“If it’s too loud even for a fan, I guess I could lower it a bit.” The man hoists himself from his chair, tugs his ratty shirt to cover his hairy belly, and fiddles with the knob on the stereo behind him. “How’s that?”
I raise my eyebrows at Xave, and he shrugs. I turn toward my new friend. “Perfect. Thank you so much! We’ll have to compare notes on favorite albums.”
“Drop by anytime. Bring some beer, and we’ll make a party of it.”
I give him a thumbs-up and follow Xave to the driveway.
He offers me his hand when I step around the plastic crates. “I’m impressed. You don’t strike me as an Acca Dacca fan. No offense.”
“None taken. It’s funny hearing you call AC/DC Acca Dacca. No one does in the States. I thought my dad made up the nickname for the band.”
“Welcome to Australia! What else do you listen to?”
“I prefer quieter, more folky music. Mumford and Sons, for instance.”
“I like them, too. I’d love to introduce you to our local bands. Hey, are you doing anything this afternoon?”
“I have to put in an eight-hour day for my job.”
“Work can wait. I’m taking you to the beach. We’ll listen to some of my favorite tunes on the way.”
I count on my fingers. I’ve translated two pages so far today. If I tackle three more before lunch and two or three after dinner… While waiting for me to make a decision, Xave smiles in a way that’s impossible to resist. I have the impression everything in Australia could be a giant distraction. And not all distractions deserve to be ignored.
CHAPTER 10
Xave and I head into town along a slightly different route to the one I drove with Grandma the other day. I’m glad he offered to take his car because I’m still not confident being on the other side of the road. Xave owns a large Ford truck, a vehicle that easily tackled the driveway—and that I imagine would cruise over most surfaces, mountains included.
I study Xave’s profile and guiltily find myself comparing him to Brett. Where Brett looks a little stern with his angular face and rigid cheekbones, Xave seems slightly softer. His cheeks are almost cherub-like.
“How old are you?” I suddenly blurt out.
He laughs. “Thirty-four. Why?”
“I was just wondering.”
“How old are you?” he asks.
“Twenty-eight. So, how did you find yourself in charge of an animal shelter? I imagine it’s not cheap to run.”
He presses his lips together, and any good cheer from the previous moment is gone. “No, it’s not. I came into some money a few years back after I was injured at work. I used to be a builder at a company that took a lot of shortcuts with their safety. One day, a crane collapsed and killed one of my friends. I was lucky and only broke my foot, but a few other workers were injured too, and they put together a class action suit. The settlement was much more than I expected because the lawyers negotiated a large sum contingent on us signing a confidentiality agreement and absolving the company of any blame.”
“That’s awful! I’m so sorry you went through that.”
“I admit, I still have nightmares about it. If Eddie had been standing just a few meters to the left, he would have lived. I often wonder how I could have done things differently that day.”
“Were you in charge of the crane?”
“No, but…”
“Then you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it. Although, I understand why you wouldn’t want to return to the industry.”
“I never enjoyed it anyway. Working out in the elements at all times of year was crap. I mean, there’s a bit of that at the shelter, but at least I can dictate my own hours. Plus, I’m helping out the local wildlife. Every bushfire season, they lose a ton of koalas and other native species. A lot of them are already listed as vulnerable here in Queensland.”
“Do you have koalas at your shelter?”
“Occasionally. We don’t have any at the moment, though.”
I pause, thinking over what Xave has told me. He’s obviously gone through a lot and seems like the kind of guy who wants to make sure everyone’s taken care of. Another unflattering comparison between Xave and Brett flashes through my brain as I struggle to remember the last time my boyfriend did something that didn’t benefit him personally.
What is wrong with me? Brett is a good guy. I suppose because our relationship has been so fragmented, it’s difficult to keep track of specific incidents. But he’s definitely charming and has a lot of friends. Although, come to think of it, many of them are guys who, like him, work in finance and have modeled their personas after characters in The Wolf of Wall Street. In other words, not the kind of people I enjoy spending time with.
“You want to put on some music?” Xave asks. “If you like mellow stuff, I recommend Matt Corby or Ocean Alley. We also have some cool dance artists like Tame Impala or Flume.”
“I’d love to hear them. Should I use your phone?”
“Oh, yeah. Just plug in that cable on the speaker and open Spotify.”
I connect up Xave’s phone and make a playlist of the artists he recommended. A song called Belly Side Up wafts through the speakers. It’s the perfect tune for cruising the streets of Noosa.
We pull into what looks like the start of a tourist strip, but Xave turns right and continues along a winding road that hugs the coastline. I can see through the trees to the aquamarine ocean below. The beach looks crowded.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, smiling.
“I thought we’d see how busy it is at Tea Tree, and if there are too many people there, we’ll go onto Granite instead.”
“Are they beaches?”
“Yes, sorry. Bays. There’s also one further along called A Bay, which is short for Alexandria, but that’s our unofficial nudist beach. I won’t take you there unless you specifically ask. Although, judging by how little you wear to bed…” He turns to me and winks.
I feel my cheeks heating up. “Uh, I’m not quite in a getting-naked-in-front-of-strangers mood right now.”
