by Joss Wood
‘You cleaned up.’ Rowan took the cup he held out and wrapped her hands around it. ‘You shouldn’t have. I was going to.’
‘Anyone who could fall asleep against a stone pillar for an hour was not up to cleaning up.’ Seb held a cup of coffee in one hand, his fingers curled around the mug.
Rowan wished, passionately, that they were curled around something attached to her.
‘So, that was your function?’
‘Mmm. My stupid way to make some money.’
‘If it’s legal, there is no stupid way to make money,’ Seb responded. ‘Was it worth it?’
Rowan nodded. ‘Yes, it was. Do you mind your property being invaded by a horde of kids? They didn’t come into the house, by the way, except to use the downstairs bathroom.’
‘No, of course I don’t mind,’ Seb said, and shook his head at her puzzled look. When he spoke again, he sounded frustrated. ‘Ro, you could fill this place with a hundred kids and I wouldn’t mind. I do mind you working so hard that you fall asleep with your head on the wall as soon as you sit down. You coming home is supposed to give you some space to sort your life out, but you’re bartending and arranging kids’ parties and you’re exhausted. You don’t need to do this...’
‘I need to earn some money, Seb. Quickly. I hate being...’
Seb waited through her silence, then added his own words. ‘Beholden? In my debt? That’s such crap, Ro. You’re sleeping in a bed that isn’t being used, you don’t eat enough to feed a mouse, and you are housekeeping...’
Rowan looked around at the neat kitchen. ‘I pack the dishwasher and I throw a load of laundry into the machine...it’s hardly housekeeping.’
‘True; any chance of you actually mopping anything?’
‘Maybe.’ Rowan blew a tendril of hair away from her mouth and stared down into her strong tea. ‘Worse than feeling in your debt is feeling that I’m trapped. That I’m in this city, this place, this house, and I can’t leave. It makes me feel...panicky.’
Seb pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her, wincing as he did so. ‘Why? Why is being here so difficult for you?’
‘Because I am so free out there, and when I am free I’m happy. Being here just makes me remember how controlling and protective my folks were, and...’
‘They were trying to protect you, Rowan. From yourself, mostly.’
Rowan sighed. ‘You always defend them...’ She held up her hand to hold off his hot reply. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Seb. I know that you think that they were good parents because yours—’
‘Mine weren’t. Well, Patch was okay. My mother was a train wreck.’
‘Patch gave you freedom to move, to explore. I was never allowed beyond the walls of our two houses.’
‘They—’
Rowan interrupted him. ‘My point is that whether the ties that bind are silk scarves or barbed wire you still can’t move, and I’ve always had the need to be unconstrained, unfettered...free.’ Rowan sipped her tea. ‘That makes me jittery, but coming home broke just makes me mad. I wanted to show them that I am successful, together...responsible. Not in their way but in my way. Now they are going to hear that I’m broke and homeless, they’ll roll their eyes and launch into one of their what-did-we-do-wrong? speeches.’ Sadness swept across her face. ‘Do you think I could’ve been adopted and they never told me?’
‘Considering the fact that you look exactly like your mum, I’d say the chances are slim,’ Seb said, his tone bone-dry.
‘It’s just that I couldn’t be more different to them if I tried.’
Seb stroked a hand over her head. ‘Different isn’t bad, Ro, it’s just different. I’d like to believe that they’d like to be part of your life but have no idea how to achieve that—especially since you hop around the world like a schizoid bunny.’
Rowan glared at him.
‘Have you ever thought about how scary your life must be to them? To them, going to London was a massive challenge: the crowds, the congestion, the unfamiliarity of a new city. You do that all the time. They would be terrified to live your type of life. They are not as brave as you, Ro.’
She’d never thought about her parents from that angle and she realised that Seb was right. Her parents thought that going to their timeshare unit up the coast was a mammoth undertaking, so going to London would be equivalent to going to the moon. Doing what she did would be, to them, inconceivable.
She understood that. But why couldn’t they understand that while they needed to stay in their cocoon she needed to be free.
