Reluctantly In Love (Emerald Cove Romance Book 1) Page 14

  He relaxed. “Great, like what?”

  I stumbled around my brain cave for an answer but none was forthcoming. Truth be told, he was right. I had put all my personal hopes and dreams on hold until after I achieved my idea of success. I didn’t want to sacrifice my goals and aspirations and independence until I had something solid I could keep as my own. Something outside a relationship or a family. Something mine that I had built on my own. I’d never considered putting my career first as a negative. I didn’t want a relationship to get in the way of my professional life the way it had for my Mum, but what about the other things he’d suggested? I’d love to have a dog I could run with on the beach. And a home with a backyard for the dog? I could grow some flowers and have a veggie garden. And, yeah, I wanted to spend more time with my friends, go on another holiday with Tash or maybe someone else …

  “I’d like a dog.”

  “Great!” Matt's enthusiasm was over the top. Clearly, he knew he’d found an unknown sore spot and was trying to alleviate the tension. “What kind?”

  I thought about it. “I think I’d like a spaniel of some kind. When I was growing up, my next-door neighbours had a rescue dog. Part spaniel, part something else, and he was awesome.”

  ”There’s a rescue shelter in Byron Bay. Want to go check it out on the weekend when I get back?”

  Alarm shot through me. I couldn’t get a dog right this minute! I had a florist to reopen. I didn’t have the time to give a new dog all the attention it needed to bond with me whether it was a puppy to a grown rescue dog. “Um,” I hedged, “I don’t know if I’ll have time this weekend—”

  “Not to buy one, you have a business to open first. Just to see what’s out there and to play with the dogs.”

  Relief flooded me. “Oh, right. Well, yeah.” I said with more conviction, a grin erasing the tension in my face. “I’d love to.”

  Matt grinned back. “Great. Well, I’d better go. I have a lot to do tomorrow, and if I get it done, I was thinking about getting on the road tomorrow evening.”

  “You’ll be home tomorrow?” I couldn’t suppress the excitement in my voice if I tried. His answering wink let me know he heard it.

  “No, probably not till Wednesday morning at the earliest.”

  I tried not to let my disappointment show. “Oh, okay, well I hope everything goes well for you tomorrow.”

  “Me too. Sweet dreams.”

  “You too.”

  We rung off, and I was left sitting in my dark apartment, trying to dissect the strange knot of emotions left from our conversation.

  I was excited he’d called. It was sweet of him, but some of our topics of conversation had been challenging for me. I felt uneasy he might think less of me for my lack of depth, as he suggested, in my life goals. But then what right did he have to judge? It sounded as if he had made similar decisions in his life in regards to putting his career first. In fact, it seemed he was feeling the effects of that keenly as he compared life between Sydney and Emerald Cove. I noticed he didn’t say anything about friends or girlfriends when he talked about all Sydney had to offer, though family connection and friendships were a big factor when he spoke about the pros of the Cove. If he was regretting decisions and priorities he’d made when he was younger, then that was his road to walk. I was a different person altogether. Maybe his regrets would be my successes? And how could I possibly know if I didn’t try?

  Chapter 15

  Matt didn’t make it back to Emerald Cove on Wednesday. In fact, he didn’t make it home until Friday. Some complications had cropped up with his clients, then some of his friends wanted to catch up. Aside from a very quick chat on Thursday afternoon, our only contact was through text.

  And there were a lot of texts.

  This was a good thing. I was left reeling a little from our conversation on Monday night and needed some time to process his words. I knew he hadn’t meant it, but his assessment of my ambitions made me feel inadequate. As if I were missing something everyone else thought was vital.

  Don’t get me wrong, I could see his point. Of course my personal life wasn’t on hold while I pursued my professional goals, but it took time and dedication to achieve something in one’s career. There was a reason so many women approached me for help to run side hustles or to restart businesses after they’d had children.

