Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?
What can you do when you’ve friend-zoned the one you love?
Nicole Huntley, marketing manager for her family’s international jewelry business, froze out family friend Scottie back when they were teenagers.
Now he’s the Huntleys’ financial advisor. Newly divorced, the affable Scottie needs somewhere to stay. Nicole offers him space, never expecting to fall for him — hard.
But when fate deals the Huntleys a high-stakes fresh hand, “conflict of interest” threatens to shatter her family, destroy their retail empire — and to break her heart.
Get ready for the showdown in Full House, a “second chance” and “brother’s best friend” romance — the latest international heartwarmer in the Huntley House of Jewels saga.
Foreword
Dread sparked somewhere deep inside Nicole as her brother James Huntley the Third, CEO of Huntleys House of Jewels, began to speak.
“I’ve called this meeting not only because of the rapid growth of our company to include Mum’s House of Clubs in France and Will’s House of Hearts in the US, but for another key reason I’ll go into shortly.”
Nobody moved. James cleared his throat. Forcing herself to breathe normally, Nicole took a swig of coffee. It burned her tongue.
“I know this is not an ideal way to conduct a meeting, with some of you videoing in and others here in person, but there isn’t time or spare operating cash to fly you all in,” James said. “I’ll do my best to ensure that those of you joining remotely will have equal input. Most importantly, this meeting will give you equal time to contemplate our options in the short timeframe we’ve been given.”
Chapter 1
Four months earlier
Beside the old sink, in the tearoom on the second floor of the iconic Huntleys House of Diamonds jewelry store in the heart of Sydney’s Bondi Junction, Nicole Huntley frowned, rinsed out her coffee cup and tipped it upside down.
She adjusted the bow of her yellow blouse as she glanced out the window at the plaza’s smattering of shoppers and business people, their takeaway coffee cups in one hand like talismans. Bows were in and the color was cheerful, but the material of the blouse was scratchy, the bow still wouldn’t sit right and the tone wasn’t a great match with her gray skirt. Today, though, her choice of clothing was the least of her troubles.
“What’s up?” said Stella as she rushed in, reached for her own mug, threw a teabag inside and switched on the kettle.
Nicole admired Stella. She worked hard, never ran out of ideas and was kind enough to ask about her life now and then without interfering.
“How are things downstairs?” Nicole asked.
“Okay,” said Stella. “We’ve got a couple of minutes to ourselves. There’s just that woman who comes in every week and browses for an hour but never buys anything, and Lorna’s keeping an eye out for her. Something on your mind?”
“My flatmate’s left,” said Nicole.
James strode in with his own coffee mug and placed a caring hand on Stella’s shoulder as they waited for the water to boil. Nicole smiled at the two of them, so glad her brother’s fiancée was no longer a business rival but a colleague, and soon to be family, if they’d ever set that wedding date.
“Was that the Italian one, Nic?” said James.
“Lucia, yes. Frankly, I’m relieved. Bit of a drama queen. She kept life interesting alright. Too interesting. Every moment was either a joy or a tragedy. It’s peaceful now, but I’ll really miss her rent! I need a new flatmate to help pay the mortgage and bills. Know anyone?”
Stella shook her head, poured the steaming water into her and James’s mugs, and reached across to the fridge to grab the milk.
“Lucia was perfect in her online application, but she never let up about my lack of style and the blandness of my cooking,” said Nicole. “She wasn’t wrong, and she did share a few useful cooking tips, but I could have done without all those temper tantrums about the bus home roaring past without her, or how she missed out on the last pair of Jimmy Choos in her size. And the parade of strangers she insisted on inviting home was the worst. If I never have to clean up another cigarette butt in my life I will never complain again.”
“Never complain again, Nicole?” said James, not too unkindly. Brothers.
“Nice,” said Stella.
“And she used every kitchen utensil every time and never cleaned them up!”
“She’s gone, Nicole,” said James, taking a sip of tea and striding back towards the office.
“Yes, well, the point is, I need a new flatmate. I’m not willing to risk putting up an ad again.”
James paused in the doorway. “Scottie’s on the move,” he said. “You know he and Beck broke up? He just needs somewhere short term. He’s heading off on some overseas trip; finally taking a holiday.”
“Oh!” said Nicole. “Did you say Scottie and Beck separated?” Why hadn’t James mentioned this sooner?
“Want me to let him know about your place?”
“Ah …” A thousand memories flickered. “Sure. Okay. You can tell Scottie. Sorry to hear about him and Beck.”
With James gone, Nicole turned to Stella. “Well,” she said. “I’m not sorry, really. To be honest, I never liked Beck. Scottie’s such a gentleman, and Beck was never his type.”
Stella smiled and nodded and rinsed her own cup.
“Sorry, Nicole. Gotta go help Lorna on the ground floor. Hope it all works out for you.”
“See you!”
Nicole headed down the stairs and out into the sunny plaza towards the printers to pick up the Huntleys’ sale catalogs. The idea of sharing with Scottie appealed to her, especially since it would only be for a few weeks. She’d sworn off living with men after both her previous male flatmates put the hard word on her after too many beers. She didn’t blame them, but it sure complicated daily life, and she could have done without their claims she had “issues” with men just because she wasn’t attracted to them.
But she’d known Scottie all her life. Scottie was practically part of Huntleys. Scott & Sons accountants and Huntleys went way back. James’s best friend since childhood, as well as the Huntleys’ financial consultant, Scottie knew how to take turns, how to lose with a sense of humor, and how to win with grace. At least she could be sure he’d clean up after himself.
