He still owned it.
He’d intended to sell the hotel. He’d had offers — good ones. Plenty of them. But none had been right. And eventually he’d been forced to admit the truth: the reason he’d found fault with every buyer was because he didn’t want to let it go.
Because he hadn’t only left an investment behind. He’d left his heart.
He turned away from the hotel. He hadn’t come here for that. Instead, his gaze pulled across the road to the café opposite, basking in morning sunshine. Outside, the tables were packed — walkers in shorts and battered hats, mums with prams, a couple of tourists in bright dresses and new sandals. A mix of ages and styles he never saw in the parts of Sydney he’d once lived in, where everyone dressed the same, drove the same cars, and ate the same things.
He scanned for the one face he needed to see. But he couldn’t find her.
A cold squeeze tightened in his gut. Had something happened to her? Three months of silence did strange things to the mind — filled it with catastrophes, with the suspicion that you’d waited too long. And three months could change a man. From a walking zombie to someone who accepted the fact that he wasn’t — as he’d always believed — a man without emotions. Three months of introspection and counselling had led him to this moment, staring at the café opposite. He just hoped he hadn’t left it too late.
Then the café doors swung open and Lucy burst forth like a force of nature — two plates in hand, serviettes fluttering in her wake, a baby startled into a brief wail by the sudden movement. She delivered the plates, leaned in for a quick word, then dropped onto a chair with her customers, laughter lighting up her face.
Oliver’s mouth tugged into a helpless smile. There she was. Alive. Fully herself.
He slid his sunglasses down, stepped off the kerb, and crossed the road.
He had no idea what her reaction would be, but he’d soon find out.
* * *
Lucy knew the exact moment the air changed.
A shiver ran down her spine. The chatter around her dulled, as if someone had lowered the volume. People shifted in their seats. Heads turned.
She was facing the café windows. She looked up and caught Jen’s expression through the glass — concerned, alert, eyes fixed beyond Lucy’s shoulder.
Lucy refused to react. She went very still and focused on the window’s reflection instead.
A man was walking across the road from the hotel with casual, unhurried ease. And not just any man, but the kind of man who didn’t fit in, and who everyone looked at. She turned to face him.
Her kind of man.
The couple beside Lucy kept talking, but their voices receded until they sounded like waves heard from underwater. Lucy felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her oddly light and blank, as if her body had forgotten how to hold her up.
Was this a dream? As the days since Oliver’s departure had turned into weeks, and then the weeks had turned into months, Lucy had forced herself to accept the inevitable. That the months would turn into years and she still wouldn’t see the man she’d fallen in love with. There was nothing she could do about the love. She knew that would always be there. But she could focus on placing one step in front of the other and living a life of purpose and meaning, even if it was without love. And that was exactly what she’d done. Picked herself up and carried on. Because she knew her mother and sisters were right when they counselled her that the hurt would lessen. That she’d find someone else. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t. But all she could do was go on, taking each day as it came, guided by the wisdom and support of her family and friends. And she had.
And it seemed he’d survived, too. She watched as he stepped up onto the pavement in front of her and took off his sunglasses. She remained seated, somehow expecting this apparition to disappear as suddenly as it had arrived.
‘Lucy,’ he said quietly.
His voice brought her to her senses. It really was him. She rose without answering his smile. ‘Oliver,’ she responded. Her voice was dry and husky, as if she hadn’t just spent a morning talking with her customers. As if she were in shock.
He shot her an uncertain smile, twisted around and then looked back at her. It occurred to her that she’d never seen him look so uncertain. The thought snapped her out of her surprise. She cleared her throat.
‘Come here for a decent coffee?’ She indicated the hotel with her head. ‘The hotel bar is open for business but I don’t think Brenda is any better at making coffee.’
‘And I’m not going to even ask her. So, yes, please, Lucy, a coffee would be great.’
She turned her back on him, conscious that her face was like a beacon — the tsunami of blood which had drained had flowed back in with a vengeance — and her mind was scrabbling between speaking and wondering what the hell he was doing back here. But gone was the time when she’d humble herself by asking him. He’d have to crawl all the way to her if he wanted something.
She caught Jen’s eye and Jen raised her eyebrow. Lucy gave a slight shrug. ‘Um, Jen, would you mind getting Oliver a coffee.’
‘Sure,’ said Jen, walking over to the coffee machine which she was now a master of. ‘Why don’t you have one yourself, it’s time for your break?’
‘No, I?—’
‘Hi, Oliver,’ greeted Jen over Lucy’s shoulder with the kind of welcoming smile Lucy couldn’t bring herself to give him. ‘What brings you back here?’