  That was my main demographic too—women who had started careers, many who’d studied something completely different who then got married (or not), had kids and took the often culturally expected route of becoming stay-at-home mothers. Mothers, it seemed, were more likely to stay at home with their children, many sacrificing their careers altogether. Some had tried to keep in touch with the job force, taking part time positions, contracting or returning for short periods between having children. But the reasons they started their businesses were all the same and they were threefold: they wanted to achieve something independent of their families; they wanted to contribute financially to their families; and they wanted to do all this in a way that didn’t impact too much on the time they spent with their families.

  It was the never-ending juggle of the modern working mother. My job was to try to help them achieve this through business planning and accounting support.

  I also threw in a healthy dose of cheerleading and emotional support too.

  I didn’t want to be one of my clients. I wanted my professional life running smoothly before taking the next step. I didn’t want to be distracted from my career goals like my mum was and end up sacrificing my aspirations and independence.

  With these thoughts on my mind, I grabbed my takeaway coffee from the coffee truck on the esplanade next to the surf club and walked towards the Old cinema. It was gone nine in the morning, and the sun was already scorching, though the cool sea breeze hinted at the autumn weather to come. Yesterday was the first day of March, which meant we only had two weeks until the Sunflower Festival and less than that to put the finishing touches on the Little Flower Shop. Up until this point, I’d been referring to it as “the renovation”, but now things were coming together quickly, I could see the bones of the place and it was starting to look beautiful.

  The plumbing was complete, the tilers had finished in the bathroom, the mottled dove-grey of the cement floor had been polished and was already accentuating the natural wood finish of the custom-made counter and vanity Matt had helped me collect. Two days ago, I’d stripped it back to its original wood. Then, with Tash’s help, I had painted it in white chalk paint so it appeared naturally distressed. Next week, we had to paint the shop walls. Once that was finished, it was time to move everything else in. Finally, we had to take delivery of the flowers.

  The end was in sight.

  “Isadora!”

  I’d just crossed the road but stopped and turned when I heard my name. Only two people called me by my full name—my Mother (but only when she was disappointed or angry) and Gladys.

  Gladys hustled across the road which gave me a few minutes to take in her attire. And I needed them.

  She wore what I assumed started life as a tennis ensemble. There was the fitted tennis skirt and a tennis polo but the similarities ended there. Rather than the traditional white—or any other more neutral colour—the whole thing was the most neon yellow I’d ever seen in my life. She was a walking hazmat sign. Except for the cowboy hat. Or cowgirl. Complete with boots.

  By the time she made it to me, I’d wrestled my expression into one of delight at seeing her. Or I hoped I had.

  “Gladys, how nice to see you.” I leaned in for a cheek kiss, which she allowed.

  When I pulled back, she dropped her sunglasses to her nose and peered at me over the rims. “What’s wrong with your face?”

  Shit.

  “Uh, nothing, why?”

  “You look constipated.” So much for trying to be nice. Gladys didn’t wait for an answer, but slipped her arm through mine so they were linked and pulled me in the direction of the Old cinema. “Did you know your youn
g man has petitioned the council for a name change of the Old cinema?”

  My foot missed a step but I caught it before I brought us both down. Gladys gave me a look but didn’t comment. My young man? Where did she get her information? Matt and I had kissed precisely once—well, twice—in the stairwell …

  A thought came to me and I narrowed my eyes on her. “Gladys have you been spying?”

  She lifted her nose in the air a little higher. Isadora Donovan, I would do no such thing, and I’d thank you not to spread salacious rumours.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What’s this about the name change?”

  “Well, it’s not really called the old cinema, it’s the Emerald Cove Cinema. But it’s a bit of a mouthful, and because it’s a heritage building, he needs permission to change the name. Do you know, by any chance, what he has suggested?”

  I shook my head. “No, sorry.”

  She nodded. “Well, I think it should be something the town can provide suggestions for and vote on, don’t you?”

  “I guess—” I began.

