And she was too afraid to explore the reasons why, not least because she was trying desperately to hang on to a relationship that suddenly felt like shifting sand beneath her feet.
Thankfully, though, as her ears tuned into the white noise of the shower spray, her exhaustion soon took over and she quickly succumbed to the pull of sleep.
*
Sweeney woke the next morning from a surprisingly sound sleep, sunlight streaming into the room around the edges of the not-quite-living-up-to-its-job blackout blind. The hotel might be budget—the blind being a good case in point—but the mattress was not. It was super comfy and she swore she hadn’t moved a muscle. But she must have because she was now on her opposite side and closer to the middle looking at Fin, who was also closer than he had been last night, facing her on his side.
She’d still probably only just be able to reach him if she stuck her arms out but there he was, beside her, sheet pulled to his waist, his whiskery face oh so familiar, his mop of hair all tousled, his mouth softly parted, a mark from the bedding—she presumed—on his upper cheek, his chest rising and falling beneath the cotton of his pyjama shirt.
She’d slept with Fin. Completely platonically, sure, but undeniable.
Neither the thought nor his presence alarmed her, though. Not like it had last night, anyway. Not like it might have done had he been awake and looking at her. It was… nice, actually. Watching him sleep, hearing the steady rhythm of his breathing. It was soothing, restful. Like the gentle fall of rain on the roof or the quiet swish of a becalmed ocean lapping the shore.
Which was a revelation. The rare nights she spent an entire night in bed with a man, she usually woke with thoughts of escape, not wanting to be trapped or tied down. Okay, this was different but, still, knowing Fin didn’t want to trap or tie?
She could get used to this.
A small frown chased across his brow and his lips parted. Sweeney curled her fingers in the sheet to stop herself from running her thumb along their very kissable contours. It was surprisingly hard to do, which was just the prod she needed to get out of bed.
This was utter fancy—she and Fin were not in a relationship. Not a real one, anyway. She clearly needed a coffee.
*
There were probably half a dozen people inside the diner situated in the block of small suburban shops across the road from the hotel when Sweeney entered. The bell above the door dinged and she was greeted with a, ‘Hey, hon,’ from a woman behind a wide counter that was lined with red stools to the right and left.
Her greying hair was pulled back in a tight bun, her stiffly frizzed fringe looking like it had beenthere’s something about Mary’ d. She was wearing large round spectacles with bright blue frames, a pink polo shirt displaying the diner’s logo and a name badge that saidDolly.
‘Hey,’ Sweeney said with a smile as the cool embrace of air-con enveloped her in a refreshing hug. It might be April but the sun was already uncomfortably warm.
Welcome to the Sunshine State.
‘Menu’s here.’ Dolly tipped her chin at a stack of large, one-page laminated menus sitting by the till. ‘Bakery items there.’ She tipped her chin at the glass display case this time. ‘Have a seat and I’ll come get your order. Unless you want a takeaway.’
‘Just two flat whites to go, please.’
She smiled. ‘Coming up.’
Picking up a menu, Sweeney noted the coastal vibes décor complete with wall-mounted surfboard. She took in the booths situated near the windows and the layout of the other tables—half of which were already occupied bright and early on a public holiday morning—covered in checked gingham cloths. The menu was extensive and typical of food that could be cooked fresh and fast. Eggs every way imaginable. Breakfast fry-ups. Burgers. Chips. Salads.
The milk frother hissed away as Sweeney wandered to the display case. It was chock full of pastries that would be perfectly at home in Paris, along with pies, sausage rolls and mini quiches. Also, an extensive range of kick-ass muffins.
‘Do you get these in from a local supplier?’ Sweeney asked.
‘Only the pies and sausage rolls,’ Dolly replied. ‘The rest are freshly baked every day right here on the premises.’
Impressed, Sweeney ran her eye along the little flags in front of each row of muffins. A savoury selection—zucchini and carrot, pumpkin, spinach and fetta, pesto and cheese. And a more extensive selection of sweet—raspberry, blueberry, apple, macadamia and white chocolate, peanut butter, banana.
Andhummingbird.
The printed words slid like a stiletto between Sweeney’s ribs as she remembered it was Michael Murphy’s birthday today. Another reason Fin had made the trek home, and something she knew had been weighing on his mind since his mother declined accompanying him to the Gold Coast.
Fin had wanted Rhonda to join them so they could be together for the solemn occasion, but she’d been adamant that the comp—which had been Michael’s ambition for the Banshees—was the most important thing, and that she wanted Fin to be able to concentrate on it without having to check in on her all the time, because he would.
Smart mamma!
Ronnie had reasoned that she and Fin still had a few days when he returned from the Gold Coast to spend together and they’d do something for Michael’s birthday then. And Connie had assured Fin that she’d be there for Ronnie today.
An idea surfaced in Sweeney’s brain. ‘What time do you close tonight?’
