‘I’m seeing a glow in your eyes. I’ve missed that. Don’t lose that sparkle by making a dumb decision about Tom, okay? He’s—gosh. How can I put this in a way you’ll understand?’
‘I’m not completely stupid, Kylie.’
‘Quiet, I’m thinking. Oh! I’ve got it. Your brother, Josh. He’s sweet, he’d do anything for you, but he’s not dangerous, you know what I’m saying?’
‘Sure.’
‘If he was a dog, he’d be a golden retriever.’
‘Okay, I can see that.’
‘But Tom. He’s a protector. Brooding, watchful eyes, deep thoughts swirling about under the surface … he’s a German shepherd. He’d throw himself in front of a bullet before he’d let you get hurt.’
Huh. Hannah looked in the mirror and tried to see what sort of a dog she would be, but all she could see was a fairly short, pale-faced woman who was, deep on the inside, in the places where the mirror couldn’t see, lonely.
A baby would fix that, not a pup.
And she didn’t need a man for that, no matter how much of a protector he was.
‘I’ve thought this through, Kylie, I promise.’
‘Well, you know where I live when it all goes to hell and you need a shoulder to cry on. Now, perfume, show me what you’ve got.’
Twenty minutes later, Kylie had roared off to rescue a quadbike from bald tyres and Hannah was about to head out through the clinic’s back door when it opened to reveal Tom, a white cardboard box in his hand suspiciously wrapped in ribbon.
A gift? Did he feel sorry for her? Was thispity?
‘Apple pie from Mrs LaBrooy,’ he said.
‘You didn’t tell her anything, did you?’
His face assumed an expression of wounded innocence. ‘You’re right. It’s too much for me to be bringing you a dish of flaky golden pastry stuffed with stewed apple and cinnamon just because she’s fond of you. Let’s take it up to Josh’s apartment and he can have it.’
She wrestled the box from his hands and took it into the back office to store it with the heartworm vaccines. ‘I’ll be the judge of who gets a share of Mrs LaBrooy’s apple pie. Shall we go?’
He gave a mock bow. ‘Your chariot awaits.’
‘The café is less than two hundred metres away across a well-mowed park.’
‘I was speaking metaphorically. Let’s go, brat.’
That was more like it. She picked up the scarf Kylie had made her pinkie promise to wear, and shrugged her way into the denim jacket she’d put her foot down about. ‘I’m ready.’
Tom held the door open and sniffed the air as she passed. ‘Is that perfume?’
‘Kylie was here earlier. She made me—you know what she’s like.’
He smiled and she watched his eyes wander over her rustic braid down to the soft leather boots she wore. ‘Had a tough morning being bullied into wearing nice clothes, I see.’ He leant in to her neck and took another deep sniff. ‘She does excellent work.’
Why did this feel suspiciously like a date? Worse, a small-town date that was about to occur in a venue where everybody would see them. She needed donor sperm, not a boyfriend. And Tom had assured her he wasn’t ‘on the market’, so why was he jumping through hoops?
Tom was up to something, she just didn’t know what. But he wasn’t the only one who was up to something; the apple pie, the sniffing, the coffee meet-up … all of this niceness was giving her the incentive she needed to try and change Tom’s mind.
The Billy Button Café was chock-a-block, which was no surprise. The food, the wine, the ambience … Vera had created something special when she’d taken over the lease of the old bank building last year.
Graeme, the manager, turned despairing eyes on them as they came in. ‘We’re out of tables, just when two of my favourite people in all the world drop in. Hannah, mwah, mwah,’ he said, planting kisses on her cheeks. ‘Would sir like to be kissed?’ he said to Tom.
‘Another time, mate,’ Tom said easily. ‘Good to see you.’