  “Great!” She stopped me in front of the building and turned to face me. “I’ve put you down as the contact for name submissions. The winner will be announced at the Charity Auction on Friday evening at the beginning of the Sunflower Festival. You just need to collect them all. I’ve already cleared it with the council, more or less. That should help your young man get the approval to change the name quickly. Those old fuddy-duddies will love a chance to show the town how accommodating they are.”

  “Isn’t your son the mayor?”

  “He is. And he’s a lovely son but still, the leader of the fuddy-duddies.”

  I pressed my mouth together to prevent the laughter bubbling up my throat. “So all I have to do is collect the names people submit?” I clarified, knowing I didn’t have a hope of convincing her I was too busy.

  “That’s right. You’re on site most of the time, and I thought it might help people be inspired if they were looking at the building when they wrote down their suggestions. Here’s the submissions box.” She handed me a paper bag and I had a peep. Inside was a small cardboard voting box with a notice stating Emerald Cove Cinema Renaming Suggestions, a stack of post-it notes and a box of pens. “Andy and Luke are making the voting posters. And we’ll have a booth set up the Friday morning of the festival.” She made a pleased sound. “Now all that’s left is for you to bid on and win Matt in the bachelor auction, and it will be a perfect weekend.”

  My eyes snapped from the bag to hers. “Oh, no. I don’t think I’ll be making any bids at the auction.”

  She looked affronted. “Why not? It’s for charity.”

  “I know, but I just don’t have the money that some people around here do and the bidding might go quite high …”

  “Well, I don’t expect you to win. But you must bid on him at the very least. You’ll have stiff competition. I myself have decided to make a run for him if I can. Yes,” she said, nodding, “I wouldn’t mind sitting across from those eyes at dinner. And he’s got great”—she lifted her hands in front of her, palms facing towards me, her fingers pointing down as if she was about to grab or squeeze something—“conversational skills.”

  My mouth dropped open as she winked and turned on her heel.

  “Toodle-oo! Things to do, people to see.”

  Shaking my head at her retreating back, I turned and walked across the plaza to the shop.

  “Psst.”

  I swung my head around and saw Andy sticking his out the door of the café.

  “She gone?”

  “You mean Gladys?”

  “Yeah.”

  I gave a nod, and he moved towards me, eyes wide. “That woman. She scares the hell outa me.”

  I laughed. “How so?”

  “I feel like a scared dog whenever I hear her coming. My metaphorical tail goes between my legs in order to hide my derrière, as Camille would say. I liken her hands to a crab’s claw.”

  I snorted. “Except a crab’s claw wouldn’t let go.”

  “And?”

  Camille joined us. “Oh Andy, she is ’armless.”

  He pointed to his backside. “Tell that to my throbbing bum cheeks.”

  Camille and I erupted in peals of laughter at this, and Andy left grumbling something about women sticking together.

  “So,” Camille said when we were alone on the shop floor. The carpenters were replacing some plasterboard in the back room but aside from that we were alone. ”Tell me when do you see Matt next?”

  “Well, he said he’d be home late this afternoon, but he has to go to his parent’s place to help his dad with something and then he’s staying for dinner. So, tomorrow I guess?”

  Camille’s face fell. “But we have a wedding tomorrow.”

  I bit my lip. “I know.”

  She waved her hand as if waving the thought away. “It’s of no matter, you can see him tomorrow evening.”

  I grimaced.

  “No, do not tell me you have more consultations? This is getting out of hand. When are you supposed to do anything else? Hmm?”

  “Two of my clients are launching their businesses next week, and they need the support, and I took on another client who has been having serious trouble breaking even. When I looked at her application, I knew immediately where she was going wrong and that I could help.” I sounded like I was pleading my case, and Camille confirmed it by holding her hands up.

  “Do not make excuses to me. It is your chatte you are neglecting.”

