Hopefully.
Maybe.
Allie closed her eyes briefly, and taking a deep breath, resumed the application letter.I have five years’ experience in a similar role managing small to medium sized clients with minimal supervision.
Surely, her experience would be enough to at least get her an interview.
Chapter 5
Tarryn flung herself onto thebattered old couch. Her shouse—a liveable shed/house that occupied the other half of her workshop—was comfortable, but still cool at this time of year, despite the pot-belly stove radiating a cosy warmth.
The truck repair had gone well, and the delighted owner had asked her to do some extra work around the farm. The money would be welcome. If only her metal art paid as well as the welding jobs, but at least she had that work—as well as various odd jobs from time to time, like cleaning Kirra’s Airbnb, and helping out in businesses when someone called in sick or needed a breathing body to stand at the photocopier for a few mind-numbing hours. It wasn’t how she’d seen her life when she started her metal art business, but it paid the bills.
Her empty stomach prodded her to move. She needed to chop more wood for the stove and put away her tools from the day. But instead, she was lying on the couch frowning at a text from Will.
Don’t “forget” to introduce yourself to Sophie soon, or I will be grumpy. See my grumpy face? :( We need this festival to work!
She eyed the family bag of cheese-and-onion chips sitting on the kitchen bench. Those, plus an apple, a huge glass of water, and a square of actual cheese were the perfect meal right now. It covered all the major food groups—except chocolate. The last thing she wanted was to drag her butt three kilometres into Quandong to hunt down the event coordinator. She couldn’t even call as she didn’t have her number—her own fault.
Chips or work. Work or dinner?
She rose and went to the small window at the front of the shouse. Her truck was parked haphazardly in the driveway. If she made the effort to meet Sophie, she could pick up a block of chocolate on the way home and totally nail all the food groups. Despite her gut recoil at the idea of weddings—well, marriage in general—this was a paid job she’d agreed to do. Damn her work ethic that even now was pointing to her truck keys and prodding her toward the door. It was just gone seven—that wasn’t too late, was it? Surely Sophie would be pleased Tarryn was keen enough to introduce herself even after a day’s work.
Tarryn looked down at herself. She was grimy from the day and—she sniffed her armpit—definitely sweaty. That wasn’t the vibe she wanted to give to Sophie, who no doubt wore a pink business suit, tittered rather than laughed, and thought a mammoth wedding was the pinnacle of existence. Although she was gay, so maybe she was a bit more enlightened than a fifties housewife.
With a resigned sigh, Tarryn headed for the shower, shedding her dirty clothes along the way.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in her usual straight-leg jeans and a T-shirt covered by a maroon fleece jacket, her close-cropped curls towelled dry, she looked at herself in the mirror as she put on lip balm. If Sophie was expecting an office girl in a skirt and heels, she had another think coming. Tarryn ran a hand over her iron-grey hair. One advantage of going grey in her twenties was it gave her an air of maturity which had done her well over the years. At thirty, she still had a youthful face with only a few fine lines—thanks to her Mediterranean skin—but the grey hair had earned her the trust of many people. She’d have to do.
She scooped the truck keys from the counter and headed out the door.
Kirra’s Kafé was closed for the day, but a light burned in the apartment above. Tarryn rang the bell and hunched further into her fleece against the chill wind that twirled down the street.
After a minute, footsteps came down the inside stairs, then the door swung open and a lightly built white woman stood there. Her choppy blonde hair hung to just below her ears and looked like she’d repeatedly run her fingers through it. She wore a simple cream T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Her only concession to the cool evening was a pair of slouchy sheepskin boots. Tarryn’s jaw locked for a second. Sophie was definitely not what she’d expected. For starters, she appeared younger than her own thirty years, for second, she was already smiling a greeting that looked genuine.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“Sophie? I’m Tarryn Harris, your assistant for the Gay Bells festival. I’m sorry I couldn’t make the meeting today—I have another job, and they clashed. I came to introduce myself, but if this isn’t a good time…”
Sophie’s smile dimmed. “Hello, Tarryn. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you—did I miss a call from you?”
Tarryn shuffled from foot to foot. “Uh, no. I don’t have your number. And I was coming to town now anyway, so I thought I’d drop in and introduce myself.”
Sophie shot her a cool look from clear, grey eyes. “That’s good of you—if a little unconventional. I’m in the middle of dinner, but, seeing as you made a special effort, if you don’t mind that, come on up.” She turned and headed up the stairs without waiting for an answer.
Tarryn shrugged and followed. It wasn’t unconventional in Quandong. Most people were happy when she turned up to work, whatever the hour. Even during dinner. Her stomach gave a soft growl of hunger.
Sophie might only have been in town a few hours, but her belongings were already scattered over the apartment. A thick file sat open on the dining table, papers spilling out over the wooden surface. A half-eaten plate was abandoned on the other side next to a glass of red wine. Tarryn side-eyed it. Salad, coleslaw, and—she surreptitiously sniffed the air—yup, sausages. Her mouth watered.
Sophie moved to the table and gathered up some sheets of paper, turning them face down. “Can I get you anything? A glass of wine, tea, coffee, water?” Sophie stood with both hands tucked into the front pocket of her jeans. It showed off her taut abdomen and made her small breasts jut forward. Not that Tarryn was looking or anything.
Tarryn averted her gaze. “Do you have any beer?”
“Sorry. I’m more of a wine person.”
Of course she was.“Wine’s fine.”
Sophie went to the kitchenette and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, then poured from the open bottle on the counter. “Here you go. I hope you don’t mind if I keep eating?”
