It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time Page 4

  “I think this is a big part of the problem,” I said. “You see, I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “No shit.”

  “What? Was I not supposed to grow up?”

  Then he glared at my body as if it personally offended him. Jesus. The bikini wasn’t that skimpy.

  “God, you’re right.” I sighed. “I should have left my breasts at home. How thoughtless. I’m so sorry. My bad, Pete.”

  He snorted. “You’re not funny.”

  Huh. “Was that a sort of laugh? I’m glad to see that you’re able to get in touch with your own crazy regarding this particular situation.”

  “My own crazy?” He scrunched up his face. “I don’t even know what you’re on about. Get back in the water.”

  “No.”

  “Adele, please. If you want, we’ll talk about it,” he said, looking off into the darkness. “Get back in the water.”

  “My body offends you?”

  “Give me strength,” he muttered, before climbing the steps toward me. “No, your body does not offend me. But I think I saw enough of your breasts on your eighteenth birthday to last a lifetime.”

  I held out a hand. “Hey, respect my personal space. Back up.”

  “No.”

  Next thing I knew, he’d lifted me up in his arms and thrown my ass out into the middle of the pool. I surfaced, gasping and spluttering. “You asshole!”

  He gracefully dived back in and the second he surfaced, I splashed water in his face. Thus began a war I was probably always destined to lose on account of his superior muscle mass, and the size of his big-ass hands. But obviously I had to start it, because a splash-fight is the only reasonable way to respond to one’s maturity being brought into question.

  “Stop it. Stop!” I turned to the side, trying to shield my thoroughly soaked self. Hell, trying to get my wet hair out of my eyes so I could see. “I hate you.”

  He sighed, relaxing back in the water. “Yeah. I hate you too.”

  I paused. “Do you really?”

  “No.” More sighing. “Stay, please.”

  “You’ll stop giving me shit?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll try.” He headed back to his scotch glass. “You going to keep your shirt on?”

  “I’d planned to. Swimwear’s exempt, of course.”

  Some grumbling. No idea what he said.

  I took the opportunity to catch my breath, floating on my back, watching the night sky. And I could feel his gaze on me, but whatever. My breasts were in no way responsible for his moody disposition. He and his pretty face could own his attitude flaws without my help. Temporarily at least, perhaps this could work. Long enough to see Shanti and Dad married. I hoped.

  Pete said something, but the words were muffled with my ears underwater. I resurfaced, swimming closer. “What?”

  He watched me from the side of the pool, blue-gray eyes mysterious in the shadows. “Your best friend, huh?”

  “You were.” I shrugged.

  “What about people your own age down south?” he asked. “Thought you had friends at school.”

  “I had a couple. Sure.” My hands gripped the stone siding, keeping me afloat. “No one I could talk to like I did with you. You didn’t judge me or anything. I could just . . . I felt more comfortable with you.”

  Silence.

  “Probably drove you nuts listening to me prattle on.”

  “No,” he said. “Not that you didn’t come out with some crazy shit, sometimes. God, some of your brilliant ideas . . . but I always liked listening to you talk.”

  “Nobody made you attend the Star Wars marathon twice with me.”

  “It was just those first three—”

  I held up a hand. “I’ll admit, my pubescent affection for Hayden Christensen may have led me astray, somewhat.”

  “Kid, you thought Jar Jar Binks was funny.”

  “Hey,” I snapped. “Take that back. I never said that. No one in their right mind thinks that.”

  He took a sip of whisky. Pretty sure he was using the cut crystal glass to hide a small smile.

  Lazily, I kicked my feet in the water. Not being a puddle of sweat felt seriously good. “Are you really going to keep calling me ‘kid’?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, old man.”

  “You always were a brat. No idea why I put up with you.” He splashed some water my way. But his heart wasn’t in it, you could tell. “If you don’t drink scotch, what do you drink?”

  “Gin.”

  A nod. “What’d you think of Shanti? She’s nice, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, I really liked her.”

  “What about you and this guy your dad thought you were coming up with?” he asked. “What’s going on there?”

  Hmm. I turned to face the side of the pool, resting my chin on my hands. “Do you want the truth or a pretty lie which may aid in making the next five days go more smoothly? Your choice. I honestly don’t mind.”

  The wary look returned. “Thanks for options. Why don’t we stick with the truth for now?”

  “He cheated on me.”

  “What?” he asked, outraged. “You’re joking. What an asshole.”

  “Yeah. My friend just told me earlier that she saw him out with someone else getting handsy in the corner of a restaurant.” I gave him a half-smile. “I think it’s safe to say that one’s over.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We weren’t that well suited. I mean, I was attracted to him, but something was just missing,” I admitted. “To be honest, I’m not that cut up about it.”

  His brows remained drawn tight. “That’s good, I guess. Anyway . . . I’m sorry about my comments about your dating life over dinner.”

  “Ah, okay. Thanks.”

  A grunt.

  “Sorry I called you a manwhore.”

  He blinked. “You didn’t call me a manwhore.”