‘Why did they go? I haven’t even asked.’
‘Your dad was asked to present a paper at some conference and Peter was going to meet them in the UK.’ Seb wriggled in his chair, winced again, and Rowan frowned.
‘What have you done to yourself?’ she demanded.
‘Tumbled down a hill on the trail run.’ Seb took a sip of his coffee and stood up. Taking a bread knife from the drawer, he lifted the lid off the container holding the cake and cut two healthy slices. Putting them onto the lid of the container, he carried it back to the table and slid the lid between them. Sitting again, he snapped off a square and shoved it into his mouth. ‘Yasmeen’s chocolate cake. God, that tastes good. Who made it?’
‘How do you know I didn’t make it, using her recipe?’ Rowan asked indignantly.
‘Because I’ve tasted enough of your disastrous cakes to last me a lifetime. I don’t think you ever made one that tasted like...well, like cake.’
‘You’re right. I didn’t make it. I found a lovely lady who makes cakes, gave her a copy of Yas’s recipe—’
‘If she finds out, you’ll hang,’ Seb told her.
‘Are you going to rat me out?’ Rowan asked indignantly.
Seb smiled. ‘She’ll find out. She always does. None of us have ever been able to sneak anything past her.’
‘I’ll be out of the country by then,’ Rowan replied, relieved.
‘You poor, naïve, deluded child. You think that matters? If I could harness her powers I could rule the world.’
‘I’ll change my name and she won’t find me. Anyway, if I do more parties I’ll use this woman again.’
‘More parties? You want to do it again?’
‘Strangely, I enjoyed it.’ Rowan lowered her cup. ‘And it’s really good money, Seb. Two of today’s mummies said that they’d call me because they have parties they need to arrange. If they want them done in the next two weeks or so I’ll do it.’ Rowan forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘Will you let me have them here?’
Seb stared down at the cake in his hand for the longest time. ‘I’d like to say no, but I know that won’t stop you. You’ll just find another venue. So I’ll say yes—with certain conditions attached.’
Rowan bit the inside of her lip and waited for his words.
‘Do the parties, Ro, but with help. There is no way that you can keep an eye on thirty kids by yourself. And that blonde who was hanging around was as much help as a corkscrew in a bottle-free desert. I mean proper help. Someone who can lift chairs and move tables and carry stuff, run after the kids if necessary,’ Seb said, his tone serious. ‘No help, no party. Deal?’
‘But where would I find someone to help?’ Rowan demanded.
‘There are lots of kids in the area looking for casual work,’ Seb replied, breaking off another piece of cake. ‘Or me.’
Rowan hooted with laughter. ‘You’d help?’
‘If you needed me. It wouldn’t be my first choice on how to spend my time, but if you needed my help I’d give it.’
And he would—of course he would. ‘Okay, thanks. If I get another party and if I need help I’ll ask for it.’
‘Good.’ Seb’s face softened as he handed her a piece of cake. ‘Eat.’
Rowan placed
it on her saucer and shook her head. ‘Yank down your track pants.’
‘I thought we discussed this? We were going to be friends...’
‘Stop being a jerk and let me see your injury,’ Rowan stated patiently. ‘Anyway, I’ve seen all you have, so it’s a bit late for modesty.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re in pain and I want to see what is causing it.’
‘And congratulate it?’ Seb grumbled.
‘Of course. I live to see you hurting!’ Rowan replied, her voice chock-full of sarcasm. ‘Seb, you know how stubborn I can be, and I’m going to nag you until I get to see it.’
She was stubborn and she would nag.
Seb tipped his head back in frustration, thinking about the foot-and-a-half-long graze that ran from his buttock to his knee. His elbow also displayed the results of connecting with the ground at speed. After fifteen years of doing trail runs and triathlons he should know better than to hurtle down a mountainous track with his mind somewhere else—like in bed with Rowan.