He chuckles. “I was just stirring. I think I heard the council was cracking down on it anyway. Especially around the holidays when there are lots of families around.”
We pull into a parking lot and manage to take over a spot just as someone else vacates it. The place is full.
Xave retrieves our towels from the car and shoves them in a bag that he swings over his shoulder. We walk up the path, surrounded by palm trees and more of those iconic gum trees.
“They sometimes have koalas in here,” Xave tells me. “But I haven’t seen one for a long time. Oh, and remind me to show you later what one sounds like. It’s not what you’d expect.”
I frown. “What does it sound like?”
“I guess sort of like a wheezing lion or bear. It’s their mating call.”
I laugh. “Sounds interesting.”
“Whenever I’ve had people visit from overseas, it freaks them out. You usually hear them at night in the bush around the house. Anyway, I’ve just realized I haven’t asked you anything about your life in America. Tell me about your hometown.”
“I’m from a small town called Frankenmuth in Michigan. You should see it at this time of year.” I wave my arms around. “It’s pretty much the opposite of this.”
“You mean weather-wise?”
“Yup. I have to say, it’s kind of hard to get in the Christmas spirit when it’s hot and you can see people surfing on the beach.”
“So, tell me what a perfect Christmas would look like for you.”
“You know, waking up on Christmas morning, gifts spilling out from under a tree, and snow falling outside the window of a house that looks like a gingerbread cottage.”
I think wistfully of the many beautiful holidays I’ve had growing up. One day, I’ll share my dream with my husband and my beautiful children by my side.
“I’ve only had one white Christmas, and that was in Japan. But then, they don’t really celebrat
e it the same way we do, so my only proper knowledge of it is what I see in the movies.”
“You spent a Christmas in Japan?”
“Yeah. I was there on a snowboarding trip with some buddies, but I got to see Tokyo and Kyoto as well. I really enjoyed it.”
“Have you been to the States?”
“Only as a kid. But I’d like to go again sometime. Your town sounds like it would be fun to check out. Especially at this time of year.”
I want to offer my hometown to this man, only I’m not sure if he’d get the wrong idea.
“It is,” I say neutrally.
“And what do you do for work in Frankenmuth?”
“Right now, I’m a translator. I translate manuals into German.”
He looks at me, impressed. “You speak German?”
“I do. My whole family does. Frankenmuth is known as Little Bavaria, and there’s quite a large German community there.”
“That’s very cool. You know, there’s a bit of a German community around here, too.”
“Oh? I like that.” I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that they’d have German people in Noosa, but it makes me feel a little more at home.
We arrive at a beach that looks like something out of a movie. The sand is blinding white, the water is impossibly clear, and the surrounding landscape is untouched by development. There are surprisingly few people around.
Xave looks out at the water and nods as if satisfied. “We’re kind of making a rookie mistake by coming here in the middle of the day when it’s so hot, but at least it means we don’t have to compete for space with everyone else. Are you wearing sunscreen?”
“I am,” I confirm. “I put some on this morning.”
“You should probably reapply it. Here, you can use mine.” He gets a tube from his bag and hands it to me. We find one of the only spots on the edge of the sand that has a sliver of shade and put down our towels. I self-consciously apply the sunblock to my face and shoulders. And then belatedly realize I won’t be able to do my back. I can’t ask Xave to help me with sunblock, can I?
He removes his shirt, leaving me with a swoon-worthy view of tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. I try not to gawk at him and instead focus on rubbing the cream into my arms.
Xave squeezes some into his hands. “Turn around. I’ll do your back.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that it would look silly to refuse. I oblige, facing away so he can apply it.
Oh, God. His hands are so warm and firm, and I almost melt into a puddle of goo.
Hannah! Snap out of it. It’s not like it’s been months since you’ve been touched by a guy.
Although, if I’m being honest, Brett and I haven’t engaged in as much…intimacy as I would have expected when he moved back to town a few weeks ago. And yes, that could be because we’ve both been living with our parents, but still.
“All done,” Xave says. “Can you quickly do me?”
He says it without a trace of double meaning, but I have to suppress a very immature giggling fit. After forcing my face into something suitably grown-up, I finally allow myself to speak. “Sure.”
Xave turns away, and I start rubbing the sunblock into his back. Damn. I’m glad I can blame the weather for my red cheeks today.
Once we are sufficiently protected from the sun’s UV rays, we make our way down to the water, and I sink into the ocean. The waves are practically non-existent, and I can float on my back, letting all my worries wash away.
I think I’m in heaven.
CHAPTER 11
Xavier swims away from shore, leaving me behind. Despite his assurances that the water doesn’t become deep until much farther out, I’m content to stay where I am—the water reaching no higher than my knees—until my fingers prune.
I move slowly, enjoying the sensation of having the surface tension of the warm water tickle my shins. Xavier approaches me, splashing my upper legs with his far more aggressive steps.
“It’s a good idea to get out of the water. The sun’s reflection will burn you more quickly otherwise.”
The day is perfect. Both my jet lag and the abrupt change coming to Australia had on my life are distant memories. “Too bad Taara couldn’t join us,” I say.
