And while the first fortnight of it being just the two of them had been way better than the on-camera experience, his home no longer felt like a sanctuary.
Spencer made a last-minute detour to the Sunny Cross Cafe after school, determined to make some headway with redrafting a script for the community theatre group.
He was the only one in the cafe, which he was sure wasn’t a great thing for Clem, but the quiet space suited him fine.
‘Can I ask what you’re working on?’ Clem called from the coffee machine as he set up his laptop. ‘Or will you make me peer over your shoulder like a creep when I clear the table?’
This made him laugh, and he felt it again, that zip of attraction and compatibility between them.
It’s because it’s no-stakes,he told himself.
‘I’m helping Louisa with the script for the Penwarra Players. It needs a bit of work.’
‘Really?’ she said, tamping down the coffee. ‘That’s sweet.’
Clem carried his long black to the corner table, where Spencer sat in the booth that wrapped the table and was upholstered in navy velvet. He looked at the donut she’d placed beside his coffee. It was one of the fancy combinations topped with thin crunchy filo pastry, nuts and honey that he’d liked so much when she’d been catering for the crew.
‘I didn’t order this.’
‘I know, but it was you or me, and I really don’t need a donut-a-day habit. It’s on the house.’ She laughed and pointed to his laptop. ‘That’s a really lovely thing to do, working with Louisa on the play. Emily’s gonna be impressed when she gets wind of this hidden talent.’
He shrugged. Emily’s eye twitched every time he mentioned the community theatre group, and she’d been distinctly cool towards Ian and Louisa these last few days.
‘You haven’t read a line yet. It could be the worst performance in the history of the Penwarra Players. The worst in the history of amateur theatre, even.’
Clem mimicked his shrug with another of those laughs. ‘I’ve watched movies that felt like they were written by an eight-year-old, I’m sure yours won’t be that bad.’
‘Damned by faint praise,’ he said, giving an appreciative nod when he tried the donut. It was divine, and he made sure he told her before he left an hour later, with three chapters of the script tightened and the realisation that he enjoyed her quiet company much more than he’d expected.
Rain lashed his windscreen on the drive home. The cypress pines surrounding South Giddi Giddi whipped back and forth in the storm, and the rain-slicked road was getting more slippery by the day. He pulled up beside Emily’s ute, receiving a warm welcome from Dolly, and made the dash from the carport to the verandah.
‘Please tell me she’s not all muddy,’ Emily called when he set the beagle down on the laundry tiles. ‘You could chain her up outside, you know.’
Spencer didn’t need a degree in rocket science to deduce his floppy-eared canine companion wasn’t the main issue here.
‘I dried her off in the laundry, not a speck of mud in sight,’ he said, mustering a gentle smile and trying not to wince at the notepads, pens and farm tech brochures scattered over his marking pile.
He strode to the kettle, flicked it on, then went to the dining table where Emily was sitting.
It didn’t feel right to pull her into a hug or drop a casual kiss on the top of her head and ask what was wrong. Instead, he laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. She didn’t shake his hand off, but nor did she lean into his touch, like she’d done while the cameras were rolling.
Give it time. The hard yards are done, this should be the easy part.
‘Keen on company for dinner this weekend? Ian has fresh lamb, so there are chops and roasts to choose from, and at the rate the lemon tree is pumping, I could probably rustle up a lemon delicious or lemon tart, too?’
Emily leaned her elbows on the dining table and massaged her temples. ‘Please tell me you haven’t invited your in-laws around? Don’t get me wrong, they seem like nice people but they’re here a lot. Like, alot. And while it’s nice that they want me to feel welcome …’
Spencer watched her trail off. Maybe they were all trying too hard. Or was it that he wasn’t trying hard enough?
The classroom normally felt like a war zone in comparison to his home life, but ever since he’d signed the non-disclosure agreement with the TV producers, the classroom had felt like the one and only place where he knew what he was doing.
‘Nope, not Ian and Louisa. I was thinking we could invite your sister and her husband down.’
Emily’s face lightened, and she wiped her hands on her jeans, then nodded softly, dislodging blonde tendrils from the pink claw clip. ‘She’s almost about to pop, and her hubby’s useless in the kitchen. She’d probably love a weekend down here, and I know she’d appreciate someone else doing the cooking.’
He watched Emily rally, pleased that he’d finally managed to do something right. She grabbed her phone, tapping out the invite and received an almost instant reply.
‘We’re on,’ Emily said.
