Ask Me Nicely

by Andrews, Amy

  But above all, she knew he was a great, fun-loving guy, who had taken care of his sister when she’d needed support. Like Mack had taken care of her. A guy any woman—any normal woman—would kill to be with. To date, to fuck, to be in a relationship with.

  He had a heart and a brain and a soul as big as those massive shoulders of his, and he would make some woman deliriously happy one day.

  Just not her.

  She didn’t know how to be happy. Not now. Not for a long time.

  And then there was the stuff he knew about her. Not the big stuff that she kept locked away inside her, but things that she’d still never shared with another man since Ben. Why couldn’t he just follow the unspoken rules she’d put in place that first day? Why couldn’t he just stay behind the line she’d drawn? Why did he have to keep pushing her?

  Because you stepped over the line first, idiot.

  And because he wanted her and she was pretty sure that Doyle Jackson always got his woman.

  There was a knock at the staff room door just after three, and Sal looked up from the journal she’d been trying to read for the last fifteen minutes. Except her head kept churning back to Doyle saying tequila and cookie dough. He’d said it with all the raspiness his voice possessed, and it had been so damn hot her knickers had just about ignited on the spot.

  It had sure made concentrating on anything else since then nigh on impossible. It had filled every spare thought during the day and at night. It had driven her crazy, echoing around her head, taking her to places she didn’t want to go with him, even as it kept her mind off places she wanted to go to even less.

  “Oh…sorry. Someone called Gemma said Doyle was back here?”

  Sal looked up to find Doyle’s sister and niece in the doorway. “Oh hey, Abigail, isn’t it?” Sal said, half standing.

  The other woman nodded. “Abi.”

  “And I’m Harry.”

  Sal looked at the confident little girl, so like her mother, so like Doyle standing there without a care in the world. Would her little girl have looked like Ben?

  She glanced back at Abi. Being around kids hurt less and less these days, like a bruise faded to a sickly yellowy-green but still sore when prodded. But that wasn’t why she was currently finding it hard to look Harry in the eye. It just didn’t seem right looking at the little girl knowing the dozen different ways she’d pictured doing Uncle Doyle this week.

  “Come in. Take a seat,” Sal said, indicating the chairs. “I’ll just go find Doyle for you.”

  “No need.” Doyle appeared as Abi and Harry were making themselves comfortable.

  Harry sprang to her feet again, flinging her skinny arms around his waist. “Uncle Doyle, Uncle Doyle, we need you, we’re in such a terrible pickle,” she said.

  Abi rolled her eyes and Doyle laughed at the dramatization.

  “I’ll leave you guys to it,” Sal said.

  “No,” Doyle said, prying a clinging Harry from him. “Sit. Eat. You haven’t had a break all day, and Gemma has given me strict instructions that she’s not to see you for another half an hour.”

  Sal looked at the door. Gemma could be mighty fierce when called for. She may be young, but she ran her shifts with a maturity and efficiency beyond her years. “We give that girl too much power,” Sal grumbled as she sat back down again.

  “Actually, Sal, it’s kind of you I was hoping to talk to,” Abi said hesitantly.

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has it got something to do with the terrible pickle?” Doyle asked as he too sat, pulling Harry onto his lap.

  Abi laughed. “Yes.”

  “Okay?” Sal wasn’t sure what she could do about it, but she was damn sure she did not want to get involved with Doyle’s family.

  “They’re going to cancel the pet show at the school fair tomorrow because the judge got sick, and now I can’t enter Archie, and Lucy, my best friend, can’t enter Fluffy her poodle, and Tegan can’t enter Fred—that’s her fish—and we’re all just…heartbroken,” Harry jumped in.

  “Oh, I see,” Sal said, even though she wasn’t sure what it had to do with her.

