by Annie O'Neil
So it was Just Friends, then. And that was the way the biscuit was bashed.
* * *
The instant Maggie laid eyes on Raphael the next morning her tummy went all fluttery butterfly park, and she knew the talking-to she’d given herself about the whole Just Friends thing had been entirely unsuccessful.
He was already out on the street, lit by a single lamppost in the pre-dawn gloaming, his hair scruffy, blue eyes still a bit sleepy, his trousers hanging on his slim hips, a soft navy blue chambray shirt making the most of his shoulders and trim build—well, it looked soft. Not to mention the just-about-as-adorable-as-they-came dog by his side.
Raphael with a hang-dog pooch? That image all but nailed Raphael’s place in her affections for evermore.
If he hadn’t spied her—unleashing one of those bright smiles of his that had the power to make the world a better place—she would’ve spent a few minutes banging her head against the steering wheel. Doomed! That was what she was. Doomed to be a spinster forever. Lost to an unrequited love that would never blossom in a million years.
What had she been thinking? A fourteen-hour road trip with the most gorgeous man in the universe and his dog? If she came out of this with one single shred of dignity left intact it would be an out-and-out miracle. Particularly once he met her family.
Oh, cuh-rikey. This was a Class A brain failure.
She dropped her head to her steering wheel anyway, little flashes of ominous foreboding appearing in her mind’s eye. One of her brothers’ huge workman’s hands crushing Raphael’s beautiful surgeon’s hands in a friendly How-ya-going? Don’t-you-dare-mess-with-my-sister handshake. Their unrelenting passion for burnt snags on a barbie. The coolbox filled with a fresh slab of tinnies “just in case” it was a scorcher. It was always a scorcher.
Raphael would catch the first flight out of Broken Hill. If there even was one that day.
Was it too late to talk him out of it?
“Salut, Maggie. Ça va?”
The man had a voice like melted chocolate. What was she meant to say?
Why, yes, Raphael. I would be perfectly well—if inviting the only man I’ve ever loved to my crazy Outback family home were not the type of thing to send a girl stark raving mad. Which it is.
“Maggie?”
“Oui, ça va.”
Sigh. Swirl. Flip. Loop-the-loop. A pop song clicked on in her head... If she could turn back time, indeed.
Raphael walked round to her car door and handed her a coffee through the open window. “Un café for my chauffeur...”
Before she could thank him, he passed her a beautiful eggshell-blue box with a cream ribbon around it.
“And a little something special for you.”
An image of opening it and finding a diamond ring flicked into her head, instantly unleashing a ridiculously huge explosion of tingles. Maybe fairy tales did come true...
“You didn’t have to do this—”
“Of course I did.” He waved away her protest. “I couldn’t have you driving all the way across the state without some of Sydney’s finest croissants.”
His lips twisted into the inevitable Gallic they’re-not-French-but-they’ll-do twist, then melted into a smile.
“Yeah!” She rubbed her tummy in a show of gratitude, her heart sinking straight through to the foot well of the car.
Idiot.
Diamond ring.
Croissants. Of course the box had croissants in it.
Ah, well. Being a well-fed spinster was better than being one with a grumbling tummy.
She popped the box and the coffee into the central console between their seats and climbed out of the car.
“So this is Monster?” Maggie nodded down to the scruff-muffin who hadn’t left Raphael’s side.
The dog looked up at the pair of them, as if he knew he was the topic under discussion.
“Oui.” Raphael hooked his fingers onto his hips and looked down at him with a warm smile. “He seems to have adopted me.”
“Smart dog,” Maggie said before she could think better of it.
Nice one, Mags. Why not just out-and-out tell the man you’re completely in love with him?
Oh, mercy.
Was she?
Was the Pope Catholic? The sky blue? The earth beneath her as red as the blood pumping through her heart?
Yes. Yes. Near enough.
She hid her grimace of embarrassment as best she could as Raphael turned to her, his expression suddenly shadowed with sadness.
“Perhaps he is a little foolish. Pinning his hopes on a man who doesn’t know if he is coming or going is never a wise investment.”
Thunk. There went her heart. Plummeting straight down to the very center of the earth.
Her eyes lit on the harness in his hand. “Looks like you’ve made a bit of an investment in him.”
“This?” Raphael held up the safety restraint and smiled at it. “Yes. Perhaps it is me being hopeful.”
“Hopeful is good.” Hopeful means you might stay.
“Oui.”
Raphael nodded, and their eyes connected so completely that Maggie was sure he could read her thoughts.
“Hopeful is good.”
“Guess we’d better hit the road, then.” Her voice came out more as a croak then a chirp. “You’ll want to make the most of the time you two have together.”
She scurried to the rear passenger door and opened it up so Raphael could secure Monster to the buckles and harness, all the while thinking, Nice cover. Way to show the man it would be a dream come true if he stuck around. Stayed a while.
And by “a while” she meant forever...
* * *
Raphael was marveling at how different the landscape was already. Fewer than a handful of hours outside of Sydney, they were working their way through the Blue Mountains. The vistas were utterly breathtaking. Unlike anything he’d seen before. And the atmosphere in the car was nice. A bit of chat. A bit of silence. Repeat.