The pedestrian lights turned red as she approached, and she paused. On the other hand … There’d been that brief period in high school when Scottie annoyed her, staring at her with puppy dog eyes every time she came near—but those days were well and truly gone. He’d behaved perfectly normally since they’d both grown up. Then he’d fallen head over heels with Beck, the fake blonde with puffy lips and an enhanced cleavage. If men went for types, then plain Nicole would be safe from any unexpected propositions from Scottie.
That evening, Nicole’s apartment was quieter than ever. She considered phoning her Mum, Cynthia, who’d turned her back on a quiet retirement in the Southern Highlands an hour and a half out of Sydney, flown to France on a one-way ticket and ended up staying.
But they’d only spoken a couple of days ago, and all was well in Provence. Besides, it wasn’t her mother Nicole needed to call right now.
She picked up the phone, then put it down. What did you say to someone whose marriage had ended? If she told Scottie she was glad, that she’d never thought Beck worthy of him, he might take offense—think she was accusing him of poor taste—but everyone made mistakes. Look at the long parade of no-hopers she’d dated.
Though Scottie often dropped in to talk to James about the company’s finances, the last time Nicole spent any time with him was last Christmas. Run off her feet, she’d sold Scottie something for his mother. He’d chosen a simple gold bangle with an elegant twist. Classy. It was a generous gift, even without the hefty discount she’d given him as a supplier.
She’d brought out tissue paper, finely watermarked with the classy Huntley’s H insignia, as she’d done a million times, then placed the boxed bangle in a paper gift bag, shiny black, with the gold H on two sides.
As she handed it across to him, he complimented her on the branding. It was a rare acknowledgement of her work, not just marketing all the stock, but building brand recognition and brand value—all that invisible weaving of meaning her father had understood; that their business was so much more than the sum of its parts. Before he died, Jim told her that “brand” consisted of every encounter with anyone who had anything to do with the place, and she’d grown up knowing you had to put the business before yourself, and do your best and be polite, even if customers were abusive.
Not that Scottie was ever a difficult customer. Anything but. He’d given her a warm, braces-free smile as he’d left that lifted her heart. It jumped straight over the awkward years and landed her back in the middle of their good times—how as children they’d splashed together in the shallows at the beach and made sand castles, ever more elaborate, with moats and tunnels and seaweed flags and sea glass decorations. They’d laughed as the summer sun seared their shoulders and groaned together as the waves washed away their handiwork.
They’d scramble along the rocks and throw themselves into the harbor pool at Watson’s Bay, or race along the beach. On wet days, they built card houses, or played ping pong or Monopoly. They’d push tiny red hotels onto their properties and haul in each other’s money with glee. Once, Scottie built a card house three storeys high, and she bumped it with her heel. For one silent moment she feared his reaction, but Scottie just shrugged, then laughed, and built it up again. Scottie was the best of company.
But then, after a family holiday at Pearl Beach, something changed. He’d stare at her, dumbstruck, tongue tied and useless. It made her uncomfortable.
Her old pal grew taller and increasingly awkward with her. They both wore braces on their teeth and sported a few too many spots, so it wasn’t that. It was just … She couldn’t explain it.
So she’d avoided him and spent her free time wandering around shopping malls with school friends instead. They teased her about him.
“Can’t you see the way he looks at you?” Thalia said.
“Don’t! I hate it.”
“Nic’s got a boyfriend; Nic’s got a boyfriend.”
“Stop it.”
Her friends eventually switched topics—dissecting the latest movie or boy band, or weighing in on whether cucumber face masks really worked, and she’d stop blushing.
Back then, Nicole avoided Scottie. He gave up on her, went on to university, and married Beck.
Nicole stared at her phone. Might as well get on with it.
“Nicole?” His voice was pleasantly deep, but she knew him well. He hadn’t hidden his surprise.
“Hey, Scottie.” Awkward silence. “Ah, James said you need somewhere to stay for a few weeks.”
“Yes. Five weeks.”
“Well, I’ve got a great spare room. It even has a bit of a view. It’s good to hear you’re taking a holiday,” said Nicole. She wouldn’t mention Beck at all. No big deal. She needed a flatmate and he needed a bed. Easy. She rushed on to fill the silence. “Europe. Lucky you! Want to come over tomorrow night and take a look, just to be sure? Seven o’clock? You can eat dinner with me and I’ll show you where you can leave your stuff while you’re away.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Perfect. Now she could think ahead to the next sales catalog and social media marketing schedule.
Next evening, back at her apartment Nicole tidied up and threw together a quick spaghetti with basil and tomato, added a simple salad and laid it on the veranda table. Lucia hadn’t been all bad. She’d certainly taught her a few Italian cooking tricks, especially the one about adding pitted savory olives to the sauce to give the pasta extra bite.
It was a mild evening. Candle? No candle? It wasn’t like this was a date, when she’d have to angst over what music to play, and do the whole thing with champagne and five kinds of beer on offer. Scottie was just an old friend. Last time they’d eaten together, green cordial had been their drink of choice. She laughed in anticipation, just as the doorbell rang.
Not surprisingly for someone who’d just been through a rough breakup, Scottie looked a little older, but strangely, those new shadows under his eyes suited him, and his glance was full of warmth and light, as if he were genuinely pleased to see her.