  “No? Must have just thought it,” I said. “But I’m sure I was wrong and that you’ve had deep and abiding feelings for each and every one of your numerous girlfriends over the many long years. Just out of interest, can you even remember all of their names?”

  His shoulders lifted as he exhaled hard. “Yeah, alright. I take back my apology.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know, kid, you almost sound jealous.”

  “I don’t think so, old man. Just pointing out the hypocrisy there,” I said, laughing.

  While I’d like to pretend it was the romance of the moon on the water, I’m pretty sure his dark, searching gaze was to blame for the sudden pounding of my heart. I was out of my depth. I was wet in a way that had nothing to do with the water. Grumpy and intense shouldn’t be so hot. Teenage crushes aside, I liked guys who were fun and easy to be with. Single people who liked girls and had a penis but weren’t Pete. Those were really my main points of focus when it came to dating. I don’t know what Shanti had been on about. And they said women didn’t know what they wanted. Yeah. Go, me. “Jealous, as if. I like them younger and faster than you.”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

  “I most certainly do.”

  “No. Don’t get me wrong—fast can be fun sometimes. But more often than not, it’s all about taking it slow. Taking the time to do the job right and making sure everybody gets what they need,” he said calmly, casually. As if we weren’t talking about sex at all. “Don’t let any idiot tell you otherwise.”

  I had nothing.

  “Anyway, I’m going to bed.” With ease, he pulled himself out of the water. The muscles in his arms and back were truly something else. “You okay here on your own?”

  “Of course. ’Night.”

  He grabbed a towel, along with his bottle of scotch and glass, and wandered up the back steps. While the front view was nice, the back view was also kind of breathtaking. Rule one had basically been cremated and buried in the backyard. I hoped it could rest in peace. Because no way could I stop looking.

  Not packing my personal m
assager for this trip had been a mistake.

  Chapter Four

  Eight Years Ago

  “But it’s not safe to leave children or animals alone in hot cars.”

  Pete scowled, arms full of gaudily wrapped Christmas presents. “Kid, I’ll only be a minute.”

  “No.”

  “Adele, stay in the vehicle.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, just—”

  “Your air-conditioning is broken and it’s like forty degrees today.” Squinting into the midday sun, I joined him on the driveway of a large beige brick home. My green cotton dress was already stuck to my back with sweat. “There’s not even a bottle of water in the car. I’ll wait on the patio in the shade, where I won’t die of heat exhaustion, thank you very much.”

  He swore under his breath.

  “Oh, relax,” I huffed. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

  God knows what look he was giving me through the dark glass of his shades. But I bet it wasn’t pleasant. Today was not working out how I’d planned.

  “Who lives here, anyway?” I asked. “Is it some new girlfriend you don’t want me to meet? You didn’t actually finally get serious about one, did you?”

  “It’s not a girlfriend.”

  “Then who?”

  Not only did he not answer, but the muscle in his jaw jumped. Not good.

  “I’ve been waiting all year to hang out with you and now you don’t even want me around.” My shoulders slumped. “Why did you call?”

  He lowered his chin, looking at me over the top of his shades. “Calm down. I said I wanted to spend today together catching up and we will.”

  I said nothing.

  “I’ve just got to get this out of the way first, okay?”

  The lawn in front of the house was neat. Precise even. But there were no flowers, bushes, decorative plants, or indeed any type of attempt at a garden. Who did that? There was minimalism and then there was bland to the point of ugly. This property fell into the latter.

  Pete stepped closer. “This is my dad’s place.”

  “Your parents?” I asked with a smile.

  Almost wearily, he shook his head. “Yeah. But we’re not really on the best of terms.”

  “Oh.”

  “Peter?” a voice called from the front door, safely hidden behind a security screen.

  “Do you want me to go back to the car?” I whispered.

  “Too late,” he said. “Come on.”

  I followed him up the drive. With the click of a lock, the door opened. An older man stood waiting. His expression was far from welcoming. Despite it being the weekend, he wore shiny shoes and gray slacks, and a business shirt with the buttons done up all the way to the top. Not a single wrinkle in sight.

  “Just wanted to drop these off for Christina and the kids,” said Pete, hovering on the doorstep.

  “Come in,” said the man. “Who’s this?”

  “Adele. My boss’s daughter. I’m looking after her today.”

  And that made me sound about eight years old, but I chose not to comment.

  A grunt from the man.

  “Adele, this is my father, Carl.”

  “Hello, Mr. Gallagher.” I attempted a smile. It didn’t quite work.

  Carl looked me over with a frown. “I see.”

  What he saw exactly, I had no clue. Nor did I care to ask. At first, there’d been a little surge of excitement in my gut at meeting Pete’s family, and a sudden desire to make a good impression. But Pete was right; the sooner we got out of this place, the better. The weather might be hot, but this man seemed stone cold.

  The inside of the house matched the outside. White carpet and an ivory leather couch. Everything seemed pristine and expensive, but entirely uninviting. As if no one ever sat on the couch and used the big screen. As if no one really lived here at all. A couple of family photos sat on a teak sideboard, the only color to be found. A happy, newly married couple. A laughing young family of four at the beach. And an older photo of an elegant woman with dark hair who reminded me of Pete.

