She spent less than a minute at home before walking along the road and into his driveway. Callie’s barking floated from the house and Flynn looked up from his kitchen bench, close enough for her to see his sudden smile. He disappeared, reappearing seconds later when he opened the front door.
‘This is a nice surprise,’ he beamed as she walked towards him.
‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’ she said. ‘Do you have company?’
‘No, it’s just me and the girls.’ He stepped aside for her enter.
Laura handed him his black reefer jacket, her justification for calling in unannounced. ‘I’d forgotten I had this. Sorry for the delay in returning it,’ she said more formally than was warranted, noticing her trembling hands and immediately slipping them into the pockets of her jacket.
‘Have you had dinner?’ Flynn said over Gorgeous screeching.
‘No.’
He gently pulled her into a kiss. And she knew then that her plan was the right one. He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.
‘We are going to have a glass of wine while I mash the potatoes, and then we are going to share a particularly brilliant Boeuf Bourguignon, which has been slow cooking for the entire day.’ His voice was jovial, even mildly excited but it lacked the usual joie de vivre. She wondered what was on his mind.
‘To friendship,’ Flynn toasted as Laura sat on a barstool facing him over the kitchen bench.
She smiled, hoping he saw it as the smile of a woman who knew herself – and who loved what she knew. Listened to Sam Smith’s lyrics, comfortable with Flynn’s silence as he worked in the kitchen, After topping up her wine glass, he eventually slid two plates of Boeuf Bourguignon with mashed potatoes and Jamón-wrapped beans onto the table.
Sitting opposite him, steam curling above their plates, Laura realised she had placed unrealistic expectations on Flynn if she believed he would get the right idea simply because she had fronted up to his house at dinnertime. The ball had to be in her court now. She could not simply sit here, eat his food, drink his wine and leave, without saying why she’d intruded on him in the first place. She took a deep breath. In her entire sixty years, she’d never made the first move towards a man.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, her voice rasping as she cut into her meal, the glow from the fire, the way he looked at her driving every drop of blood to that part of her body where she felt its mounting warmth most. She squirmed in her seat ever so slightly as an involuntary spasm clutched at her. She hoped he hadn’t noticed. Sipped her water, then her wine. Watched Flynn slice through the beans on his plate and spear some with his fork.
She cleared her throat to steady her voice. ‘I’m okay now with no longer being the long-legged girl in the miniskirt, no longer having a smooth complexion and firm flesh. I know heads no longer turn when I walk into a room, unless it’s to tell me to watch my step.’ She gave a light laugh, more from her trembling nerves than a sense of humour. ‘But I realise I don’t want to be those things any more. I’ve thought about what you said, Flynn. I can say, hand on heart, after much thought and soul-searching, that I am genuinely more excited about what is to come than about what I may have left behind.’
He smiled at her, and her heart felt as though it had stopped beating.
‘I realise that even though a sixty-year old woman may feel sexy, it is unrealistic to expect others to see her as being sexy,’ she said.
He shook his head and swallowed. ‘That’s not true. Not every sixty-year-old woman is sexy to everyone,’ he said. ‘But neither is every thirty-year-old woman. It’s about the individual, not the age. And you . . . well, you make my mouth water.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he said. ‘Without a doubt, you have made my mouth water from the very first moment I saw you.’
On recollection, Laura could not be certain about what happened next. She remembered a surge of excitement akin to electricity running through her as he led her over to the fire where they kissed, neither of them wanting to pull away. She remembered them both laughing as Gorgeous had whistled long and low, and Callie had lifted her head from where she lay in front of the fire only to flop down again and return to sleep. She remembered stretches of time on the sofa, kissing, murmured conversations about nothing, exploring each other’s bodies. She remembered his almost silent groans as his lips brushed her shoulders, her breasts and beyond. And she certainly remembered them moving together to lie on the rug in front of the fire. The ease with which he moved inside her, the synchronicity of their shared pleasure – easy and passionate, if it was possible to have both at once. No hidden agendas, nothing to prove, no egos to be stroked or plumped, just pure enjoyment at sharing the most wonder-filled, deliciously decadent form of intimacy. And she would never forget the exquisite surge of her orgasm – and his.
