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Having been dragged from her cave of pillows and blankets against her will, Hazel begrudgingly sat in the garden planting herbs with her mother.

“Have you thought about catching up with Serena?” Molly asked as she dug a small hole in the garden bed. Hazel pulled the tiny parsley plant out of its container and placed it in the hole her mother had just dug.

“Is she in Bells Bay? I thought she was in Perth?” Hazel replied. She caught sight of Bailey, who was busy digging a hole in the empty garden bed next to them.

“I told you, don’t you remember? Serena moved back a few years ago with her baby to be closer to her parents.”

Hazel felt a fog lift, and the sudden memory had her speechless. Then came the horror. The dark swell of it filled her chest. Hazel felt a wave of nausea flood her. She nearly vomited as the memory came back, bits and pieces forming together. Clutching the grass with her gloved hands, she winced.

Serena had moved to Perth and gotten married. They’d welcomed a baby. Then one day, Serena’s husband Jack had been hit by a drunk driver while out jogging. He’d died instantly.

They hadn’t spoken to or seen each other for years, and Hazel wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t know what to say. Nothing seemed enough to even begin to cover a loss that enormous. She had meant to contact Serena, she really had, but she kept putting it off. Eventually, so much time had passed that she’d forgotten.

She had been a horrible friend to Serena. They’d drifted apart when they both left Bells Bay to study in different states, but this was nearly unforgivable. What did that say about her? She could only think that the guilt she felt had been so consuming, she’d had to forget it even happened.

“I didn’t congratulate her on the baby or even send her a condolence card. What a horrible friend I am,” Hazel moaned. “Poor Serena,” she added, still feeling sick.

“I sent flowers and a card, both times and put your name on them.” Molly pressed her hands down on the fresh soil she had just put around the base of the parsley plant. “She’s been here for about five years. Her daughter, Maribel, is nearly six. She starts school at the end of summer.”

“I’ll give Serena a call.” Hazel sighed as she reached for a pot of lavender. “I hope she speaks to me.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. Serena’s a sweet girl.” Molly planted some dill and lemon thyme next to the parsley while Hazel focused on the row of lavender that separated the herbs and the vegetables they had planted earlier.

“The garden’s looking great,” Sam called as he walked through the cluster of Molly’s prized rose bushes to the vegetable patch.

“Hello, Sam. How’s my bathroom coming along today?” Molly flashed a smile at him as he leaned against the shovel that had been propped against a trellis. Hazel occupied herself with planting the last of the lavender. She felt heat rise up her face, sure that her cheeks were now a rosy red. She kept her head down, inspecting the purple flowers very closely. Why did she blush like a beetroot whenever he was around? She hated to admit how nervous he made her. And he seemed to stay as cool as a cucumber. Like he was so sure of himself. She tried not to glower in his direction.

“Well, the tiling is almost done and that new counter you ordered should arrive tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” Molly rubbed her hands together. “Sam, would you like a sandwich for lunch? Now, I know men love their meat, but I was thinking of making some salad, pesto and hummus sandwiches. What do you think?”

Hazel screwed up her face. That sounded horrendous. Sam caught sight of her expression and let out a chuckle. Forgetting her nerves, Hazel smirked back at him and quickly pulled a poker face when her mother turned to face her.

“What?” Molly’s eyes darted between them. She rested on Sam, who was in the middle of pulling himself together.

“Molly, that sounds delightful. I would love one. Thanks.”

“And what about you?” Molly turned back to her daughter, eyes narrowed.

Hazel plastered the fakest smile she could manage onto her face. “I would love nothing more. Would you like me to help you prepare them?” she asked, a slight tease to her voice. At least this way she could be in control of what went onto her sandwich.

Molly sighed, seeing right through Hazel’s act. “You’ll like it, trust me. You love salad and hummus!”

“Hmm, yeah, but I don’t think I like it all together, on a sandwich,” Hazel replied. “But I’ll try it just for you.”

Over the next hour, Hazel and Molly prepared a zingy basil pesto, made hummus from scratch, whipped some feta cheese and assembled the sandwiches on fresh wholemeal bread. Hazel layered the bottom slices with the spreads, while Molly stacked fresh tomatoes, rocket and cucumber slices on top. When they both sat down to eat, Hazel was surprised. The first bite was filled with crisp salad, creamy feta, tangy pesto and velvety hummus. She made a little moan as Molly cried, “Ah ha! I knew you’d like it.”

Hazel nodded. “Yes, sorry I doubted you. This is delicious. It sounded like a weird combination, but it definitely isn’t.”

“Well, at least you tried it. Can you take Sam’s up to him when you finish?”

Hazel felt the familiar feeling of both avidity and trepidation creep through her body. She was going to avoid him from now on, she decided. After this sandwich, no more Sam. She was surprised at the disappointment that washed over her, but she swept it aside. Concentration was key, and she needed to concentrate on getting him out of her mind. The best way to do that was to avoid him. Sam added another layer of complication to her life that she did not need. She had to find a way to get him out of her system, without actually getting him near her system. She contemplated this as she finished her sandwich.

Carrying his plate upstairs, she recalled the last time her mother had asked her to take him something. He was shirtless, she remembered. She immediately blushed. I wouldn’t object to seeing that again. The thought had flashed in her mind with her permission. She scoffed to herself.

She had to be strong, be smart. Seeing Sam without a shirt again would only make things much worse. She prayed he was fully clothed.

Turning the corner to the bathroom, he stood in the shower, shirt on, laying tiles in the corner. The music coming from his little radio wasn’t too loud, but loud enough for a conversation to be difficult. Grateful, Hazel placed his plate on top of his toolbox and tiptoed out of the room.