“Maggie, this may seem like a silly question, but with a trip this long...in France we would fly or take a train. Why do you drive?”
“What?” Maggie shrugged away his question. “You never drove anywhere in France?”
“Of course—but not almost twelve hundred kilometers for a short visit.”
Maggie tipped her head to the side and considered her response.
He smiled. She’d done that as a teen as well. Usually the questions had been about algebra or advanced chemistry. Those two thick fire-red plaits she’d always worn had shifted across her shoulders as she’d tipped her chin up to the left, her green eyes following suit until she gave her answer.
“I suppose... Oh, I don’t know... It gives me a sense of being in control of my destiny.”
“Driving for over a thousand kilometers?” He laughed. “So that’s the answer to taking charge of your destiny. Bof...” He let out a low whistle. “If only I’d known.”
If only it was that simple. He would’ve driven ten...a hundred thousand kilometers if it would have changed things.
A thought struck him. He couldn’t change the past. But he could change the future.
He reached his arm back between the seats and gave Monster a scratch behind the ears. The dog nestled into his hand. Trusting. Believing there was a future.
He looked across to Maggie, her eyes firmly on the road. He had a dog and a friend. A dear friend who...who maybe held the promise of something more?
“Holding the steering wheel of destiny is a personal thing.” Maggie tip-tapped her fingers along the steering wheel, as if divining good advice. “Everybody’s got their own thing, right? The thing that lets them soar. Perhaps you just haven’t found yours yet. Besides...” she laughed “...it’s not as if driving from Sydney to Broken Hill a dozen times has landed me a gold-plat
ed mansion by the sea and the love of my life or anything!” She gave another horsey laugh, then quickly swallowed it.
“Is that what the goal is? A gold-plated mansion?”
She huffed out another laugh and gave him a look as if he’d just turned into a stranger. “Yeah. That’d be about right. You read me like a book.”
Raphael turned in his seat and looked at her. She was obviously being sarcastic. Of course she had zero designs on a gold-plated mansion, but...the love of her life? Something told him she meant that part. She was ready for love.
He was tempted to say something—crack a feeble joke and tell her that if a slightly the worse for wear heart was what she was after, his was all hers—when Maggie picked up the conversation again.
“Buses, trains, airplanes...they’re just...you can’t do anything if they’re running late, you know? If you’re driving then you get to be in charge. Pick your speed. Choose the route. Stop. Start. Do what you like, when you like, so you can get where you need to go exactly when you want to.”
“Is that why you like driving the ambulance?”
“A little bit.” She tipped her head back and forth, letting the idea settle, then smiled broadly. “A lot, actually. Even more so than my ‘civilian’ car, because I’ve got the lights, the siren. If they invented one that would let me drive above the traffic I’d be the happiest girl in Sydney.”
She looked just like a little girl as she imagined the scenario. Which made him wonder if the answer wasn’t, in fact, a simple one. “Does your desire to be mistress of your own time spring from always being late for things as a child?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “But I was late for something once...”
Maggie’s sentence trailed off into nothing and the vibe coming from her distinctly said, Time to back off, mon ami.
He understood that feeling well enough, so he settled back into his seat and scanned the views spreading out beyond them—a rich palate of rusty cliff-sides, greens and blues still alight with the golden glow of the morning sun.
“If the rest of the journey is anything like this, I completely understand you wanting to be the master of your own destiny.”
“It’s pretty beautiful, isn’t it?” Maggie said proudly.
“I didn’t realize there were so many wineries near to the city.”
Maggie nodded, much more relaxed now they’d shifted conversation topic. Playing tour guide suited her, and it was enjoyable to see her visible pride about all that her nation had to offer.
“We could’ve gone through the Hunter Valley, but that would’ve added a couple hundred kilometers to the trip. Really we could travel for weeks—months, even—and not get across to Perth. Australia’s awash with wineries. Maybe not as many as France, but Aussies definitely like their wine.” She laughed at a sudden memory. “Do you remember when you took me to that one cafe?”
They’d been to a lot of cafés and bistros, but a picture sprang to mind of a little corner café they had visited early on in her trip. It had been the French cliché. Cast-iron tables—a bit wobbly, with green tops. Rattan-framed bistro chairs with a blue and cream weave. A sun-bleached red awning beneath which the ubiquitous rude waiting staff jostled between the tightly packed tables. He’d been showing off. Acting the sophisticate for his New World charge.
Falling in love.
“Do you mean the café where we were served wine by that waiter who thought he was a model?”
“Exactly.” Maggie laughed again, her green eyes sparking at the memory. “I was too embarrassed to tell you, but I’d never had wine before. Only stolen a few sips of my brothers’ beer. I loved those little glasses so much...you know, the bistro glasses...but I didn’t have a clue if I was doing anything right. I was amazed it was even legal!”
She sighed, and from the expression on her face he imagined even more memories were flooding in.
“Want to hear a confession?”
“Definitely. Yes.” She shot him one of those bright smiles of hers that always seemed to land in the center of his heart.
