Was this my mother I was speaking with?More the merrier? Love guests? Change of pace?For some reason, her ready acceptance niggled at me. I’d been so worried about her reaction… And, really? This wasit? A small curl of doubt crawled up my spine. Did I know my parents as well as I thought I did?
Still, I was fairly certain Dad would be put out. He had endless projects that had continued for years—there were the twenty antique cars in the back paddock and as many vintage motorbikes in the barn that he was fiddling with—but he always liked to fix them solo.Insula sum, he was fond of saying. I am an island. The man spoke Latin as casually as he collected unending mechanical projects and financial ventures that self-combusted.
“What about Dad, though?”
“You know him, darling. Mucks in where needed. Terrifically practical man. And we’re both low-key, very much in the background.”
My head was throbbing harder from my hangover and her unexpected—delusional?—answers.
Mum hurried back downstairs, and I quickly brushed my teeth, showered, and dressed in one of my comfortable floral blouse and gathered skirt outfits. I felt a soupçon better.
I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, but I didn’t have the eyeball focus to slap on makeup. It was hard to ignore that niggling doubt—i.e., Perry’s voice—“suggesting” I needed to wear makeup every day.“You’re not in your twenties anymore, Tabitha.”
But today? I seriously couldn’t give a toss.
I trudged down the stairway, my gut twisting with dread and trepidation. I mostly felt confident at work. I always had a strong vision of how I wanted the Home and Garden pages of our national newspaper to look and read, I knew what I was doing, and I liked overseeing a team. But I had no idea about a reality show, how it worked, what was expected of me, and what I should be cautious about.
At the bottom of the stairs, I looked up, and delicious smells hit me, along with productive clangs and wheel rolls. Something in the air felt orderly and calm, and I hadn’t sensed that in this house for days, weeks, years…ever?
In the dining room, a gorgeous guy with floppy black hair and cheekbones you could rest a teacup on was wearing a white apron emblazoned with the words,Trystan’s Good Tuck, and he stood behind a beautiful table of food on a crisp white tablecloth.
Mum fluttered around him, inviting him to use anything he wanted from the house, trying to keep the dogs, cats, and goat at bay. A huge fridge on rollers was plugged in at the corner. The dining table was laden with an egg-making station, steamingsilver chafers that smelled like heaven, bagels, smoked salmon, a huge bowl of fruit salad, all kinds of cereals and donuts, and an espresso machine already steaming with good energy.
Dad joined us. “She has risen from the dead, hallelujah!” he sang in a hymnal tone. “Got a bit sloshed last night, darling? Not like you, but I applaud. Allow me to introduce our resident culinary magician, Trystan. Aren’t we lucky?”
“Mum and Dad,” I said grumpily. “The animalsmustbe outside. Looks like this is now a food serving area, and it’s not healthy or fair on the crew.”
Mumbling about grumpy, hungover daughters, my parents herded the animals outside.
I rolled my eyes at them and turned to Trystan. “Sorry.”
Trystan smiled gratefully. “Apparently I’m moving outside too, when the walls get bashed down.”
“Well, even when you go outside, I’ll make sure the animals keep a healthy distance.”
I sighed with relief at his mention of the walls. The crew must already have been apprised of the two downstairs non-load-bearing walls that needed to be demolished to enlarge the kitchen. Tim had been dragging his heels since he’d started the project three months ago. I thought that was why he’d worked on the upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms first, hoping I’d change my mind.
“Anyway, nice to meet you.” Trystan wiped his hand and held it out to me, and we shook. “Tabitha, right? Can I interest you in a latte?”
“Yes, please—could you make it a triple?” I winced at the movement my face had to make to speak.
“Coming right up.Been there,darl,” he said sympathetically, wiping his hand again before he started.
Just that second, Tim stepped in through the side door, whistling, brown hair tousled, and looking fresh and capable inhis work boots, gray T-shirt, and tan work pants, a tool belt slung around his hips. “But I’d very much like to go there,” Trystan added, focused solely on Tim. “Oops, I didn’t say that, and you didn’t hear it.”
Tim paused, his broad shoulders taking up most of the dining room doorframe, his brown eyes taking in the scene. I introduced him, and Trystan waved him in and flourished a hand at the spread. Tim held a glass of water in one hand and a packet of something in the other and gave Trystan a friendly nod.
My gaze flicked upward and connected with Tim’s dark honey irises. He frowned and looked guarded. Shamefaced, I turned back to the table of food. I should just make a joke. What joke?C’mon, think of a bloody joke, Tabs.Maybe I’d wait for him to speak first. He’d probably just give me his usual shit, and all would be forgotten.
“Thought you might like this, Tabs?” Tim offered me the water and what was in his hand—a packet of ibuprofen.
A bolt of embarrassment ripped through my torso.
He was beingnice.
He feltsorryfor me.
Ugh.
