He touched her arm and she started.
‘Is being here uncomfortable for you? Is it like the nocturnal houses?’ He kept his voice low so no one could overhear.
‘No, it’s fine. High ceiling...and it’s cool. Those things make a difference.’ Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. ‘Actually, I’m really looking forward to the film.’
It made him wonder when had been the last time he’d relished an outing as simple as this one. Reaching over, he took her hand. When she stiffened, he leaned closer to whisper, ‘It’s just for show.’
It wasn’t, though. He held her hand because he wanted to. He leaned in closer because he wanted to breathe in that subtle floral scent she wore.
When the movie started her hand finally relaxed in his as if she’d forgotten it was there. For the next ninety minutes Dylan experienced the romantic comedy tactilely—entirely through Mia’s reactions. They weren’t reactions visible in her face, but evident only via her hand in his—in the twitches, squeezes, sudden letting go, in her hand’s tension and relief. He sat there spellbound as Mia worried for and cheered on the romantic leads. All of it rendered for him through her fingers.
What miracle allowed him to read the language of her hand so fluently? His heart surged against his ribs. He had to be careful not to let his fascination with this woman grow. Very careful. Nothing good could come of it.
* * *
When Dylan pulled up outside the front of Mia’s cottage at the end of the evening she didn’t invite him in.
She shook her head when he reached for his door handle. ‘You don’t need to walk me to my door.’
But what if he wanted to?
This isn’t a real date.
He nodded. ‘Right.’
She undid her seat belt. ‘I just wanted to say...’ She swung back, and even in the dark he could see the wariness in her eyes. ‘I did have a nice time tonight, Dylan. Thank you.’
‘I’m not after thanks. I want to apologise. For Thierry. Again.’
She shook her head. ‘Not your place.’
He clocked the exact moment when she gave in to her curiosity.
‘But why in particular this time?’
There’d been an excruciatingly awkward moment at dinner. Carla had asked Mia what the last film she’d been to see had been, and Mia had paled. Thierry had pounced with a narrow-eyed sneer.
‘It might be more pertinent to ask, When was the last time you went to the movies?’
Dylan’s gut had churned and an ugly heat had flushed through him.
Mia had answered with a quiet, ‘It’ll be over four years since I’ve been to see a movie.’
And the reason why—the fact she’d been in jail—had pulsed in all the spaces between them.
Dylan couldn’t imagine Mia in prison—he couldn’t make it make sense. But then he recalled her Spartan cottage and wondered if she’d actually left prison at all.
He rubbed a hand across his chest, trying to dislodge the hard ball that had settled there. ‘Thierry went out of his way to make sure everyone remembered why you’d not been to see a film in so long.’
She glanced down at her hands. ‘Dylan—’
‘It wasn’t only rude, it was unkind.’ How could Carla marry someone like that?
Mia rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans. Finally she glanced at him. ‘No matter how much you try to ignore it or justify it, the fact I’ve been in prison is not a small issue.’
He reached out to cup her face. ‘Mia, you’re more than your past. You’re more than the mistakes that landed you in jail.’
Her bottom lip trembled. The pain that flashed through her eyes speared straight into his gut.
She reached up and with a squeeze removed his hand. ‘It’s kind of you to say that, but it’s not what it feels like. It feels huge. It was a defining moment in my life. I completely understand why other people take issue with it.’
With that she slipped out of the car and strode up to her front door.
Dylan waited until she was safely ensconced inside and the veranda light was switched off with an unambiguous ‘the night is over’ conviction. With a sigh he didn’t understand, he turned the car towards home.
* * *
Mia set her sandwich down and unclipped her ringing phone. ‘Mia Maydew.’
‘Mia, it’s Dylan and I have brilliant news.’
The sound of his voice made her pulse gallop. She swallowed and did her best to sound cool and professional. ‘Which is...?’
‘I have an appointment with Felipe Fellini—the photographer Carla’s been so hot for.’
That made her brows lift. She hadn’t thought the guy did weddings or celebrity functions any more. Still, the Fairweathers had a lot of clout.
‘She must be over the moon.’
‘I haven’t mentioned it to her yet. He’s agreed to a meeting—nothing more. I don’t want to get her hopes up until it’s official.’
Dylan was certainly going above and beyond where Carla’s wedding was concerned. Especially when he wasn’t even convinced that it would go ahead.
Correction—he wasn’t convinced that the groom was worthy of the bride. That was an entirely different matter.
‘Mia, are you still there?”
‘Yes. I... That’s great news.’ She tried to gush, but she wasn’t much of a one for gushing. ‘I’m very impressed.’
‘Liar.’ He laughed. ‘You couldn’t care less.’
‘I want Carla’s wedding to be perfect.’ And she didn’t care how surly, bad-tempered or humourless Thierry happened to be. With her whole heart she hoped he treated Carla with respect, that he made her happy...that he did indeed deserve her.
‘That I do believe. The thing is, Felipe wants to meet at Plum Pines this afternoon—two o’clock, if possible. He’s only in Newcastle for a couple of days, and his decision on whether or not to take the job apparently depends on the potential locations Plum Pines offers for wedding shots. He wants to start with the lily pond.’
In other words he wanted her to be available at two this afternoon to take Felipe around.
‘That won’t be a problem.’
She’d finished supervising the weed eradication programme last week. She was in the process of helping Veronica create an action plan for a particularly inaccessible area on the northern boundary. That, along with path maintenance, was what her week consisted of.
‘Are you on your lunchbreak?’
She traced a finger along the wooden edge of the picnic table. ‘I am.’
‘Excellent! That means we can chat.’
She stared up into the eucalypt canopy above and shook her head. Dylan always wanted to chat. The sooner he got back to FWE and his usual work the better. He wasn’t the kind of guy who liked sitting around and twiddling his thumbs, and she had a feeling Carla’s wedding wouldn’t have his full attention until he’d passed judgement on Thierry.
She suspected he rang her just to ‘chat’ in an effort to remove the sting of Thierry’s incivility. Which was totally unnecessary. Only she didn’t know how to say so without sounding ungracious.
‘What