“I didn’t think to ask her. She’s probably working.”
We reach our belongings, and he hands me a spare towel. “Taara’s your girlfriend, right?” I ask.
Xave throws his head back with a cackle, sending arcs of water droplets in every direction. “Uh, no. What gave you that impression?”
I sit on my towel and drag my heels along its edge, digging a trench in the sand. “She did. Well, not directly. But it was easy to draw such a conclusion when she said certain things.”
He shakes his head. “She and I have been best friends since before I can remember. But that’s where our relationship ends. We kissed once—on a dare—when we were teenagers.” He gestures to a man with a comb-over and a beer belly twenty feet away from us. “I’d rather kiss him than try it again with her.”
“But she’s beautiful. And so committed to helping you at the shelter. You make a great team.”
“You sound just like your grandmother.”
“Has she waved one of her fertility goddesses in front of the two of you?”
“More than once. But she has finally given up. I think she understands we’re not meant to be a couple. Taara and I do make a great team, and I suppose she is an attractive woman. But I can list more reasons for us not to be together than reasons in favor of it.” He scoops sand into his palm, letting it dribble through his fingers. “I love her, but not in a romantic way.”
“What’s missing?”
He fixes his gaze on the waves lapping at the shoreline. Turning to me, he says, “Well, a spark, for starters. The lazy way to put it would be the love of my life would make me a better person. But I’m not looking for someone to change me. Or for someone to pressure me into changing. I’m not making any sense here, am I?”
“I totally understand; you have to be yourself around a person. I mean, that’s the version of you who attracted them in the first place, right?”
He nods emphatically. “Exactly. I have to be capable of being my best self before I fall in love. Maybe I don’t always hold myself to my ideals, but I do OK. If my dream woman shows up, I’m not going to be a different person around her to impress her. But something in her would motivate me to be more conscious of shifting the balance, being the better version of myself more often.”
“What a beautiful way to express what love does to a person.”
“I assume that's how things are between you and your boyfriend?”
His question plunges me into a doubt-filled silence. I haven’t analyzed my relationship with Brett in similar terms. I know Brett better than anyone besides Jojo. And I’m not self-conscious about being my true self around him. Well, I suppose that’s not the absolute truth. I still haven’t found the confidence to spell out to him the future I envision for us in precise language.
He returned to Michigan because he wanted to settle into a community suitable for raising a family. Those were his exact words. And he accepted a position to manage a bank in Frankenmuth. How could I not draw the conclusion he imagined his future would include me? But by renting a studio apartment without inviting me to share it, he made me doubt the terms of his plans.
Am I a better person because I have him in my life? I believe I am a decent person, but for the life of me, I can’t come up with a single example where being with him has motivated me to go above and beyond to help anyone.
Xavier reclines, propping himself on his elbows. “You don’t have to answer. It’s none of my business.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you. I like who I am around Brett, so yeah.” It seems simpler to fudge the truth with Xave. I can’t delve into a topic I’ve never explored myself with him, especially one that’s making me itch and squirm. “Tell me what’s going on with your fundraiser.
You said it takes place in a couple of weeks?”
“Yeah, on the nineteenth.”
“Is it a big event?”
“It’s big for us. We have to raise extra cash before the onslaught of people bringing us unwanted Christmas kittens and puppies begins.”
“I can’t believe the stupidity behind giving a pet as a gift and thinking it’s returnable.” I furrow my brow. “Sorry. I’m being judgmental.”
“Don’t apologize. If ever there is cause to be judgmental, this is it. The idea of gifting a puppy could mean death for the puppy. You can’t take a neutral position on the issue.”
“Do you have to raise a lot of money to keep the shelter going?”
“Yup. Which is why we organized our first event two years ago. The first was small, just a barbecue on the beach. Last year, I hosted it at my house. People brought food, alcohol… Well, we had plenty of booze, but the food ran out early. Hopefully, more volunteers will bring food this year.”
“Forgive me for butting in since you’ve managed the event before, but couldn’t you prevent a food shortage by telling people what to bring?”
He cocks his head. “Yeah, I guess.”
I will my eyes not to spin in their sockets from the shock of his laid-back approach to hosting a major party. “Who else helps you?”
“Ah, you know. Taara, your grandmother, and the rest of the volunteers.”
“And no one ever thought to be more organized, either?”
“Nah. None of us is the planning type. We tend to let things happen on their own. We can count on guests showing up when we’re offering them alcohol and music. They don’t ask for much. It wouldn’t feel right for our fundraiser to be some fancy, over-choreographed event.”
“It doesn’t have to be fancy. But even the simplest parties need to be organized. If you run out of food every year, you may not be able to rely on your contributors in the future.”
He sits up. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t let that happen.”
“I could help you with the planning. Writing to-do lists and creating spreadsheets are two of my favorite activities. Tell me how many people you expect to attend and the number of volunteers you can count on, and I’ll create the menu. Your crew can sign up to bring items on my list, and in the end, it will be as effortless as a beach party. Only you won’t wind up with twenty cases of beer and one bag of chips.”
A Christmas Rescue Page 6