Taj placed the bags on the counter and started unpacking them.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said, greedily gobbling him up with her eyes, liking his take-charge attitude.
‘All part of the service.’ He winked and put the cheese in the fridge and the rest of the staples in the cupboard next to it. ‘Looks like you’ve been sparring with a dragon. Are you okay?’
That’s another thing they’d shared, a love of fantasy novels, and Ferne’s chest tightened with emotion at the memory of them curled up in bed, reading copies of the same book, racing to the end so they could discuss the characters, world building and epic battles.
‘I took a tumble at a local café the first morning after I arrived.’ She brandished a crutch. ‘Turns out, these aren’t so good for travelling, so I had to cancel my trip and now I’m stuck here.’
He winced. ‘That’s no good.’
‘Tell me about it.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But I guess exploring the world can wait.’
‘True.’ He folded the paper bags and tucked them beneath the sink, and when he straightened, she saw the curiosity in his eyes. ‘Are you here alone?’
Before she could nod, he glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting Mac to waltz out of the bedroom.
‘Yes. Mac died a few months ago.’
Shock widened his eyes. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Fer.’
That made one of them. There wasn’t a single day that went by without Ferne cherishing her freedom, yet having to hide her relief. Being in Melbourne made it easier, not having to fake being the grieving widow as she’d had to do in Rosevale Grove. While she appreciated the condolences and concern from longstanding friends who meant well when they dropped by with lasagnes and casseroles, pretending to miss Mac had been exhausting.
At least Taj knew the truth about her marriage—mostly. He didn’t know about Mac’s betrayal and his sexuality, something she had no intention of discussing.
She should thank Taj for his sentiment. Instead, she found herself saying, ‘I’m not sorry, because I’m finally free,’ and tilting her chin in defiance, daring him to censure her for her callousness.
She should’ve known better. Taj didn’t judge. Not when they’d last met and she’d almost committed adultery. Not when she’d told him about her lacklustre marriage. Not when she’d admitted Mac hadn’t touched her in years. And not when she’d divulged how much she’d love to run away with him. He’d been stoic and supportive, allowing her to make her own decision, one that ultimately broke her heart all over again. Even then, Taj hadn’t judged her. He’d taken her in his arms, held her tight and whispered that he’d always be a phone call away if she needed him.
To avoid the temptation, she’d deleted his number after he left Rosevale Grove.
‘You never called,’ he said, reading her mind, and her heart raced as he stared at her the same way he always did: like he couldn’t get enough of her.
Unsure how to respond, she gestured to the sofa. ‘Want to sit and catch up?’
He hesitated and her heart sank. What did she expect, for him to want to pick up where they left off years ago? For all she knew, he could have a wife waiting for him at home. Embarrassment burned her cheeks.
‘I’d love to, but I have more deliveries to make,’ he said, glancing at his watch and grimacing. ‘They’re all local but a few are demanding and will flay me if I’m a minute late.’
‘Of course, I understand. Go.’ She made a pathetic shooing motion towards the door, embarrassed that her capable seventy-year-old self turned into an unsure teen around this man. She always had. Taj had the kind of charisma that transcended time.
‘If you like, I could pick up dinner and drop by later, around six?’
‘I’d love that,’ she said, too old for game playing.
Ironic that Bette had mentioned looking Taj up online and before Ferne had contemplated it, fate had delivered him direct. She’d never mock karma again.
If they were both single, could this be her chance at happiness, no matter how fleeting? She had no intention of getting involved long term, what with her travel plans and considering she’d just escaped a disastrous marriage, but a fling with the love of her life wouldn’t be out of the question.
‘I wouldn’t have invited myself over if I’m involved with anyone,’ he said, once again reading her mind, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to catching up, Fer.’
‘Me too,’ she murmured, sighing as the man who still set her pulse racing strolled out the door.
CHAPTER
24
Elora had done a few mock-ups for a farm-to-table restaurant marketing plan when her phone beeped with an incoming text. She hated that her heart leapt like a teen’s at the thought of receiving a text from Cruz, the boy she liked.