‘I have a confession,’ Flynn murmured to her later as she lay with her head on his chest, aware of the beat of his heart, the echo of his voice. ‘I had this all planned for tonight. I was about to text you when you walked into my driveway. But you beat me to it.’
She looked up at him. Smiled. ‘No. This was my plan. I thought of it as I drove home from work,’ she said, laughing, laying her head on his chest again, tracing the shape of his pectoral muscles with her finger. ‘Do you think we could do that again?’ she murmured.
‘Mm. We could. You should stay here tonight,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘What time do you have to get up in the morning?’
‘I don’t. Tomorrow is my day off.’ She lifted her head, watching his smile in the light of the fire.
‘So what shall we do tomorrow, then?’ he murmured.
‘I have no idea. Let’s wait and see what it brings.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There’s only one honour greater than working with children and that’s the honour of telling their stories. This is yet another that I simply had to write.
Many children have breathed life into the character of Alex. Although her pain and heartache reflect the challenges faced by many, I have purposefully changed details to ensure those I met during my years in child protection, who are still on my mind today, do not recognise their story within hers. Again I say thank you to the resilient, amazing, wonderful children who happen to find themselves within the welfare system whether fleetingly, or for longer than any child should be. Your courage inspires me. As I finish one story, another has already built in my mind ready to tumble out onto the page and be told.
Then there are the experts who so generously shared their knowledge and humour. Sergeant Susan Lock of the Special Crimes Investigations Branch, SA Police –an expert police officer and a good woman whose sparkling personality and dedication to the job could not help but make life easier for so many people. Similarly, Rose Price, well-known and respected psychologist who found time within her hectic schedule to educate me on what I needed to know about the Autism spectrum, particularly Asperger’s. Roger is as much Rose’s creation as mine. I hope I looked after him for you Rose. And Dr Michael Goldblatt, brilliant medical practitioner and wonderful human being who never wavers in responding with a smile to my mind-numbing medical questions. To Ryan Maguire and Helen Pappakonstantinou whose legal expertise provided the seed for Roger’s story and an escape from more than one tricky corner into which I wrote myself.
Thanks to the team at HarperCollins ANZ: Anna Valdinger, Mary Rennie, Michelle Payne and Gemene Heffernan-Smith plus so many more who work tirelessly behind the scenes to ensure authors and readers remain happy. To Dianne Blacklock, skilled editor with patience beyond belief, who transformed the manuscript for Things We Cannot See into this book of which I am very proud. And to my agent Sheila Drummond, thank you for being there, even when you’re supposed to be somewhere else.
And thank you from the bottom of my heart to my friends and family, especially my mother and proudest supporter, Shirley, and my sisters Carolyn and Julie. There are too many others to name indiv
idually –but you know who you are. You have helped me survive my technophobic struggles, have spread the word, judged my social media competitions, created opportunities, introduced me to people I need to meet, or given me fodder for my stories. I’m grateful to Skye, Sari and Willow, Leanne and Matthew; and Lauren, Mia and Flynn whose stories have helped create Seth’s character.
Finally, there are the men I love. My late Dad, Doug Rowe who taught me I could make anything happen if I stuck with it. My clever, sexy husband Jerome whose tolerance of my imperfections makes all the difference. And our brilliant much-loved son Ryan who is my greatest creation. To have one good man in your life is a blessing. I have three. I dedicate this book to them.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award winning novelist DIANNE MAGUIRE writes about children and family, love and betrayal, inspired by over 20 years as senior social worker in child welfare and protection.
Winner of the Pauline Walsh Eastwood/Hills Regional Annual Literary Award, her articles have been published in state and national newspapers and magazines.
Her debut novel, 'What Matters Most', was published by HarperCollins Impulse in April 2015. ‘Things We Cannot See’ is her second family drama.
Dianne lives in South Australia with her husband. She writes in Adelaide and on the Fleurieu Peninsula.
ALSO BY DIANNE MAGUIRE
What Matters Most
COPYRIGHT
Impulse
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2017
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
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harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Dianne Maguire 2017
The right of Dianne Maguire to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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