Perks of living in a big city were anonymity and not having to feel guilty about it. Something in my gut told me that in thissmall town I’d be running into the owner of the only repair shop again.
I let my eyes sweep over his arms, thick-veined and dusted with oil. Clearly, hands that knew their way around tight corners. I chuckled quietly to myself and made a mental note to text that to Rick later.
“Something funny?” he asked, eyes drifting over me in return. My breath caught.
“Not at all,” I said, letting my eyes do another round of his physique.
Give me strength.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, stepping towards me now, and I allowed his frame to fill my space. He was closer than a stranger ought to stand.
I looked up at him through my eyelashes, knowing how well the move worked.
“I'm in town on business,” I replied. Then, taking advantage of my earlier thought, I added. “On my way out, do you think you could take a look at my engine?”
Okay, that was totally cringe, but it hit as intended.
He barked a short laugh, dimples flashing. “Love to. Doors open day and night.”
“Good.” I stepped closer and let out a breath, close enough now to smell the oil on his skin. His gaze held mine for a few seconds before he stepped away and turned towards the shop.
“Name’s Jono, by the way,” he called as he walked off.
I dipped my chin in acknowledgement, keeping my name to myself, and slammed the bonnet shut.
“Can you point me towards Bellamy Lane?” I called out, realising I didn’t have enough data for maps.
His smile faltered. Just for a second.
“Two blocks that way, off Main Road.”
“Thanks,” I said, adding a wink he didn’t return.
CHAPTER THREE
As I turnedinto Bellamy Lane five minutes later, an odd feeling crept into my body. My stomach folded in on itself like wet paper, and my heart felt sad in a language I’d spent thirty years pretending I didn’t speak. My ability to stuff uncomfortable feelings into my brain vault was becoming harder every day that I entertained this stupid house mystery.
Bellamy Lane was council reserve and farmland except for the large wooden gates to number six, which once opened, looked out onto beautiful coastland. But that view was ruined for me. I lived as far away from the beach as I could manage now.
A black Jeep with the personalised plate reading MUMZY2—because MUMZY1 was already on the Mazda she totalled last year — was parked outside the driveway, and the churning in my stomach eased a little.
“I thought you gave that up?” I asked as I approached the driver’s side window, smoke curling out from the gap at the top. My sister smiled.
“I did. For thirty-six days, four hours and six minutes. Then you rang,” she joked.
“Been a while,” I said, grinning as she stepped out of the car. I held her at arm’s length to look at her properly. She was onlya fraction taller than me with the same light grey eye colour, but that was the end of what we had in common.
June was thirteen months older than me and had blonde hair and pale skin. She was pin-thin, straight up and down to my hourglass shape. She’d managed to tick off some of the invisible life milestones—a house, two kids, a marriage, the picket fence. I didn’t know if there was any genuine happiness in those achievements though, and her purse rattled when she walked. She wasn't shy about the SSRI’s and tablets for insomnia she took that kept her upright through regular bouts of depression.
Some days, I wished I could suck it up and get a nine-to-five job, and marry a dull accountant whose idea of fun was watching the footie on Sundays from a recliner. But maybe it wasn’t realistic to wantbothhappiness and the checklist.
I hadn’t managed either.
“Too long,” she answered, giving me the patented one-second June hug (shoulders only, no eye contact, exit stage left). Neither of us were that big on the whole displays of affection thing.
She turned around to look at the looming wooden gate with the wordsBellamy Children’s Homecarved into it. A shiver ran up my spine as its height loomed above us.
“Never thought I’d be back here,” June said. She took a deep drag of her cigarette before putting it out with her pointed black pump. “I’m giving up again as soon as I leave. Scouts honour,” she said, giving me a two-finger salute.