  Abi grimaced apologetically. “The local pet shop owner was admitted to the hospital yesterday after a fall off a ladder and is expected to be in for a week,” she explained. “The fete, and in particular the pet show, is a much-vaunted event in the school calendar, and Harry and her friends have so been looking forward to it. I know it’s short notice, but we were hoping that Sal…” She glanced at Doyle, then back at Sal. “You might be able to step into the judging role?”

  “Please,” Harry said, her little hands clasped, her eyes beseeching as she looked at Sal. “Pretty please with cherries on top.”

  Sal’s heart skipped a beat as her gaze slid to Doyle’s. You’re just the cherry on top. Clearly it was a Jackson family saying.

  Lordy.

  How many times had she fantasized about him biting a strategically placed cherry off her? Too many times to be decent, too many times to be comfortable hearing the expression come out of the innocent mouth of a child.

  “Oh. Well, sure…” Sal said, hedging as she scoured her brain for a way—any way—out. Pet shows were right up there with baby shows as far as she was concerned. Did anyone really have the right to pass judgment on the beauty or otherwise of another living thing? Especially a much-loved pet? People didn’t have pets for their looks.

  Plus she was trying to push Doyle away, not bring him closer. Why was everything, including Doyle’s family, conspiring against her?

  “But…why not get Doyle?”

  “Can’t.” Abi shook her head. “He’d be accused of bias. Same goes for any of the teachers or someone from within the school community. Whereas you have expert knowledge and would be a completely independent arbiter.”

  Expert knowledge? Of how to treat an animal for tick paralysis or heartworm or to operate on a tumor. Not on which pet was the prettiest… To be honest all animals were cute in one way or another.

  Except for crocodiles—those prehistoric fuckers were just plain ugly. But she didn’t think anyone would be bringing along a pet crocodile.

  “Well…I could ask some colleagues of mine?”

  “Yes, but you’re local, and Kennedy’s has been in the suburb for over forty years. It would mean a lot to have a local connection.”

  Of course it would.

  She looked at Doyle, who was clearly enjoying himself. Damn the man. She thought about offering him a date on the spot if he’d get her out of it. One date with Doyle seemed far less risky now than getting ensnared in his extended family.

  She glanced at Harry, hands still clasped, eyes still beseeching.

  She didn’t do extended family.

  “Did I also mention, it’s a huge fund-raiser with all the proceeds going to cancer research? Raised five thousand dollars last year. Eight thousand the year before that.”

  Oh, crap.

  Apparently she wasn’t only going to let down Harry and her friends and the entire school community and dent the reputation of Kennedy’s if she declined, but the cure for cancer would also suffer a major setback.

  Double crap.

  “We’ll do it,” Doyle announced, standing up.

  Harry clapped her hands as Sal glanced at Doyle with a startled expression. “We’ll do it?”

  “Of course. I can be your trusty assistant, but you will of course choose the winners based on your own judgment.”

  “I will…”

  Abi stood. “Are you sure, Sal?”

  Doyle looked at his sister. “Quit while you’re ahead, Abigail. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

  Sal watched absently as Abi grinned, then kissed her brother before departing with a chatty Harry.

  “Thank you,” Doyle said, turning to her.

  Sal just nodded, not sure how she came to be judging a pet show. But damn sure it was Doyle’s fault.

  Chapter Eight

  They arrived at the school fair
at ten on Saturday morning only to discover the pet show wasn’t till midday. Sal was not impressed. The sun was quite hot and she was surrounded by children. Running around the different stalls, screaming and laughing. Little girls skipping hand in hand. Little boys chasing each other. Mothers with babies in prams or on hips and toddlers in hand yelled out to be careful or chatted with other mothers. Fathers were having their faces painted or waiting in line at the Ferris wheel with their offspring.

  This could have been her in another life. She could have been here today with her own daughter. This was the school where she and Ben had planned on sending their kids.

  She was stuck in the exact place she’d thought she be by now and wanted out in the worst kind of way.

  It was the ultimate nightmare.

  Sal could feel the edges of panic starting to tighten in around her. She couldn’t stay here for two whole hours and make nice and pretend that she wasn’t dying inside.

