‘Too busy making a living,’ Jemma insisted, despite the small voice inside her that cheered on her grandmother.
‘But this Hamish has his own living?’ Nonno said.
‘What is this, a cross-examination? Look, you wouldn’teven like Hamish. He’s …’ She struggled to find something derogatory. ‘Lightweight’ had flashed to mind, but she knew it wasn’t true. ‘He’s … he’s not career orientated.’
‘Are you trying to tell us his faults or his attributes?’ Nonno teased. ‘For you, a career is fine, because that is what you choose. But for others there are different … passions.’
God, was she actually blushing? She stuffed meat into her mouth; perhaps chewing would drain the blood from her cheeks.
‘And your passion for your career will never give us grandbabies,’ Nonna said.
‘Look,’ Jemma said without swallowing, hoping the poor manners would divert Nonna’s attention. ‘I regret ever mentioning him. I don’t want children, Hamish is not grandbaby-making material, and it was just a bit of fun.’ She recalled with a twinge of guilt Hamish’s dislike of lying; she might maintain that she wanted something transitory, but his repeated rejections implied that he wasn’t up for that. And, despite his undeniable unsuitability and her insistence that heart would never rule head and career won out over care, she was tempted to bend her rules to meet him halfway, becausethat kiss. A reminiscent smile curved her lips.
‘Well, look at Venice,’ her grandfather said nonsensically.
‘Gladly,’ she replied, relieved at the change of conversation.
Nonno’s eyes glinted. ‘That city is proof that you don’t always need a solid foundation.’
Jemma frowned. Through ingenuity and necessity, the historic Italian city had been built on marshland barely capable of supporting a human’s weight.
Nonno waited only a second for her to catch on. ‘All you require is the desire to build something.’
No lurking shadows that need dealing with?
Jemma grinned as Hamish’s message flashed up on her phone a few hours later. She’d been relieved when Dante had turned up at her grandparents’ in time to divert the conversation away from Hamish—but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t spent the rest of the evening thinking about the mechanic.
He’d played it well, she admitted to herself as she flicked off the bathroom light and made her way to the bedroom. He hadn’t messaged her so early that he seemed desperate—in fact, she’d just started to verge on concerned that he wouldn’t contact her until she was back in Settlers Bridge. His timing was impeccable: there was something almost sinfully nice about getting the text as she was climbing into bed.
Her fingers rested on the screen for a moment. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that Hamish was always up for a bit of flirting.
You could always come check under my bed.
It’d be my pleasure, I’m sure. But stuff here’s gone a bit south.
She grinned wickedly.
South is generally good, in my experience.
Then she sat staring at the three pulsing dots on her phone for seven frustrating minutes, waiting for his response.
Sorry. Actually, I need your help with something.
Now they were getting somewhere. Jemma settled further under the woollen quilt.
Thought you were never going to ask.
When are you back in Settlers? Still Wednesday?
She frowned. She might consider taking this a little further than a fling, but she definitely wasn’t investing in anything that smacked of neediness. Hamish had to be prepared to travel to her. No, he had to bedesperateto travel to her, so that she maintained control of the relationship.
I’m always … open … to suggestions
So can I book an oral … consultation when you’re back?
That was more like it.
I’m sure I can squeeze you in.
