Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Ten minutes later, he ducks back to us. “You’re safe now.”
Hailey sighs with relief and thanks him by covering while he takes a break.
He plays silly games of statue—where he lifts Tommy and plants him on a stool or bench like a garden ornament—in the ten minutes he’s hanging out with us. As soon as Damon looks away, Tommy moves. This has Tommy non-stop giggling, and when Damon picks me up squealing and plants me on the work island, it sends him into hysterics.
“You put me in a puddle of flour.”
Damon’s eyes flash. “I’ll just have to dust you off then.” Suddenly I’m off the counter and running around as he tries to pat the flour off the back of my skirt.
Tommy joins in the chase until I ‘give up’ and let them pat flour off me while I shake my head. Sparkly hazel eyes meet mine, and I can’t help laughing too. This is nice. Wonderful. This is . . . what I want Karl to see.
Scott’s suggestion I take someone with me when Karl and I meet simmers to the forefront of my mind. I recall the last time I saw Karl. Damon, Tommy and me in the fabric store. What had he said? I’d say have fun playing family, but I doubt you’re doing anything quite that exciting.
I bite my lip, and Damon raises a brow.
“I have something to ask—”
Hailey comes frowning into the kitchen. “That guy you hate came in again.”
Damon whisks round. “Where is he?”
“He left.”
Damon races into the store.
The guy he hates . . . Blond Brute? Was it not enough he tried to burn down Damon’s home?
Tommy tugs on my hand to carry on the game and, even more distracted than before, I play along.
Damon returns, grumpy, and I put it on the things-to-ask-him list. A list that’s been growing steadily.
Tommy is the first to ask. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” They hug, and the rest of the day sails by smoothly. At five, they lock up the tea rooms and Damon slings Tommy onto his shoulders. “Troy called. He’s on his way to pick Tommy up from our bach.”
We head for the dunes and climb into the reds and golds of the sinking sun.
Damon catches me staring and smirks. “I know what you’re thinking.”
I roll my eyes.
“You want to flaunt me to your ex.”
My step stutters and heat slides up my neck. “You’re far too confident, Damon.”
Those dimples are dangerous. “Come on, ask me.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
He runs down the dune with Tommy, calling “No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Nah.”
“Yes!”
We continue this absurd exchange until we reach the bach. Mum isn’t back yet, so it’s just the three of us and copious amounts of sewing littering the living room.
“Come on,” Damon coos, tickling a finger under my chin. “Just ask.”
I take Tommy by the hand and lead him to the fish. I pick up my block letters and tell Tommy to hold one up. “This is important.”
“What?” Tommy says.
“Teaching these fish to spell.”
“I’m not killing you,” Damon snorts from the couch where he’s flopped himself onto his side to watch us.
“You are. With arrogance.”
His laughter is cut short by a knock at the door and the bach shrinks again as Troy joins us, swinging Tommy into a hug. Little legs hit my mannequin and it topples—Damon rolls off the couch and catches it before it hits the ground. He stands it up carefully and straightens the pinned fabric on it.
Troy apologises. “Isn’t your place finished, Damon? Maybe you should move in, give Leon his space?”
I sigh. “He’s waiting on his curtains.”
“That sounds far too resigned, Leon. Admit you love having me around.”
I look at Troy. “I’ll order the fabric.”
Troy laughs and wishes us a good evening.
Damon perches on the corner of my sewing table, and the few inches of air between us thickens. He’s looking at me. Like he’s waiting for me to beg. Please, Damon. Please be my fake boyfriend in front of Karl.
I swivel back towards the fish.
His soft laughter caresses my nape. “I enjoyed today, Leon.”
I put down the letters but don’t look back. “Me too.”
“I’m glad Fidget has Fishy in his life. He was getting quite lonely.”
“Is Fishy his first friend?”
Damon’s breath stalls. “He had another a few years ago. But he’s gone now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hmm. I was too.” A pause. “I didn’t think I could imagine having another fish, but then you came tumbling back into my life—”
I wince, remembering how I’d snuck his fish into my room that first night. “I stole your fish bowl. And then made you put another fish in it!”
“You certainly stole my fish bowl.”
I groan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I saw him swimming all alone and it reminded me of . . . Anyway, sorry.”
“Fidget is happy. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” A kiss lands on the top of my head. “But I will say this. I’m not willing to separate them. Fishy stays with Fidget from now on.”