Like the ones that had started when he’d seen a blurry picture and headline of ERICCHURCHILL ANDHISMYSTERYBRUNETTEon a magazine cover. Another online, when they’d been kissing. His stomach clenched at the memory.
“Jordan?” His mum frowned, her brow creasing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He yawned. “Sorry. It was a long drive. It felt like everyone was trying to escape Sydney this afternoon.”
“A long weekend will always do that.” She patted his arm. “Well, never mind. Come on in. I’ve got fresh scones.”
He smiled. “I hoped you’d say that.”
“And I know it’s later than you said it might be, but they’re still warm.”
“You’re not worried I’m gonna spoil my appetite for dinner?”
“I’m trusting that your appetite for dinner remains the same as it’s always been.”
He opened the rear door to retrieve some of his things, but she shook her head. “Leave that. It’ll still be there in the morning.”
“Okay.” He didn’t have to be asked twice. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked with her inside the house, Bella yapping at their heels.
The farmhouse had always been home, and just like he remembered, it retained a quaint charm of yesteryear. Sometimes he thought it would be worthy of a photographic shoot like for a country living magazine. Mum took pride in creating a calm interior, with fresh flowers and clean spaces and lots of wood and antiques. One sunshine-yellow wall of the kitchen held an assortment of china plates, and the fireplace crackled, warming the flagstone tiles.
He moved to the large glass doors that overlooked the paddocks, bordered by the hedges so popular around here. People said this part of New South Wales held similar traits to England, and the greenness and hedges and plentiful old-world trees certainly testified to that. Sunset tinted the dams with pinkish hues, and he was glad Dean had given his employees a rare early mark so Jordan had left work ahead of his regular schedule and arrived here before the snarl of Sydney traffic had made the trip worse.
He loved it here. Loved the peace. Loved the serenity. He understood why EJ had felt trapped, but this place soothed his heart, made him feel like he was okay. Seasons would pass, the world would keep on turning, and God was in control. From here he could see where Dad had stacked a pile of wood near one of the dams ready for the bonfire tomorrow night. A pang hit him that EJ wouldn’t be here to celebrate her birthday. She’d confirmed it yesterday, with another of those breezy, too-brief messages.
“Spending the weekend with Eric in Sydney, so not coming down to Wattle Vale.”
Disappointment had creased his chest, and he hadn’t been able to help himself.
“Spending the weekend??” he’d asked.
An eye roll emoji had been her reply.
So he took that to mean she’d be in Sydney, seeing Eric. Not any other way like most people seemed to mean by “spending the weekend.” He hoped, anyway.
His fingers clenched, hurt banding around his chest like a vice.
“Here you go.” Mum handed him a plate with two halves of a warm scone, butter melting into the orbs of golden goodness. “Thanks.” He bit into one half, and gladness chased away some of the earlier tension.
“I hope we’ll see those shoulders drop from your ears by the time this weekend is done.”
The only way that would happen was if he were to know once and for all that EJ and Eric were not a thing. But—they had to be a thing, right? All this wining and dining. Being on a yacht. Kissing. His stomach tightened. Eric’s interest obviously was not about Dream Match anymore. And as much as he appreciated EJ’s good qualities, her generosity and care for others, he still couldn’t quite believe that Eric knew her well enough to appreciate her good qualities too. Something still seemed off about the man.
“Want another one?” Mum asked.
“Sure. Thanks. They’re really good.”
“I know.” She winked at him and set about making up a plate with warm scones decorated with jam and cream. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Mum.” He hugged her and accepted the plate and dug in.
He hoped this weekend would help and not just lead to more heartache and regret.
The bonfire flames lit up the night, the cold air seeping past his thick wool-lined jacket and beanie, nipping at his ears. Around him, neighbours and people from church laughed and toasted marshmallows and clinked enamel cups of hot chocolate, but he felt separate, even though he was in the midst of a crowd.
This, the first long weekend bonfire without EJ, felt all wrong. She was supposed to be here beside him, looking up at him with those big blue eyes as they laughed and swapped stories and spilled secrets. Like the time when he’d been in year 7 and confessed that he didn’t want to play footy anymore but didn’t want his older brother looking down on him. Or the time when she’d been sixteen and wondered aloud if “sweet sixteen and never been kissed” was an actual saying, and if so, who had first come up with it. He knew she’d been a little worried that there was something wrong with her because no guy had dared. And he’d assured her that the reason no guy had dared was because she intimidated them.
“And I don’t intimidate you?” she’d teased.