She loved it that there was no other agenda here, no expectations that this was anything but a meal between friends to discuss a possible flat sharing arrangement. The dating game was exhausting, with all its pressure to get through the meal and juggle expectations about sex, when all she’d ever really wanted was good company.
Scottie had lost so much weight, Nicole commented.
“Didn’t James tell you about our runs on Bondi Beach and our push-up competition?” said Scottie. “I got a bit down after Beck left. It was James who suggested we work out instead of hitting the bottle. Too much drinking wasn’t helping. James is winning on the runs, but I’ve got the push-up record,” said Scottie, flexing his muscles and smiling sheepishly.
His pecs and abs were nicely defined under his casual deep gray t-shirt. He looked healthy in his soft blue jeans. What was wrong with Beck?
“Shoes off? Shoes on?”
“Not too many rules here, Scottie,” Nicole said. “You decide.” She took the paper bag he offered and hummed with approval. Ice cream; salted caramel with dark and white chocolate chips.
“Such good taste! You can stay.”
As he stooped to slip off his shoes she caught the slightest whiff of laundry detergent—such a comforting change from the aggressive aftershaves of the strangers of too many failed dates.
They padded through her spaces—the living area with its jumble of furniture from her grandmother’s house and items previous flatmates had left behind.
A pang of hunger hit her as she waved her arm at the kitchen on the way to showing him the bathroom, the laundry in a cupboard, the long corridor, the spare bedroom with its built-in wardrobe and view of the harbor, and then the kitchen. She took him out to the corner balcony with its own view across to Watsons Bay.
“Wow,” said Scottie.
“James, Will and I were so lucky Mum sold Jim and Eleanor’s old house on the harbor,” said Nicole. “We never could have afforded our places otherwise.”
“I was talking about the smell of dinner actually, but you’re right. This place is beautiful, Nicole.”
“I’m not much good with decorating. One of the reasons I need a flatmate is to help with the mortgage and eventually replace the furniture with something I really like, but it’s not urgent. I just love the fact my place is so close to the beach and the station, and to Huntleys of course, and the city. You could catch a bus or a train, or even walk it.”
Was she selling the arrangement to him? Yes. Scottie listened carefully. His comments were sensible, and a sense of humor lurked just under the surface, despite the shadows the breakup with Beck must have caused.
“It’s perfect, Nicole,” he said, his tone warm but not too warm. Not at all like a needy puppy dog. These days, Scottie was his own man. He kept his distance—didn’t even seem particularly keen. “Are you sure you don’t want to advertise it on the open market? I’d be happy to pay you for the weeks I’ll be away, but you might want a longer term tenant. I’m thinking about buying a place myself, though I haven’t done the homework yet, so I can probably promise you at least another two months after I get back. But with this place, you could ask a premium and know where you stand a year from now. Don’t feel obliged to offer me this, Nic. Think about it and come back to me. I’ve got another week before I move out. Give yourself room to make a decision that’s in your best interests, not just in mine.”
“How can I resist a tenant with such great taste in ice cream, Scottie? And you might want to think twice about whether you want your life in the hands of this cruel and evil landlady.”
As they forked up strands of spaghetti in the soft summer night, they laughed and entertained each other with tales of previous landlords and flatmates, of leaky shower recesses and nosy and noisy neighbors.
If Scottie’s knee brushed against hers, she barely noticed. It wasn’t as if anything beyond living arrangements was up for discussion.
It surprised her what good company grown-up Scottie could be. Why hadn’t she thought to invite him to share with her sooner?
Oh. Because he’d been married. Oops.
“Ice cream?” said Scottie. “Here, I’ll take these. Which cupboard are your bowls in?”
He helped stack the dishwasher before he left, far too soon. She would have liked him to stay and maybe watch some rubbish television, or listen to some music with her.
What was going on? Nicole shook her head. None of that. Scottie was recovering from the last woman who’d screwed him over. She wasn’t about to mess him up on the rebound. She liked him far too much for that. Old friends and flatmates. That’s what they would be to each other and nothing more. Besides, he was heading overseas. Anything could happen.
Chapter 2
Scottie turned up the following Sunday with a couple of suitcases, a large heavy box and then, out of his pocket, a seashell.
“Is that all, Scottie, and what’s with the shell?”
“I didn’t like anything Beck and I bought together. She had expensive taste, and I was happy to pay up, but it only ever made her happy for a little while. No amount of showy furniture was ever enough,” he said, and swallowed. “You don’t want to hear about my failed marriage.”
“You can talk about it if you want, Scottie.”
“It made me think about the things I really treasure. I gave away all the big stuff. So, you remember this?”
Nicole took the shell and turned it around in her hand as she stepped back to let him inside.
“Pearl Beach?”
He nodded.
“I was going to leave it behind, but then I thought you might like it in the bathroom, to hold the soap.”
“That’d be great.”
How amazing he’d kept that shell all these years! Was Scottie sentimental? Maybe, but maybe not. He’d also kept every coffee mug with an accountancy theme he’d ever been given.
“Can I make you a coffee?” he said, later in the day.
The hissing of steam and aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the apartment, and he brought one out to her on the veranda.
“Sum caffeine,” said her mug.
“I depreciate a beverage,” said his.
“Cheers,” said Nicole.
Scottie smiled as they touched their mugs together. Funny. She’d forgotten that dimple on Scottie’s left cheek when he smiled. She jolted when he met her eyes, so she stared at the steaming mugs.
