‘You can’t ask him,’ Elora said. ‘If I’m wrong, I don’t want Bindi to think I’m a busybody.’
‘But if you’re right, she needs help. If you give me her number, I’ll call her later and ask her to come out here to help me set up the restaurant, then she can run it as hostess and waitress.’
‘You’d do that without knowing if she has experience or not?’
‘We all have to start somewhere,’ he said, and she wanted to hug him for being so understanding.
‘There’s more.’
‘Yeah?’ The toaster popped and he plucked the sourdough slices out and laid them on a plate before slathering them with the mashed avocado, which he topped with the goat’s cheese and a drizzle of olive oil. ‘What else?’
‘If she’s homeless, I was thinking that maybe you could offer her the studio as part of the job. Make it sound like you need her onsite until the restaurant is up and running, so she feels like she’s doing you a favour and can’t say no?’
He took a big bite of toast and chewed, his expression thoughtful. ‘And where will you stay?’
‘You’ve probably got a stack of spare rooms in this place?’
He choked on a crumb and started coughing. ‘You want to move in here?’ he said when he’d recovered.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t ravish you in your sleep.’ She flashed a coy smile. ‘Unless you want me to, of course.’
His eyes widened imperceptibly as he realised the added benefits of having her in the homestead. ‘This could work,’ he said.
‘But Bindi can’t know you’re offering her the job or a place to stay out of pity, okay?’
‘It’s not pity if I’m helping out an old friend.’
‘You said you weren’t friends, that you weren’t close to that gang in high school.’
He snorted. ‘Do you want me to offer her the job and the studio or not?’
‘Of course.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I think this is a wonderful thing you’re doing.’
A faint pink tinged his cheeks. ‘You won’t think it’s so wonderful when I leave you smashed avo on your bedside table as a wake-up every morning.’
‘Maybe I’ll grow to like it, depending how it’s served.’ She stared at his chest before sweeping lower, leaving him in little doubt where she’d like to eat the avocado.
‘You are bad.’ He waggled a finger before demolishing the remainder of his snack. ‘And maybe we can explore the various ways to serve avo, but for now, I need Bindi’s number, please.’
‘I’ll text it to you.’ She tapped at her phone and fired it off. ‘Thanks, Cruz. You’re a good guy.’
For the first time since they met, he didn’t respond, her flattery making him speechless, and a small part of her wished she could stay longer in this town with these people who had captivated her without trying.
CHAPTER
27
It had been a long time since Ferne had pampered herself for a man. On the farm, she wore jeans and T-shirts with a flannie in winter, and only wore makeup and styled her hair when she went into town to catch up with friends, volunteer or attend CWA meetings. She could’ve walked around in a hessian sack and Mac wouldn’t have noticed.
When had she become invisible in her marriage? After discovering Jesse’s existence and the truth about Mac’s sexuality, she’d racked her brains to remember when her husband had started frequenting Melbourne. From her recollection, it had been happening during her pregnancy. Mac also headed off for weekends locally, meeting with fellow growers. Or so he said.
But he’d stopped touching her not long after Cruz’s birth, so she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had a boyfriend closer to home before Jesse. Not that he’d risk a liaison with anyone in Rosevale Grove, but there were a lot of towns on the border and beyond, and Mac could’ve had a man in every place for all she knew.
She hated being so clueless. Had Mac laughed behind her back at her gullibility? Had he taken pleasure in fooling her? She hadn’t thought of him as mean as much as emotionally frigid, but considering what he’d been doing in secret for years, who knew?
The sheer relief following his death had been palpable, but not a day went by when she didn’t wish she could confront him and ask why the hell he’d lived a double life when they could’ve split and each had a real chance at happiness.
Hating that she’d allowed intrusive thoughts about Mac taint the evening ahead, she whisked a mascara wand over her lashes before slicking a budge-proof pink gloss over her lips. The neutral pink had been her go-to colour for years, flattering without looking like she was trying too hard, though she’d never had to put the stayingpower promise to the test.
