At quarter past twelve Connor jogged across the street to Mr Sears’s bakery. On his way back he stopped right outside the bookshop window to survey the new display.
Jaz stood behind one of the bookcases she was tidying and watched him. Her heart squeezed so tight the blood rushed in her ears.
Turn your back. Walk away.
Her body refused to obey the dictates of her brain.
At least close your eyes.
She didn’t obey that order either. She remembered how she and Connor had once shared their drawings with each other, offering praise or criticism, suggestions for improvements. She searched his face. Did he like her display?
She couldn’t tell.
He didn’t lift his eyes and search for her inside the shop.
Eventually he turned and strode away. The tightness around Jaz’s heart eased, but nothing could expand to fill the gap that yawned through her.
At a touch after three-thirty the phone rang. Jaz pounced on it, eager to take her mind off the fact that Melly wasn’t here. She’d known Melly wouldn’t show up here today. Just as she knew Melly wouldn’t show up here tomorrow…or any other day from now on.
She didn’t know why it should make her feel lonely, only that it did.
‘Hey, mate!’ Her business partner’s voice boomed down the line at her. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘Mac!’ She grinned. ‘Better now that I’m talking to you. How are Bonnie and the kids?’
‘They send their love. Now, tell me, has the town welcomed you back with open arms?’
‘Yes and no. Business could be a lot better, though. I’m not getting any local trade.’
‘Are they giving you a hard time?’
‘Well, there is a rumour that I’m the local drug baron.’
His laughter roared down the line, lifting her spirits. ‘What? Little Ms Clean-as-a-Whistle Jaz Harper?’ He sobered. ‘I bet that’s doing wonders for business.’
‘Ooh, yeah.’
‘Listen, mate, I have a job for you, and I have a plan.’
Her smile widened as she listened to his plan.
‘OKAY, Princess Melly—’ Connor held the door to Mr Sears’s bakery open ‘—what is your pleasure?’
Mel’s eyes danced. It gladdened Connor’s heart.
‘Princess Melly wants a picnic!’
‘Where…at the park? Or perhaps at one of the lookouts?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘On the skyway?’ They’d already been back and across on the skyway twice this morning.
Over the course of the morning Mel had laughed with her whole self, and it made things inside him grateful and light. She’d retreated into her shell a couple of times, but so far she’d come peeping back out again.
Jaz had been right. The Princess Melly thing was working a treat. It had disarmed his daughter almost immediately—that and the skyway rides. Not to mention the jeans-buying expedition. Mel had only requested one pair of jeans, but it had suddenly occurred to Connor that she didn’t have any—at least, none that fitted her any more. They’d bought three pairs. Mel had near burst with excitement over that one. She wore a pair now.
‘A picnic in the botanic gardens,’ Princess Melly announced.
‘Excellent.’ Connor rubbed his hands together, walked her up and down the length of the counter to eye all of Mr Sears’s goodies. It was only a touch after eleven o’clock but, given the amount of energy they’d expended already, coupled with the plans he could see racing through Mel’s mind, he figured she might need refuelling. ‘What should we take on our picnic?’
She stared up at him with big liquid eyes—identical to his, so he was told. He didn’t believe it. His eyes couldn’t melt a body like that.
‘Princess Melly would like a sausage roll now—’ she slipped her hand inside his, as if he might need some extra persuasion ‘—which will spoil her lunch, you know?’
‘It will?’ He tried to figure out where she was going with this.
‘Which means we can just have apple turnovers and lemonade for lunch.’
Connor grinned. Mel’s smile slipped. ‘Excellent idea,’ he assured her. ‘Apple turnovers for lunch it is.’
Once in the proverbial blue moon wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Her smile beamed out at him again.
Heck, no, it couldn’t hurt anything. Still…responsible adult instincts kicked in. ‘I am afraid, though, that your humble servant—’ he touched his chest ‘—has a voracious appetite. Would it be permissible for him to order egg-and-lettuce sandwiches to take on the picnic, do you think?’
She nodded solemnly, but her eyes danced. Connor placed their order and they sat at a table in the front window to munch their sausage rolls and sip hot chocolates.
The roar of motorbikes interrupted them mid-bite. They both swung to stare out of the window. Motorbikes—big, black, gleaming Harley-Davidsons— trawled up the street, chrome and leather gleaming in the sun. There had to be at least a dozen bikes, most with pillion passengers…and all the riders wore black leather. Connor blinked, and then he started to laugh, deep and low, and with undeniable satisfaction. The roar and thunder abated as the bikes found parking spaces down either side of the street. All of the leather-clad visitors made a beeline for Jaz’s bookshop.
His gut clenched when Jaz danced out to meet them. He thought a blood vessel in his brain might burst when the biggest and burliest of the visitors swung her around as if she didn’t weigh any more than a kitten, rather than five feet ten inches of warm, curvaceous woman. When the burly visitor placed her back on the ground, he kissed her on the cheek.
Kissed her! Something dark and ugly pulsed through him.
Jaz hadn’t mentioned being involved with anyone in Sydney, but then they hadn’t really discussed what she’d been doing since she’d left.
‘Daddy?’
He glanced down to find Mel staring at his mangled sausage roll.
He tried to loosen his grip around it, tried to grin. ‘Oops, I obviously don’t know my own strength.’
Melly giggled.
Connor wiped his hand on a paper serviette and glanced back out of the window. He couldn’t stop a replay of all the kisses he and Jaz had shared eight years ago from playing through his mind now—all of them, in all of their endless variety.
He couldn’t remember kissing her on the cheek too often.
On the cheek!
That hadn’t been the kiss of some lover impatient to see his girlfriend after a week of enforced separation. Connor couldn’t explain the rush of relief that poured into him. Actually, he could explain it, but he wouldn’t. Not to himself. Not to anyone.
Some of Jaz’s friends followed her into the bookshop. Others broke into groups of twos and threes to stroll down whichever side of the street seemed to take their fancy, for all the world like idle tourists. Which was probably what they were. They didn’t wear bike gang insignias on their leather jackets. They were probably a bunch of people who shared a passion for