“Very funny,” she said.
“In an accountant kind of way,” he said.
Scottie and Nicole settled into life together like the old friends they were. Nicole loved Scottie’s dinner choices, and she adored his feedback on her clothes.
With her stylish mother, Nicole always found selecting the right outfit to be a battleground. Cynthia had taste, and Nicole’s ensembles never quite worked. Though it didn’t stop her experimenting, she had no confidence in her fashion sense. An awkward child of an elegant mother, she knew she was no beauty. The middle child, she’d always felt slightly neglected. She missed her grandmother, Eleanor, who would take her aside for “our days” and let her play with an old hat box full of ribbons and sort a jar of spare buttons. They’d been her own toys, when her parents owned the haberdashery and department store that Jim transformed into the House of Diamonds.
She’d even taken her to Swan Lake when she’d recovered from Chickenpox.
“Am I an ugly duckling, Grandma?”
“No one is ugly; Nic. Beauty and ugliness are inside you. They’re the way you behave.”
“That’s not true. You and Grandpa sell jewels to make people beautiful.”
“Oh no! Jewels are gifts. They’re beautiful, and they carry beautiful messages between people, like ‘I love you’ and ‘marry me’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘I care about you’.”
“But don’t people wear them to be beautiful, to look beautiful?”
“A greedy or cruel or selfish person wearing a beautiful jewel is still ugly inside.”
Sometimes Nicole suspected she was ugly inside as well. At school, Nicole always felt different. Other girls had fathers who were vital. Some were absent and some divorced, or too busy to show up on Speech Night, but her own father was unwell and getting worse, and despite his brave smiles, the whole family knew deep down they were going to lose him, their beloved Jimmy Huntley the Second. It was hard.
It made her friends awkward to mention their fathers, and also made Nicole’s Emo phase utterly convincing, and for a while the company of other Emos was what she craved. Emo guys, slouched, vacant or miserable. She and Zach were an item for a while, but then he slouched off to Melbourne, never to return.
Cynthia banned her from working in the front of the shop.
“Our customers don’t understand black nail polish, darling,” her mother said.
It was only while trying to prove her wrong that Nicole discovered “market segments” and had to concede her mother was right about the kinds of people who came into Huntleys. They had money and wanted to spend it, to impress, to express their love or to meet the expectations of those who loved them.
The more she looked, the more she found. Birds of a feather flocked together. She and her friends experimented with dress codes throughout high school and she lurched from one fashion extreme to another.
Her new flatmate proved himself useful, unlike Lucia who made her feel ugly with one sleek glance.
She’d parade in three or four jackets every morning, and Scottie always had an opinion.
“That one,” he said, as he ate his cereal. “That works. You look great.”
For a middle child who’d spent her life trying to get a word in edgeways or gain the attention of her parents who were forever praising James, the eldest, always so adept, or laughing at the outrageous antics of Will, the youngest, Nicole relished Scottie’s presence.
Her new flatmate’s wise counsel and ever attentive ear was pure joy. She loved it—cherished it. In Scottie’s orbit, she loved her work and everything and everyone around her. It was miraculous. She was the first to admit it.
She calmed. She settled. She thrived. Her new flatmate was a godsend, his company a salve. He was the one person in life who gave her their full attention.
Scottie even cared about her marketing ideas, and he became her sounding board.
Nicole never managed to pinpoint the exact moment she changed her mind about Scottie. How was it that everything that made him so repellent in high school suddenly made him so desirable now?
Scottie, solid as a tree trunk beside her, unyielding in his loyalty, dependable and helpful, was exactly who she needed in her life.
His warm gaze told her he supported her no matter what she wore, and no matter what crazy hair style she experimented with, and he praised her every idea. No. That wasn’t true. Not all her ideas. Instead, he considered each one deeply, scrutinized it and gave serious responses, but only after saying “hmm. Yes. I see how that could work.”
One evening he turned up and said “Ya sas.”
“What’s that?”
“‘Hello’ in Greek.”
“Oh. ‘Ya sas,’ Scottie. Is that where you’re going? Greece?” She’d managed to push the reality of his departure from her mind, and now it was imminent.
He nodded.
Next day, Nicole left work early so as to serve moussaka for dinner. Dashing out at lunch time to collect the ingredients kept her smiling all day, and Scottie’s surprise warmed her, not that she was trying to impress him.
“Efharisto,” he said.
“How do I say ‘I don’t understand’?”
He pulled out his phone.
“Den katalaveno.”
“Well, ‘den katalaveno’ then, Scottie.”
“I thanked you. The moussaka was great.”
A vision of him eating at some Greek restaurant on the Mediterranean with a bunch of tourists or local women twisted in her gut, and she rose from the table to hide her face. This was ridiculous. He was just a flatmate, an old friend.
That was the problem.
How did you say “I think I’m falling in love with you” in English, let alone in Greek?
“Where else are you going?”
“Italy, the Dalmatian Coast, France of course …”
“Oh, you must drop in on Mum. You know she’s living in the south of France now, not far from Nice.”
“Nice idea, but I’m not sure I’ll have time. It’s a bit of a whirlwind. Spain, Germany and Austria, too. And Switzerland.”
“Oh. Is it one of those tours for singles?” She hated her question, with the emphasis on singles.
“I did end up booking one of those. The reviews were great, and I’ll see so much more in a short time.”