It also burned that he’d been lying fourth at the time, feeling strong, with a good chance of catching the front runners. If he had seen that loose gravel right in front of his nose he would have finished the race—except that he’d broken the front joint on his bike as he’d tipped head over heels and had to retire. He hated not finishing a race almost as much as he hated not doing well.
He made the mistake of looking at Rowan, who was watching him...and waiting. For the love of God...
He pushed his track pants over his hips, stepped out of them and pulled up the back of his running shorts. He knew it looked bad when Rowan said nothing for a long time.
‘It needs to be cleaned, and you can’t reach to do it properly. Where’s the first aid kit?’
Seb shook his head. ‘If you think I’m going to let you come within a mile of me with a bottle of peroxide, you’re mad.’
‘First aid kit?’
‘Ro, you’re a better baker than you are a nurse!’
Rowan just folded her arms and tapped her foot and waited. Then she waited some more. Stubborn, obstinate and wilful; she gave a deeper meaning to those three words.
Giving in, with very bad grace, he stomped to the cupboard and lifted the first aid box from the top shelf. Banging it onto the kitchen table, he scowled at Rowan. ‘Try not to kill me, Nurse Ratched.’
Rowan pulled her tongue at him before ordering him to lie with his chest on the table and his legs stretched out. Doing as he was told, he felt like an idiot.
When nothing happened, Seb turned around to see her inspecting his leg. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Small pieces of stone and gravel are imbedded in the skin,’ Rowan replied as she reached for the tweezers, the cotton wool and the peroxide bottle.
Seb gritted his teeth as she picked out pieces of stone and gravel. Taking a peroxide-wet cotton ball, she dabbed it over the spot and Seb swore viciously.
Rowan used the tweezers and dabbed again. Seb repeated the words.
He kept up his litany of swear words as Rowan tweezed the bigger pieces out.
A little while later he heard Rowan’s stomach rumbling. ‘So, any ideas about supper? I’m starving,’ she said.
‘Steak, potatoes and a green salad? Bloody hell, Ro!’ Seb shouted, clenching every muscle in his body in pain as she worked on the area directly behind his knee.
Rowan stopped, glanced towards the fridge and pulled a face. ‘Is that fillet steak?’
‘Yes. Can you get a move on, please?’ Seb demanded through a red haze of pain.
Rowan peered at the graze, and when she dropped the tweezers Seb realised that she was finally satisfied that he was stone-and dirt-free.
‘Problem. I used your fillet steak to bait the hooks for crab-fishing.’
Seb turned his head and glared at her.
‘Sorry,’ Rowan responded, dousing another cotton ball in peroxide and swabbing it across his elbow this time.
Seb flew up, ripped the ball from her hand and launched it in the direction of the dustbin. ‘You’re having a bit too much fun at my expense, Rowan.’
Rowan met his hot eyes and clearly saw the mixture of desire, frustration and amusement bubbling there. She licked her lips and risked lifting her hand to touch his cheek. ‘Not fun, exactly. Maybe a tiny little bit of revenge for all those times you were so mean to me growing up.’
‘You deserved everything I ever gave you,’ Seb muttered, his gaze on her luscious mouth, wishing he could bend his head and cover it with his. He still wanted her...didn’t think he’d ever stop wanting her.
Rowan, surprisingly, made the first move. Standing on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips against his, her tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. His mouth softened as his hands gripped her upper arms. He started to pull her forward, to deepen the kiss...
Dammit! He couldn’t do this—couldn’t start something neither of them could finish. Seb placed his hands on her waist, lifted her up and away—as far away from him as possible—and dumped her, bottom first, on the kitchen table. He reached past her to pick up his mobile, which he slapped into her hand.
‘What’s this for?’ she asked, puzzled and annoyed.
‘Pizza. Order it. You can pay, since you fed my steak to the crabs. And no girly stuff like capers and asparagus!’
* * *
The past week of living with Rowan had been like living within a twister, Seb decided as he strolled into the kitchen. He’d had a tough day at work and his kitchen held Patch, an attractive blonde around Patch’s age and Rowan, and they were all stuffing brightly coloured bags with sweets.