“It was my first time, too.”
She turned to him, features wide with astonishment. “No. I don’t believe that for a second. Compared to me, you were so suave and sophisticated.”
“Were?” he teased. He’d never felt suave or sophisticated for a single day of his life.
“Are,” she parried solidly. “Believe me, when you see where I’ve come from you will see for a fact that you are, hands down, the most sophisticated person I know.”
“Maggie Louis,” he reprimanded her playfully. “You are being ridiculous. I am just a kid who was lucky enough to be born in a beautiful city. I wanted to show it off to you.”
“You did that all right...” Her voice drifted off. “But I don’t agree with you about the ‘lucky kid’ thing. You knew everything about Paris. I never felt for a single moment that I wasn’t with the perfect person.”
Her eyes flicked across to him and then quickly returned to the road, her upper teeth taking purchase on her lower lip as if she’d admitted more than she’d wanted to.
“I had a wonderful time showing you Paris.”
He meant it to his very marrow. Going home to two parents more interested in the next bottle of spirits or who would win the inevitable fight over who’d spent the last of the welfare check had been a lot less fun than seeing Maggie’s eyes light up when he showed her the nooks and crannies of Paris he’d discovered on the endless walks he’d taken to avoid going home.
“The truth is...” Maggie began slowly, then continued in a rush as if she’d dared herself to finish. “I think I was always a bit in love with you.”
The instant she’d said it a thousand memories fell into place. The gentle looks. The soft smiles. Those moments when their hands or fingers had brushed and it had felt as though time itself had decided to stand still.
It was blatantly obvious that Maggie couldn’t take it back fast enough. Words began tumbling out to erase what she’d said.
Of course only in a schoolgirl kind of way...a teenage crush...ridiculous...nothing to worry about. He mustn’t think he was trapped in the car with her...she wasn’t a stalker or anything.”
“Maggie! Arrêts. It’s okay. We were kids. Besides, even if I’d wanted to I couldn’t have done anything about it.”
Her lids lowered to half-mast and she shot him a look.
“Jean-Luc,” he said as a means of explanation.
Tell her! Tell her you felt the same way!
She lifted a finger and rolled it round. Keep on talking, it said. Clearly just saying Jean-Luc’s name wasn’t enough.
He sucked in a deep breath. Talking about Jean-Luc in any capacity was tough. Going back to the “good old days” was the hardest. Because they seemed the furthest out of reach.
“He told me he’d give me a black eye if I even so much as thought of kissing you.”
“He did?”
Raphael nodded. “He did.”
“And you listened to him?” Maggie gave him a quick glance.
“Let’s just say Jean-Luc was acting at his mother’s behest.”
“Um...” Maggie’s voice sounded dubious. “Since when do teenage boys listen to their mother? I grew up with three brothers, remember?”
“If one of your brothers had threatened someone who had designs on you with a black eye, would the boy have listened?”
Maggie obviously didn’t need long to work that one out.
“Most likely—but that’s small town stuff. Jean-Luc was your best friend. And he already had a girlfriend. Surely he would’ve just ignored his mother and told you to go for it?”
“Is that what you would have liked?”
“Raphael.” Maggie threw him a stern look. “This is already immensely embarrassing. I’m not going to beg you to explain to me why yo
u never kissed me.”
There were a thousand reasons why. How did he explain to her that the Couttards had been his second family? That they had provided the structure and the balance—and sometimes the square meals—he had needed throughout his teens.
It had been out of loyalty. Maggie would understand that. And yet every part of him wished he had taken the risk.
“I know it sounds a bit pathetic, but think about it. Would you have disobeyed Madame Couttard?”
Maggie’s features stayed static as she considered the question. “No. Definitely not. She was lovely, but she was a stern woman. I remember every time I asked why they ate so late she would fix me with an astonished expression, pop her hands on her hips and say. ‘Je n’aime pas manger avec les poules, Margaret!’”
“Exactly.” Raphael tapped the dashboard soundly. “She saw being your host mother as akin to being your own mother. Looking out for you. Caring for you. Making sure errant teenage French boys didn’t get any wayward ideas. The only change she wanted in you when she returned you to your own mother was speaking better French.”
Maggie nodded and made an undefinable noise. “Yeah, well...my French certainly improved, all right.”
She pushed a button on the display panel and turned on the radio.
Topic. Closed.
A brick wall to bang his head on would be useful about now.
Ça me soûle!
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked out of the window. Well, that had been about the quickest way to go from awkward to awful. The perfect tone to set for a road trip lasting over a thousand kilometers. Très bien.
Just say something to make her feel better about you not kissing her when you should have.
“It was a long time ago.”
Nice. Exactly what she wanted to hear. That her feelings were silly and adolescent.
“Yeah. It was a long time ago.” She nodded, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Would you—? Would you just...just forget I said anything? All right?”
She was gripping the steering wheel so hard her hands were trembling. Her eyes were glued to the curve of the mountainous roads ahead of them as if her life depended on it.
With every pore of his body Raphael ached for things to be different.