“Of course.”
Chapter 3
The date of Scottie’s departure raced towards them.
If Nicole found herself whipping out at lunch time to purchase ingredients for European dishes to make and share with Scottie, she considered the new habit merely courteous. She’d do the same for any old friend heading overseas, especially if they were staying together.
Besides, Scottie volunteered to cook for their French evening.
“Coq au Vin,” he said. “Can’t see what all the fuss is about. Leftover wine and a few mushrooms, and voilà.”
It turned out so moist and delicious she gave him an involuntary hug. Another evening, he made Salad Niçoise —“tin of tuna, what could go wrong?”—followed by a cheese and fruit platter that lasted two nights in a row.
“You really must drop in on my mum and share your French dishes, Scottie. She’s no great chef. And I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
“Not so sure about that, Nic.”
“Why’s that?”
“Never forget I’m Huntleys’ financial controller. Besides, I think James is planning a trip.”
“Oh?”
“Look, let’s not talk business. It’s after hours. And I need to finalize my packing. How cold do you reckon Europe will be? I looked it up and their autumn doesn’t look much different to our winter.”
“But you’re going all over the place, Scottie.” Nicole grabbed his itinerary from the fridge door. “Look. Santorini.”
They flicked through the destinations and read out temperatures from their phones. Nicole wished she was going with him. The vistas were stunning, especially in Greece, with all those ancient white walls and blue domes.
“Layers; that’s what you’ll need,” she said. “Add a t-shirt under your shirt and a coat up north, and you can peel them all off when you travel south.”
Scottie smiled at her, the warmth in his eyes making her want to peel off a layer or two right here in her kitchen. She busied herself stacking the dishwasher.
“Go on. Do that packing.” She’d miss him. She really would. Should she get him a present? Something fun? A passport holder? Unnecessary. A suitcase label with an Australian flag? Were Australians popular in Europe or would it be a red rag to a bull somewhere? Would Scottie be safe?
She chastised herself. Scottie knew how to look after himself, and what could possibly go wrong on a group tour for under thirty fives? She bit her lip. Scottie was still vulnerable. The tour could be full of people like Beck, just waiting to latch onto a good looking Australian male. For the first time, a stab of protectiveness came over her.
She sidled down the corridor. From his room came the glide and thump of drawers being opened and closed. She put a hand on his door. Knocked.
“Yes?”
“Need a hand?”
“Sure. Welcome to my chaos.”
An empty wheelie bag lay open on the floor. Scottie’s hair was pushed up on one side, possibly due to the hasty change of t-shirts, now piled up inside out on the bed. Nicole had to fight the urge to smooth it. She had a déjà vu of Lucia in the same space and similar disarray, though Lucia’s clothes had been bright crimsons and emeralds, slinky numbers and the highest heels she’d ever seen.
Scottie’s clothes were blokey—jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts and a few collared shirts and casual trousers. Nicole was hopeless at coordinating her own clothes, she knew. She could spend a small fortune on a new top or skirt, only to discover it went with nothing else she owned.
“Come to give me a hand, eh, Nic?”
“That would be the blind leading the sighted,” said Nic. “You know I struggle with this kind of thing every morning, so I don’t see what I can offer you.”
“Doesn’t matter to me a bit. That was Beck’s thing. She drove me crazy, dressing me up in this and that.”
“Well, she certainly knew how to put her own best foot forward.” Should she even be going here? Who was she to judge Scottie’s ex-wife?
“That she did. Tell you what. Let’s just throw in a few things then get out of here. Fancy a walk or a run? Who cares about clothes. I can buy something over there if what I’ve packed is totally unsuitable. Come on. I’ve been indoors all week setting up my clients for while I’m away. Need to clear my head.”
“Sure!” Nicole ducked back to her room, pulled out a tangle of black and fluorescent gym clothes, and then shoved them back in the cupboard. If Scottie didn’t care, nor should she. She threw on a t-shirt, shorts and some old runners and met him at the front door.
The smile he gave her was straight out of her childhood. It was like old times, heading out on a beach adventure.
They shared a glance in the lifts. What was that smile? Was he comparing her faded t-shirt with Beck’s glamor? Maybe Scottie really did care that she hadn’t paired the hot pink bike pants with the lime green fitness halter … and Nic cursed her insecurities.
“Too bad,” she tried to tell herself. “It’s a jog to the beach, not a fashion parade.”
When Scottie set off up Bondi Road at a pace, Nicole put on a burst of speed, but after several blocks she struggled to keep up. Saved by some red lights, she dropped her hands to her knees and tried to catch her breath.
Scottie’s hand on her arm startled her. “Stitch?” he said. She shook her head, and wished she’d brought a bottle of water.
“I’m so unfit, Scottie. I forgot you were a cross country champ back in school and have been giving James a run for his money. I’ve got no hope.”
“My bad,” he said. “Let’s walk. It’s not a competition.”
Past pizzerias, shoe shops, sushi, nail bars, a tattoo parlor and a coaching college they walked, then past the council chambers and the darkness of Waverley Oval. The familiar jumble of shops blurred into the background as the smell of the sea began to overtake the fuel fumes and Nicole’s spirits kept on rising. It was wonderful to walk in pace with Scottie. She fought the urge to touch him, to tuck her hand into the corner of his arm. He was such a great guy, such a kind companion. Why didn’t they do this every evening? She’d miss his company, that was for sure.
