who’d stressed out over her marks, her friends, her future. Dion didn’t care about grades. He had more friends than he could handle. Even ex-girlfriends couldn’t stay mad with him. And he never worried about the future.
Except right now he didn’t look all that carefree. There was a frown between his eyes and his shoulders were tense. Could he be nervous about taking on the responsibility of the restaurant? No, he’d been helping out there since he was twelve. His dad had taught him how to cook, and he’d worked overseas in Hong Kong and Beijing for three years. Was there something else then? She chewed on her lower lip, conscious of the distance between them. Five years was a long time. In the years they’d been apart they’d exchanged emails and Facebook updates, but cyberspace was no substitute for personal communication. They’d grown apart, and the gap couldn’t be bridged with a few minutes of casual conversation.
“Dion?” she asked hesitantly. “Is everything okay? With you, I mean.”
A strange expression flitted over his face, one she couldn’t interpret.
“I’m great.” He sucked in a breath, his T-shirt stretching tight across his chest. “I’ve just got a lot of things on my mind.” He slung the towel over his shoulder. “I need a shower. You coming?”
For a split second she had a powerful visual of Dion in the shower, water cascading over his tanned, naked body. She blushed furiously. Jeez, how inappropriate could she get? Dion was practically her cousin, and you didn’t mentally undress your cousin. It was too … bizarre.
Hurriedly she spun away, hiding her hot face behind a curtain of hair. “Yes, I should get going or my mum will start ringing.” She began to walk back to the stairs, Dion following close behind. “Um, I’ll see you soon.”
“Tonight, to be precise.”
“Oh?” She swung round. She hadn’t realised how close he was. He bumped into her, the solidness of his chest surprising her.
He hissed out a breath, took a quick step back. “Yup, your, er, mum invited us over for dinner.”