‘Seb, do you know where I can hire a boat?’ Rowan demanded.
‘Hello to you too,’ Seb said pointedly, and looked at Annie, his face quizzical.
‘Seb, this is Annie—my friend. She hired me to organise the party last weekend. Annie, this is Seb, Patch’s son,’ Rowan gabbled, grabbing a handful of sour worms.
‘Hi, Annie. Speaking of that party, the paddock poles still have paint splotches on them,’ Seb pointed out.
‘I’ll get to it. Now, do you know where I can hire a boat?’
‘A Hobie? A catamaran? An ocean liner?’ Seb asked as he shook hands with Annie. He took the beer Rowan pulled from the fridge for him and twisted off the top.
Rowan wrinkled her nose. ‘Something that can accommodate ten teenage girls for a sunset cruise around the harbour.’
Seb, who thought he had a reasonably fast mind, was battling to keep up. ‘What are you talking about, Brat?’
Rowan sent him a try-to-keep-up look. ‘I had an enquiry about a boat party: food, drink, sunset cruise. I need a boat.’
Seb took a long sip of his beer and rested the neck between his eyes. ‘Was she always this exhausting?’ he asked Patch.
‘Pretty much. Rowan has always only had two speeds: fast and super-fast,’ Patch replied, sliding a look at Annie.
Annie smiled slowly, dropped her eyes and lifted them again in a look that was all seduction. Oh, wow, Patch was flirting with a woman his own age. His own age!
Seb felt like looking out of the window to see if a pig was flying past. He leaned against the far counter and crossed his legs at the ankles. ‘And these bags are for another party you’re organising?’
‘Yep, for tomorrow.’ Rowan flashed him a grin. ‘Not here, though. The mummy wanted it at her house, but she didn’t want to take the time out from her business to organise the details. So she’s paying me an insane amount to set out snacks, organise a magician and a Slip and Slide and to make party bags.’ Rowan looked at her watch. ‘And Patch and Annie are helping me because I need to get to the bar later.’
As he’d said—a twister. He’d barely seen her this past week. She’d dashed in and out of the h
ouse like a woman possessed. He’d tried to get her to stop for a glass of wine, a meal, a conversation. She’d brushed him off, saying that she didn’t have time to do anything, and it had annoyed the crap out of him. He’d never been put in the position of running after someone, waiting for someone to give him a minute of their time, and it wasn’t fun. Was this how his previous girlfriends felt? Was this a touch of karma?
Karma? Jeez, he sounded like a hippy girl... Get a grip, dude! You’re just freakin’ miserable and, frankly, ticked off because you’re horny.
He switched gears fast. ‘And your netsukes? Have you done any research yet?’
Rowan pulled a face. ‘Not really. I’ve been so busy...’
‘You have a shedload of money tied up in those statues and you’re messing around with children’s parties?’
Rowan’s shoulders stiffened as she sent him a cool look. ‘I thought that if I could earn some money I could get back to London and take them to the experts there. That would save me the hassle of trawling the net.’
The reluctance in her voice as she said ‘trawling the net’ had him shaking his head. ‘You don’t know where to start, do you?’
Rowan wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Not really.’
‘And you couldn’t ask me for help? Ro, what do I do for a living?’
Annie’s and Patch’s eyes played ping-pong as they bounced off their faces.
‘It’s just that you are busy...’
‘That’s an asinine excuse! You just didn’t want to ask for help—again! I thought we’d talked about your stupid independent streak?’
Rowan launched a sweet at his chest. ‘Don’t you dare call me stupid!’
Seb snatched the sweet out of the air. ‘I never said you were stupid. I said you had a stupid independent streak!’
Patch sighed and looked at Annie. ‘I feel like I’ve been transported back to their childhood. This could go on for a while, so what do you say to leaving them to argue and coming to have a glass of wine at my place?’
And that reminded him... When was his father going to move out of the cottage and back into his own house? Seb opened his mouth to ask, then snapped it closed again. Finish one argument first.