Scottie was silent. Was he thinking the same thing or was he still longing for Beck?
They took the path through Hunter Park to the Bondi to Bronte coast walk, then turned left past the bright lights of the Icebergs. The bars and baths were bright against the darkness of the sea as keen octogenarians thrashed through their laps before seven o’clock closing time. Away from the shops, a cold southerly wind batted her hair and whooshed in her ears.
“What are you thinking, Scottie?” she shouted.
“That’d be us, Nic, swimming all winter.”
She must have misheard him, but a vision of walking and swimming beside Scottie for decades wouldn’t go away and she laughed with the joy of it. So simple.
“What’s so funny?” he said.
“I thought you were implying we’d still be together for the next fifty years,” she said.
“Good joke, eh?” he said. Was he testing her? That same light in his eyes she’d glimpsed in the elevator lifted her heart again, just before he glanced away. Was he saying they’d still be pals, or exploring something more serious? Surely this wasn’t Scottie’s way of proposing. They’d only been living together just over a month, and marriage was about far more than companionship, wasn’t it?
Now Nic was the silent one, and Scottie solid beside her, head up, about to go and explore Europe with a coach full of young women.
The famous beach was a pale crescent under a half moon. At this hour, the golden sand was almost empty of the usual crowds.
“Mind if I stretch out a bit?” he said. “The prospect of 24 hours in an airplane never excites me like a beach run.”
“Of course I don’t mind. Go be the race horse, man.”
“Thoroughbred, off the leash.”
“Go for it, Scottie. I’ll just sit here and admire you.”
“You do that.”
So she did. She gripped her knees, her back to the cold wind, and watched Scottie dash up the beach in the darkness, all long legs and masculine profile, wide at the shoulders and slim at the hips. There was something sleek and wild about Scottie as he ran, something alien, so different to the mild-mannered accountant he presented to the world by day. Was this the real Scottie, the one Beck had entrapped?
For the first time, she allowed herself to wonder how it might be to kiss Scottie, to truly hold him in her arms, beyond friendship, beyond quick snatches of fun touches between friends, to hold him as she’d hoped to hold the string of dating partners who’d shown such promise by their profiles, but who’d let her down in person, one after another. She could barely remember their names. Scottie would never do that to her—use her and then ignore her. But did he even see her that way?
What could you do when you’d “friend zoned” the one man you truly loved?
As Scottie pounded back to her along the beach and up to the headland, he drew one hand through his wild hair and panted.
“Thanks for that,” he said, still catching his breath.
“For what?”
“Everything, actually,” said Scottie. “For waiting here for me while I ran; for taking me in; for all the fancy meals and language lessons. It’s been great.”
He sat down beside her, the warmth of him an aura. In the cold wind, she leaned a little closer.
“Though I’ll be in trouble in Greece if I use the wrong word.” He turned his head to her and she caught his joy, even though she was puzzled.
“What do you mean ‘the wrong word’? Surely you’re an expert now under my tuition.”
He squinted his eyes, blew through his lips and shook his head.
“No offense, Nic. Did you know the Greeks have eight words for ‘love’? How hard would it be to stuff it up? Like, what if I say ‘I’d love an ice cream’ and I get it wrong?”
“Oh, so you’d like to sleep with an ice cream? Kinky!”
They threw back their heads and laughed. She waited for him to speak, but he was silent.
“Well, I’m excited for you, Scottie,” she said. “It’ll be a fair bit more interesting for you over there than Bondi Beach, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “There’s nothing much wrong with being right here. It’s a world-class destination, and we’ve got it to ourselves tonight.”
Was he going to put his arm around her shoulders? She leaned further into him in the buffeting wind. Now was the time she could have passed him a special present if she’d bought one. Just casually slipped it into his hand, maybe.
Nicole wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she caught his fingers in her own chilled ones anyway, and their warmth was better than a radiator. He glanced down at her and away again, and while he didn’t exactly hold her hand properly, he didn’t remove hers. She nestled even closer.
“Cold?” he said. “Your fingers are freezing and I’m roasting. How selfish of me to keep all my warmth to myself.” Then he did it. He placed one arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him, into the familiar Scottie smell of him. Heaven.
“Thanks,” she said. Would it go further? Of course not. He was sharing his warmth like he might shelter a stray kitten. Did she want more than this?
Before she could find out, Scottie scrambled up.
“Best get back,” he said. “You’ll get exposure out here, and I’ve got a huge day tomorrow. I leave at first light the next day.”
“Want a lift to the airport, Scottie?”
“No thanks. I’ll just jump on the train. It’s the first flight of the day. No need for you to get out of bed so early. Transport’s convenient from your place. It’s been absolutely wonderful, Nic. Great place to stay. I’m in your debt.”
“You’ve been paying me rent, remember?”
“But still.”
She knew she should say it; that she’d miss him, that she adored his company and hoped he’d come back to her and be her Scottie forever, but every moment that passed, the opportunity retreated. They were old friends and flatmates; nothing more, and to pretend otherwise was to risk the great friendship they enjoyed.
On her way to work the next morning, Nicole hot footed it through the arcade as usual, where the locksmith was just setting up. His display of anodised dog tags caught the light—gold, blue, green, crimson, orange—and she stopped and inspected them.
“Rufus” read one example. “Be my Valentine” read a heart shape, and she laughed. She pulled off a large titanium gray square with rounded corners and laid it on the counter.