  She just couldn’t.

  She’d had to mentally prepare—psych herself into coming—just for the pet show, and she figured she’d only just manage that if she concentrated on the animals and not their beloved little owners.

  Sal’s breath started to grow shorter and she rubbed at the stitch that started to niggle in the vicinity of her heart. Not even the lush green oval ringed by massive blooming jacaranda trees was enough to avert the impending panic attack.

  “You okay?” Doyle asked.

  Sal startled at his unexpected intrusion. She’d have liked to nod and brush him off, but she was feeling seriously short of breath. “No.” She looked around for the car. Where did Doyle park the car? “I have to get out of here,” she said.

  “What?” He frowned. “Why?”

  “I just have to,” she muttered. “Just—”

  “Hey.” His face appeared in front of hers, all whiskery and serious, his eyes telescoping his concern, his warm hands landing on her suddenly cold arms. “You’re shaking. Do you want to sit down?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I have to get out of here. I—”

  “Uncle Doyle, Uncle Doyle.” A high-pitched girlie cry interrupted Sal’s panic as a raven-haired moppet threw herself at him. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair,” she sobbed.

  Both Sal and Doyle blinked at the sudden turn of events. “Harry?” he said, his hand sliding onto his niece’s back while his other one stayed firmly attached to her arm.

  Poor Doyle. Two females melting down at once. A lesser man may have run really fast in the other direction.

  “Where’s Mummy?” he asked.

  “I’m here.”

  They turned to find a harried-looking Abi bringing up the rear. “Harry, stop it,” she chided. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  “But we promised the teacher we’d do it. We’re on the roster. We’ll let the whole class down.”

  Doyle frowned, looking at Sal, searching her face for a moment, probably for signs she was about to froth at the mouth, then at Harry, then at his sister. “What’s going on?”

  The panic started to recede a little as Sal found herself being caught up in Harry’s drama. Concentrating on one child she could manage. It still wouldn’t have been her choice for a glorious October Saturday in Brisbane, but it beat the overwhelming press of little bodies all around her.

  “I’ve just gotten a call from a friend who’s been in a car accident. She’s fine but she’s at the hospital getting some X-rays on her wrist and needs me to go and get her kids.”

  “Well, that’s okay,” Doyle said. “You go, she can stay with us.”

  Abi shook her head. “Harry and I were supposed to man the fairy floss stand for an hour, which I obviously can’t do now. There’s a pretty tight roster and all the other parents are busy doing one thing or another with their kids. The teacher understands and is happy to shut it down until the next parent is due on, but Harry isn’t taking it too well, as you can see.”

  “We promised,” Harry sobbed. “You said I’m never supposed to back out on a promise, that promises were important.”

  Abi looked lost. Torn between the right answer and the everyday reality of life.

  “Well, we can man it with her, can’t we?” he said, looking at Sal.

  Sal’s thoughts were scattered as she tried to assimilate the information through brain cells that felt like they were submerged in water. Her breathing had returned to normal and her hands had stopped shaking. The stitch was still there but was more a vague ache now. She looked around her at the various stalls, all under shade tents with tables for the stallholders to stand behind and the kids to stand on the other.

  A barrier to the seething mass of humanity swirling in childish abandon all around her seemed like a godsend at the moment.

  And she did love fairy floss.

  “Fairy floss is my favorite food,” she said, pulling her best fake enthusiasm from the deep well inside her. Once upon a time, Mack had taught her to fake it when everything inside her was crumbling, and she’d used the tactic a lot. She hadn’t required it for a while now, and she gripped that knowledge to her chest hard, clinging to it, counting on it.

  Harry looked up at her through a tear-streaked face. “Really?” she asked. “You’ll really be on the fairy floss stall as well as judge the pet competition?”

  Sal almost laughed. Smart kid keeping her head through her distress and pushing for both. “Yep,” Sal said, reaching inside herself and pulling herself up by the metaphorical bootstraps.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Harry whispered, throwing her arms around Sal this time.