  “Camille!” I didn’t speak much French, but one night when we’d all gotten tipsy, Tash had talked Camille (who didn’t need much encouragement) to give us a lesson on the cruder side of the French language, so I knew she was referring to my lady parts in a not-so-gentile fashion.

  I hovered my hand at the apex of my legs and hissed, ”She can hear you. Anyway, I don’t even know if he wants to see me. After the long chat on Monday night we only spoke briefly yesterday.” Even I could hear the vulnerability in my voice.

  My phone dinged and I pulled it out. I felt Camille’s eyes and glanced up to see her brow raised questioningly. “And who was that?”

  I turned back to my phone. “Matt,” I mumbled, the colour rising in my cheeks.

  “And how many times has he texted you since Monday?”

  I flicked my eyes to hers and bit my lip, choosing not to answer her. She knew we’d been texting almost non-stop since we spoke on Monday night. He texted me when he woke and told me about his plans for the day and asked me what mine were. He sent me photos of flowers and things he saw that he thought I might appreciate or find funny. And underlying all these texts was a constant conversation of questions and answers and teasing and flirting.

  For example, the text I just received was a photo of some women dressed in the traditional dress of their home country of Ghana as they were on their way to the Africultures Festival in West Sydney. Matt said he went a few years ago and the food and music were amazing. He asked if I’d ever eaten any African food, and as Camille waited, I told him I hadn’t.

  I had never, not once, been in a relationship with a guy who was so accomplished at communication via text.

  “Lover boy again?” Andy, joining us again, addressed his question to Camille. She nodded and rolled her eyes.

  I sent my reply and pocketed my phone. “Can I help you or have you just come here to be annoying?”

  Andy gave me a dry look that said, “I may not be your brother but I’m close enough and I know what your weaknesses are.” But answered with, “Just came over to see if either of you lovely ladies wanted a coffee?”

  “Are you going to the coffee truck?” My words trailed off at the smug expression on his face.

  “That would be a negative.”

  “Quoi?” Camille made a face at his words.

  “No,” he said carefully, “I am not.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

  I scrunched my nose. “What are you so happy about?”
/>
  The last time Andy looked like this, I’d stayed over at Tash and Andy’s folk’s place with Tash before her Grandma had passed. We’d had a movie night, and I decided to stay after drinking a little too much. In the morning, Andy and Luke very kindly offered to make us breakfast but when they put the pancakes, maple syrup and fruit in front of us, it was frozen solid.

  Why they would go to the trouble to make it, then freeze it the night before, I did not know, but they thought it was hilarious.

  “Our coffee machine is plugged in and ready for its maiden voyage.”

  “Really?” I bounced on my toes in excitement.

  “Mervellieux,” Camille murmured.

  Andy held his hand out and indicated we should lead the way. “Ladies first.”

  It was the first time I’d been to the café in several weeks, and I was both surprised and impressed with the decor. It was an Australian beach version of the classy London-style cafés I’d been to when I visited with Tash a few years ago. The floor was a pale wood panel, and the counter walls were white subway tiles with a beautiful wooden counter top. Classy pendant lighting was being hung from the ceiling by electricians. Turquoise trimmings gave it all a pop of colour. The coffee machine itself was one of those old-school, barista-level espresso machines in mint green.

  “Whoa, Andy. This place is really coming together,” I said. “And that machine is beautiful,” I added, eyeing the espresso maker.

  Luke was leaning a hip against the counter, a white mug in his hand while Tash was perched on one of the stools that would have a place along a section of the counter for bar seating. Luke caressed the corner of the machine affectionately. “She sure is. And she’s working beautifully.”

  “She?” Camille clarified as she sauntered over.

  Luke nodded decisively. “She. All she needs is some love, care and attention every day, and she’ll be making coffees for us forever.”

  Tash grinned at me and rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the shadows under her eyes or sadness in their depths. I moved to stand beside her, throwing my arm around her shoulders. “Hey, are you okay?”