“Could I get this engraved, please?” she said.
“Sorry, love. The engraver’s been off sick all week. I can send it out and have it back for you next Tuesday.”
“Oh. No, I really need it today. Look, I’ll just buy it as it is.”
“Suit yourself. Sorry about that. I’ll throw in some leather. How big’s your dog?”
“Oh, no. It’s for a suitcase! Just a small length is fine. Thank you.”
She hurried on to Huntleys, the disc warm in her pocket. Maybe old Jim would engrave it for her, or one of the apprentices.
Up in the tea room, Jim was making his instant coffee.
“Nicole, my girl.” He tapped his teaspoon on the top of his cup, rinsed it under the cold tap and dropped it in the drainer as he’d done every day of her life.
“Jim, can I ask you about engraving?”
“Sure. Want me to engrave something for you?”
“I’d actually like to do it for myself for once, Jim.”
He narrowed his eyes. Long ago when she’d still been a girl, to his great disappointment, she’d told him she would leave him to the practical side of making jewelry, while she would stick to serving, marketing, and store and office tasks.
He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s just a fun thing. For a friend. She pulled the tag out of her pocket and held it in her palm.”
Jim picked it up, turned it over in his tough old fingers, and nodded.
“Aluminum,” he said. “Couldn’t be easier. What you need is a little portable engraver. Mine’s for gold and silver and would go right through that. If you’re in a hurry, why not go down to the hardware store and pick one up. They’re like a pen, with a battery inside. Fine for plastic and tags like that. The trick is to hold it steady, and keep it moving, or otherwise you go too deep. And don’t touch the end or you’ll burn yourself.”
She added it to her shopping list and found just what he’d described. Back in her apartment, when she flicked the switch, it whirred into life. Scottie’s bag was beside the front door, ready for his departure. She used the leather strap to attach the label to the handle, and ran her thumb over the name she’d engraved. How she’d miss him!
While the weeks had organized themselves into homemade black forest cake, crepes Suzette, and paella, for this, their final evening together, Nicole drew the line at making apple strudel to accompany their schnitzel. There was an excellent patisserie, so she’d brought the sweet and flaky treat home in a brown paper bag.
When she ducked out and bought five beers to accompany this final meal before his departure, it was like déjà vu. How many times had she brought home exactly this cold, clanking bundle, excited about a new date? About as many times as they’d disappointed her.
She sighed as she lined up the beers in the fridge door, ready for display. Then, as if on auto, she took on her habitual date night routine. She soaked in a fragrant bath, lit a candle, and set the cutlery and glasses on the outdoor table in the twilight.
Chapter 4
On his final night in Sydney, Scottie let himself in, dumped his briefcase in his room, returned to the kitchen and whistled at the display of drinks in the fridge. Nicole had gone to a lot of trouble.
“What’s this VIP treatment, Nic? What’s the occasion?”
“Oh. Just that my flatmate’s off on a long European holiday,” she said. “I thought you might like to celebrate.”
“Are you that pleased to see me go?”
Light danced in his eyes as he seized a second bottle and went to open it.
“One for you, too?”
“I don’t normally drink beer. But okay. Why not? Thanks, Scottie. How was your day?”
“Not as exciting as my evening and that’s for sure. Mmmm. Smells so good in here. How was your day, Nic? Would you like yours in a glass?”
She shook her head as Scottie handed her a bottle and clinked his own open one against hers.
Scottie spooned on the mashed potato as she plated up the steaming schnitzel.
“If I’d known you were cooking Austrian I’d have brought home some sauerkraut,” he said, adding the steamed carrots and mashed potato.
“Not my favorite, thanks anyway, Scottie.”
They sat companionably on the high stools at her outdoor table as the streetlights twinkled and the white headlights and red taillights of rush hour snaked past below. It was so easy living with Nicole, nothing like the neverending emotional roller coaster of life with Beck.
“You’re a great friend to take me in, Nic,” said Scottie as he held up his bottle.
“To friendship,” said Nicole, clinking hers against his. “This time tomorrow you’ll be …”
“36,000 feet above India,” he said.
“And then?”
“Bongiorno, Roma.”
“Hello, Rome. Very good. Some of our phrases have actually sunk in. I’m so excited for you.”
“I’ll let you know if I find anywhere half as good as Bondi or Pearl Beach.”
“Thanks.”
He meant it.
That shell, fan shaped and rough, the color of a faded sunset. When she’d opened her door to him and taken it in her hands and turned it over and over, did she remember? One afternoon on one of their childhood holidays at Pearl Beach, when the late afternoon sun slanted through the little waves, he and Nicole stood together and pointed out fish, burnished silver in the strange light. Her ankles were pale in the water, like saplings planted in the sand.
“Why do they call it Lion Island?” Nicole asked him, pointing out to sea. “It doesn’t look anything like a lion.”
“Maybe not from here.”
“No. And there’s no way those bushes look like fur. There’s no tail, no ears, no eyes. It’s olive green and made of rocks. Lions are golden. Even in this light, it’s not gold ”
He remembered her body aglow, radiant in the dying light. He stared and stared at her, and she’d stared back.
“Well?”
She’d expected him to have an answer.
“I’ll bet the Aboriginal people had a different name for it,” he said.
When she’d nodded, finally satisfied, pride shot through him like a flame, and he laughed and rushed into the waves and swam out as far as he could go.
She was waiting for him on the sand when he returned, the big shell in her hands. She turned it over and over.
