“She said she’d kissed a woman before and liked it but didn’t do anything else.”
“Not everything is a Katy Perry song,” Will said.
Tarryn huffed a laugh. “That’s what I said. She deceived me. And Quandong. Surely, you’re mad?”
Will gripped her hand. “So I’m supposed to be mad because she’s the real event planner’s twin. The real Sophie couldn’t make it—and from what you say, it sounds as if she had very good reason—and Allie stepped in to save both her sister’s businessandour festival. And, apart from a couple of small hiccups, she did an excellent job. She worked long hours, smoothed Phyll’s turf wars, came up with some great suggestions, and then played the part of fake bride with good grace. She may not have been as experienced as we thought, but she obviously had her sister on the phone to help her.”
“She lied. To me. To us. We became her friends.”
“She’s still my friend,” Garrett said from the kitchen where he was stirring something on the stove. “Friends try to understand.”
“I tried. Really, I did. But some things are too big to get past.” She took another slurp of wine. “And this is one of them.”
“Did you know Allie called Phyll this morning?” Will said.
Tarryn shook her head. “What did she want?”
“To apologise and explain. The real Sophie is still bedridden.”
Tarryn set her jaw. “She should have told us beforehand.”
“People often don’t think clearly in desperate circumstances.”
“It was wrong.”
“It was,” Garrett agreed. “But she’s trying to make up for it now. She offered to reduce the fee by a third. Before you say ‘so she should,’ remember Sophie’s bid was the cheapest by a long way. Remember we asked for more involvement, and she didn’t charge us more. And Allie worked far more than the contracted hours.”
Tarryn was silent, her mind buzzing like a hive of bees.
“Phyll thanked her for the offer but said we were more than happy and would pay the full fee.” Garrett pulled plates from the cupboard. “Dinner’s ready. I’m not half the cook Will is, but you need something fast to soak up that wine you’re guzzling. Say ‘yes, Garrett,’ and I’ll open another bottle. The good stuff.”
Tarryn drained her glass. “Yes, Garrett.”
Garrett pushed a second bottle over to Will, who opened it.
“So, Quandong is happy. We’re happy. Even Phyll is happy—and praise the lord as we all know that doesn’t often happen. The only person not happy is you. So there must be more you’re not saying.” Will pointed a fork at the plate Garrett set in front of her. “Eat. Drink more wine. Think. And then tell us what’s actually wrong. Maybe we can help. We’re pretty good as agony uncles. Especially after two bottles of wine, including this fine Montepuliciano.”
Tarryn’s lips twitched spontaneously. She may not have Allie, but she had good friends. Fine friends. Ones who weren’t afraid to tell it as it was. She picked up her fork and dug into the plate of pasta Garrett had set in front her. “It’s good.”
Garrett tutted. “It’s pasta and a jar of sauce. You’re breaking Will’s heart.”
“It’s filling. But it’s not a patch on Will’s gourmet, made-from-scratch creations.”
Will fanned himself. “Lucky. You were on the edge of being banned from my dinners.” He grated Parmesan over his own plate and followed it with pepper and dried chilli.
Garrett poured more wine. “Don’t slurp this like the last one. This is better than you deserve in your current mood.”
Tarryn laughed. “My mood is improving thanks to you two.”
Will ate a forkful of pasta, winced, and added more cheese. “So, what aren’t you telling us? You were getting along with Allie—we all saw the kisses. You slept together. You were a happy little Vegemite until she left. Then, you locked yourself away with those antisocial animals of yours—”
“They needed food and love.”
“Don’t we all,” Will continued. “And then you come stomping around here with a face like an alpaca’s bumhole, drink a bottle of our wine—”
“Not the good stuff. You’ve only just opened that.”
“There was no point wasting the good stuff on you at first. You inhaled it as if you’d spent a week in the Simpson Desert,” Garrett said.