  The stitch kicked up a notch as Sal froze on the spot, her hands hovering on either side of Harry’s body far away from the temptation to return the hug. Abi gave her a strange look, and Sal realized she must look bizarre standing there with a six-year-old cling-on she was trying desperately not to touch.

  “Thanks,” Abi said. “I should only be an hour.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” Doyle murmured, his voice low and rumbly right near her ear.

  The chaos of kids twirled all around her and Sal nodded vigorously. God yes. Now. Could they please go now? “Lead the way,” she said cheerfully and almost sagged to the ground when Harry released her.

  …

  Fifteen minutes later, Sal was feeling much more secure behind possibly the world’s flimsiest barrier. The rickety table looked like an ancient relic, but it kept back the hordes, so she was more than happy to take it. After a quick handover lesson from the previous parents, Sal had the machine figured out. Tip the sugar into the large spinner, a bit of food coloring, let her rip, and hey presto—spun sugar. Dip in a stick and it collected like a cotton ball.

  A big cotton ball of dental decay.

  Harry had initially wanted to help, but she was currently eating a stick that was about the size of her head, so Sal didn’t think she’d be back on deck for a while.

  Doyle, all charm and brilliance, was up serving, and their sales went through the roof. The previous parents reported that it had been a slow morning, but Doyle was drumming up business left, right, and center, doing a roaring trade.

  Of course, the man looked as edible as the fluffy stuff he was handing out, so it was understandable. A lot of women bought fairy floss.

  A lot.

  She was tempted to tell him to take his shirt off and they’d sell even more. Except she was going to try to avoid any more potential claims of sexual harassment.

  Although it was hot in the tent, so there were reasonable grounds. The October sunshine was harsh and the thick canvas shading their area was hardly chosen for its ability to breathe, and the machine heated the sugar as it spun so it was more than contributing to the temperature.

  Sweat ran down her neck and into her bra, and she kept wiping it off her face with the back of her hand. Of course her hands were sticky with sugar, so she was fairly certain that when she finally got out from under the sauna, her sweat would light up a glucose
stick.

  The cloying smell of sugar accompanied every inhalation. Lucky she was a fan. Had she been pregnant doing this, she’d have been heaving into the nearby garbage bin.

  The errant thought sucker punched her from out of the blue. She’d spent so many years trying to forget everything about being pregnant that she actually had forgotten some of it.

  She hadn’t been able to stand anything sweet.

  The pain in her chest, which had disappeared, came back again, but she pushed it aside, refusing to give it any oxygen—there was no time for ancient memories or a panic attack.

  She was fairy floss woman.

  The customers kept coming and Sal kept throwing in sugar and dipping in sticks, and any spare seconds she got she’d make up a few batches just to shove in clear cellophane bags that were also, thanks to Doyle’s sales prowess—aka his wicked smile and his low growly patter—selling like hotcakes.

  “I need two more pink,” Doyle said when he turned around and realized they were out.

  “I’m making it as fast as I can,” she said, wiping her hand across her face again.

  He looked down at Harry sitting on a chair at the back and chowing down on a large serving with a friend. “I thought you were supposed to be helping, missy?” he said.

  “She is,” Sal said, winking at Harry. “She’s product testing.”

  Harry nodded. “The pink’s the best.”

  He grinned at his niece before returning his attention to Sal. “You look hot.”

  Sal glanced at him quickly, not sure whether he was getting flirty or being literal. His eyes danced and he was looking at her like he wanted to lick the sugar off her face. Her nipples responded to the blatant cue. He dropped his gaze to take them in briefly before returning it to her face.

  “And a little bothered.”

  Definitely flirty.

  “That’s because it’s as hot as the bloody outback over this damn spinner.”

  She chose to veer them back into safe territory. It was that or surrender to the fantasy of eating fairy floss off his body. The places she could put it would no doubt keep her company tonight as she drifted off to sleep.