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)
He starts flicking through his cards. He ums and ahhs and pulls out three. That’s pretty decent, right?
He sets the first card in front of me and I laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“Damon Conroy is by far your best fit.”
I envision a smirk and Damon bent over a hundred plus litres of milk. That does not bode well.
“You’re his type physically, and everyone knows he loves your family.”
“My family?”
“Your mum and him are always hanging out when she’s here. His best friend is your cousin.”
“Troy? Since when?”
“For the last three-ish years?”
Information overload. Also, why didn’t Mum or Troy or anyone else in my family tell me this? “I’m swiping left on Damon.”
Tai picks up the card and taps it against the counter, frowning.
“He already got all up in my . . . books once.”
Realisation flattens the creases between his brows. He chuckles. “He used to get up in a lot of books.”
“Used to?” I laugh.
Tai grimaces. “Don’t you know? He fell in love.”
“Damon Conroy?”
“Changed his ways completely. Didn’t so much as glance at another guy.”
It’s . . . an interesting image. Damon, in love . . .
“What happened?”
“An embarrassingly public spectacle. Mark said this place was too small, he wanted something . . . more. Damon offered to move for him, and got his heart broken.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he wanted someone more.”
I swallow thickly. Damon Conroy making my stomach lurch with sympathy. An unusual sensation.
“For two-and-a-half years he didn’t get up in anyone’s books.”
Incredulity has me blurting, “Two and a half years?”
A sober nod. “Though I reckon he’s warming himself up to try again.”
Judging by the looks I’ve encountered so far, he warms up fast.
“His bad luck didn’t stop at his ex. His house burned down six months ago.”
“Shit.” That explains him living in our bach. “How?”
“Arson, they reckon. They never arrested anyone. He’s almost finished rebuilding.” Tai slots Damon’s card back into its place and presents me with another. I’m still lingering over this Damon information—and flashing to Damon piggy-backing his “Mar”—and it takes a while to focus on the worn card before me.
“Jumping Jack,” Tai says.
I blink. “So named because he’s fond of the ol’ skipping rope?”
“So named because he jumps anything.”
“Okay, and the other guy?” I cross my fingers and toes.
“Hercules Morse.”
“As big as a horse?”
“Hey, you remember the books. Who should I contact? I usually recommend meeting for a drink at the tea rooms.”
Hercules Morse sounds a bit painful.
Jumping Jack . . . promising, in my desperate state to prove to my mother that I’m not at all pathetic . . . Who knows, maybe a love match can start with a good lay? Maybe we’ll mesh in other areas over time?
I tap Jack’s card, pay Tai a koha, and vow never to ask him for help finding a man again.
I don’t know what to say to Damon when he arrives at the bach that evening. He looks impossibly tired, and I plant some heated canned spaghetti on the coffee table before him and warn him with a finger not to say a word.
I return Fidget to the living area, and spend the evening on a call to Troy, catching up and making plans to visit his tea rooms soon, then setting up my sewing equipment to make a thick quilt to combat the chill.
Damon sits on the couch across from me with a book, sometimes peeking over the top to catch my wayward glances. He says nothing, just smirks behind his cozy mystery. At ten, when I’m packing up for bed, he closes his book and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He takes a long, purposeful look at me. Not cheekily, like yesterday. Curiously. Like he’s noting all the ways I’ve changed. The intensity of it is unlike anything I’ve felt from him before. It makes me aware that . . . he’s changed too.
He stands up, smiling. “I liked the ducky pyjamas, but these are even better.”
I stare down at my flannel covered in rainbow coloured hearts.
“Adorably on the nose. Your heart is literally on your sleeve. It’s like you’re hinting for me to—”
“In your dreams.”
I take it back. No matter what Tai claims, no matter how many elderly piggyback rides, Damon hasn’t changed that much. Inside, he’s still all playboy.
The following afternoon, I have my first date with Jack.
I wear jeans and a tight black t-shirt I made myself. I hope my appearance says I put in effort, but also that effort is needed to undress me. Not as in undressing me is difficult, but as in a few nice words are required before I let him try.
My cousin is working in the tea rooms with a toddler on his hip. He looks shagged and the moment he sees me, roars out a happy hello and thrusts his son into my arms. “Hailey’s shift doesn’t start for another half hour and I’ve got a dozen orders waiting.”