Tonight, she intended to change that.
She stared at herself in the mirror, wondering how the hell she’d reached seventy. Her auburn hair with liberal streaks of grey skimmed her shoulders, and religious use of high-factor sunscreen had ensured her wrinkles weren’t too deep. Some of the CWA ladies said she looked like Susan Sarandon, which she took as a compliment, considering the actress looked incredible for her age. But what would Taj see when he looked at her now? Would he see the crepe-like texture of the skin beneath her eyes and the way her jowls sagged? Would he see the lines ringing her neck like an ancient tree, each one testament to a decade of pain? Would he see beneath the shadows in her eyes and wonder what she’d been hiding since Mac died?
She hoped he saw none of that, because she wanted tonight to be the start of her new life. With her trip to New Zealand postponed, perhaps she could spend her time reliving pleasant memories and creating new ones?
She wore her favourite dress, a black maxi covered in a royal blue geometrical pattern, and wondered if Taj would remember the significance.
The buzzer for the building’s front doors pinged on her phone and she tapped the app to let Taj in. More confident in the walking boot, she propped the crutches against the bedroom wall and hobbled into the living room. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, not surprised when all the air whooshed out of her lungs.
She’d never cared what Taj wore, but when he dressed up—wow. Navy pants and shirt with a beige sports jacket accentuated his height and when their gazes locked, she felt the zap all the way down to her toes.
‘I love that dress on you,’ he said, and she sighed.
Of course he remembered. She’d been wearing it the day she’d farewelled him on the farm, the day she’d almost left her life behind to follow him wherever. The day she’d chosen responsible motherhood—to stay with Mac for the sake of preserving Cruz’s legacy—over her heart.
The day she still regretted.
‘Thanks, it’s my favourite.’
‘Do you still like Thai food?’
‘Love it.’
He didn’t have any takeaway bags, so she assumed he’d organised a delivery, but when he said, ‘Good,’ and stepped out of view, she peered out of her door to see him hefting a bag filled with groceries.
‘I’m cooking you my famous red curry dumpling soup,’ he said with a grin. ‘So go put your feet up and dinner will be ready in a jiffy.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, aware that the last man who had cooked for her—besides Cruz—had been Taj when they’d dated over forty years earlier. ‘I see you’ve expanded your repertoire beyond stir fry and nachos?’
He laughed as he searched cupboards for a pot. ‘You’d be surprised what I’ve learned over the last few decades.’
It didn’t sound like innuendo, but she blushed nonetheless, wondering if they’d still be physically compatible. The sex with Taj back then had been memorable. He always took his time and pleasured her first. She’d missed their connection when they broke up.
Ferne propped her leg up on the couch and relished the view: Taj moving around the kitchen with confidence; splashing oil into a wide-bottom pan; sautéing red Thai curry paste; adding coconut milk and chicken stock before placing soup dumplings and bok choy in the mix.
‘That smells amazing,’ she said, salivating a little—for the soup, and the man making it.
‘It’s my go-to speedy meal when I’m hungry. Easy to prepare, hearty, with leftovers guaranteed when I cook it for one.’
‘How often do you cook it for two?’
Damn, the question popped out before she could censor it. He’d already told her he was single, but that didn’t stop her curiosity. When they’d dated, he’d told her he’d never marry, and that had been part of the reason why she’d ended it. And when he’d been a picker on the farm, they hadn’t had time to discuss their respective lives because their one brief interlude had been more about planning for a potential future than discussing the past. But had he married? Been engaged? Had a relationship that lasted longer than their incredible fourteen months?
‘Fer, I’m sixty-four, so if you’re asking if there’ve been significant others over the decades since we dated, then yes. I’m not a monk.’
She grimaced. ‘Sorry, it’s none of my business.’
‘I’m happy to discuss what I’ve been up to, but I’d prefer not to do it on an empty stomach.’ He pulled a wine bottle out of the grocery bag. ‘Fancy a pinot?’
‘I’d love one.’
Another thing he remembered apart from her dress: her favourite wine.
‘The soup will be ready in ten minutes, once the dumplings are steamed through.’ He poured wine into two glasses and gave one to her before raising his. ‘To getting reacquainted.’
‘To us,’ she murmured, clinking his glass softly and hoping he could read how much she looked forward to it in her eyes.
‘You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’ He sat next to her on the sofa and sipped his wine. ‘And I can’t believe we’ve bumped into each other again after all this time.’