  “I didn’t bother with a Christmas tree,” he said, tone of voice suggesting he was well beyond such festive nonsense. “Just leave them in the corner.”

  “Alright.”

  “There’s more than I thought there’d be,” said Carl. “I’m going to have to take an extra suitcase.”

  “That’s why I offered to mail them,” said Pete.

  Carl didn’t look appeased.

  “Right.” Pete gave his best fake smile. “Work’s going well. I’m buying a piece of land just outside Palmwoods. Settling next week, actually.”

  Nothing from his father.

  “Going to take my time, plan the house and work on it myself.”

  A nod.

  “Well, it’s been nice to see you, Dad,” said Pete, taking my elbow and ushering me toward the door. “Hope you have a good trip. Tell Christina I’ll call.”

  “Don’t forget, Perth is two hours behind.”

  “I won’t,” said Pete. Then, prodding me forward, he urged, “Let’s go.”

  I didn’t talk until we were back in the car and halfway down the street. Far, far away from the horrible man he had to call a father. Yes, I was curious. But since Pete hadn’t wanted me to go in his family home, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to talk about their history. So instead, I just said, “I’m sorry.”

  “That you didn’t stay in the car?” he asked, a wry smile on his face. “I bet you are.”

  “No. I’m sorry that you have to put up with him being like that.”

  Pete sighed, reached over, and patted my hand.

  “You’re great and he shouldn’t treat you that way.”

  “Thanks, kid.” The lines in his face and stiffness in his shoulders gradually eased. “What can you do? Family’s complicated. Let’s forget about him. It’s just you and me now. What do you want to do today? Hell, what do you want to do this summer?”

  I grinned. “Actually, I have an idea.”

  Thursday . . . Now

  When I woke the next morning at around ten, the house was empty. No surprise; builders started work early. I, however, was on vacation and deserved a sleep-in. Pete had left directions for working the coffee machine along with an almond croissant in a brown bag from the local bakery. I’d bet any amount of money he still went jogging into town before work. But given our midnight swim and the scotch, I’d have thought he’d be in need of a sleep-in too.

  I had a text from Shanti telling me to give her a call when I was up and about. Instead, I put on some denim cutoffs and a T-shirt and walked across the street. After eating the croissant and downing lots of coffee, of course. The door to their house was open, a coolish breeze blowing through the big old Queenslander house.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  Shanti stuck her head out of Dad’s office, a phone attached to her ear. She smiled and whispered, “Help yourself to coffee, Adele. I shouldn’t be long. Your father is out back.”

  I nodded and she returned to her conversation.

  The outside of my part-time childhood home hadn’t changed any. But the inside was drastically altered. In a good way. All of Dad’s crappy furniture had been replaced. A peacock-blue velvet love seat sat beside a long white couch. Dark wood lamp tables and a low, long coffee table were nearby. Large, interesting, minimalistic paintings in monochrome colors hung on the walls. Touches of silver and splashes of the peacock blue and a harmonious emerald green were scattered about via ornaments and throw cushions. It probably never would have occurred to me to try putting those colors together. There was a cool fifties retro vibe to certain pieces of furniture. All in all, the place looked like something out of a magazine. Shanti knew her stuff.

  In the back of the house, the wraparound verandah had been widened since my last visit. My favorite big old jacaranda tree still stood in the yard, however, providing some shade and making a pretty mess. The beautiful little purple flowers were everywhere.<
br />
  “You used to tell me you were going to bed, then climb down that tree and run off to hang out with Pete,” said Dad, on his knees in the new section of decking, paintbrush in hand.

  “I didn’t know you knew that.”

  “I knew.” Dad smiled. “He told me so I wouldn’t worry if I found you gone.”

  “And I thought I was so clever sneaking about. We were usually just stargazing.”

  A nod. “Coffee in the kitchen if you want some.”

  “Yes, Shanti told me. I’ve had my requisite three cups, though. I’m good,” I said. “You got another brush?”

  One brow rose. “You want to help?”

  “Sure.”

  “Over on the table.”

  I grabbed a paintbrush and squatted down near enough to reach the tin of decking oil, but far enough to be out of Dad’s way. Thank God I’d worn sunglasses; the day was hot and bright. The smell of oil and wood conjured all sorts of old memories of hanging out around Dad’s jobs. Underneath those, the scent of rich red earth and lush foliage. It was good to be back after so long in the city.

  “Pretty sure Shanti has plans for you two today,” he said. “Consider yourself warned.”

  “Got it.”

  A few minutes of silence.

  “Are you being careful of splinters?” he asked. “I should get you some gloves and something to rest your knees on.”

  “You’re not wearing gloves.”

  “I’m covered in calluses. My skin isn’t soft like yours.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Do you want a coverall? The oil won’t come off your clothes if you get a splash, you know.”

  I laughed. “I’m fine, Dad. Relax.”

  “Well, it’s on you if you spend the rest of your day smelling of turps. I can tell you from much experience that it isn’t Shanti’s favorite scent.”