“Weren’t you scared about sharks?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” he’d said, and she’d nodded. Then she’d given him the shell. No wonder he’d had a crush on her. She was the only woman he’d ever met who made him feel ten feet tall—until Beck claimed him. Well, that was short lived.
Too bad Nicole had frozen him out all through their high school years. He’d finally got the message, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still fond of her. They’d had great times together.
Nicole was beautiful. So familiar to him—with her ready sense of humor, her endearing awkwardness, her searing honesty, and that way of making him want to be his best self. So unlike Beck, whose preoccupation with appearances covered a complete lack of substance verging on soullessness. What a lucky escape. With that divorce he’d seized another chance at life, a better life.
Nicole. How he’d have loved her company on this trip. In these few short weeks, she’d allowed him to grow back into himself. Her quiet lack of graces and games had been exactly what he’d needed to finally get Beck completely out of his system, to remember who he was and what he wanted in life. The vacation no longer seemed necessary.
But how to tell Nicole? Here on the dark veranda, the city and harbor lights twinkling around them in the mild evening, he longed to tell her how much he enjoyed being with her. Last night, when she’d let him hold her hand and tolerated his arm around her, it was all about the cold wind. There’d been no notion of romance. Tonight there was no such excuse to hold her. There she was, just across the table from him, with all those curves he’d longed to explore since they were teenagers. She smelled divine.
Suddenly, Scottie was awkward around her. They both reached for the saltshaker at the same time, each offering it to the other. He loved the way she laughed it off. He loved everything about her, but the memories of how she’d cold shouldered him throughout high school still hurt. Those scars ran deep. He’d have to be nuts to try to convert this rediscovered friendship with her to anything more serious, particularly on the eve of his world trip.
“Let me get the dessert,” he said. They bumped hands collecting each other’s dinner plates. The cutlery clattered onto the tiles. They bent at the same time to pick them up, brushing against each other.
Nicole grabbed them first and slipped into the kitchen. Something twisted inside him just watching her retreating form, those curves in the tight jeans, the play of light in her hair. Suddenly he knew he wanted to cup her head in his hands and kiss her, properly, deeply, and more, to tell her he still loved her and always had, that Beck had been but a brief nightmare and that being with Nicole forever was all he’d ever wanted.
Thank goodness he hadn’t felt this way for the whole five weeks. He’d never have been able to keep his hands off her.
It was hard not to stare when she returned with the sweet, sugar dusted pastry, and when she inhaled a flake of it and began to cough, he leaped across to pat her back. His resolve almost crumbled, but he was a man of discipline if nothing else. That’s why his clients entrusted him with financial decisions—he knew exactly how to read a balance sheet and check that the numbers stacked up, how to keep a business safe. Scottie had warned himself repeatedly to avoid making a move on precious Nicole. That way, he’d never be banished again.
Luckily he’d be leaving first thing in the morning. The way she looked at him as she gathered up the dessert plates; it was more than grateful. Did Nicole feel it too? Was there any way she too could be sensing something new between them, something powerful that begged exploration?
He placed his hand on her forearm. “No, let me, Nicole. My turn to clean up. What a great dinner. I can’t imagine my meals in the real Austria will be half as delicious.”
He snatched his hand back. Something fresh pulsed between them, something electric in her skin, something he longed to investigate. So much for his resolve. It had lasted barely half an hour. He must really watch himself now.
“Oh sure, Scottie.”
“And what I’m really looking forward to is good old Aussie fish and chips with you when I get back.”
“It’s a deal.”
Chapter 5
That special night, had it just been the evening light, or was Scottie more handsome than ever, with the air of adventure about him.
Nicole’s mind reeled. She couldn’t help but compare him with all the dates she’d invited to her apartment for the same treatment—a drink and a meal. At the start they’d big note themselves as they ogled her view, as if they were threatened by her advantages.
There was none of that nonsense with Scottie. Their conversation flowed, with plenty of laughter. It was so easy to be with him, and then he’d offered to clean up the kitchen.
She stood in the doorway and watched him, those strong arms carefully stacking her plates and cutlery in the dishwasher, the swipe of the bench with the cloth in his capable hand, removing all the strudel crumbs. This man knew how to behave. That was the trouble. She could hardly rush him at the sink, could she? Maybe they could nestle down on the couch together and watch some junk television, but it was already past midnight. Where had the time gone? What if his plane crashed and he never came back?
Nicole wasn’t vain. The good looks in the family had gone to James and Will, with their sun-bleached hair and too-blue eyes, but she’d gone to an effort tonight, with blusher and eyeliner and hair product and a push-up bra and little black dress with the low neckline and short hem, and even her most uncomfortable shoes.
If he’d found her at all attractive, he would surely have made a move by now. This was it, then. Scottie and Nicole—best friends forever, but nothing more. A wave of anguish engulfed her. Was she destined to always be alone? For all Scottie had told her that glamor meant nothing to him, she’d failed to light even a glimmer of interest throughout the whole of this romantic evening. She’d thrown everything at it; even her scented candle.
As Scottie stood in her doorway beside his suitcase, a great wave of love for him rose up inside her. Here was everything she loved about her childhood friend, her careful and kind flatmate, and something more—something new and strong and impossible to resist.
Plain Nicole, she told herself. Might as well go and be a nun. Something collapsed inside her, all hope extinguished, and she dashed away a tear. Pathetic. Imagine feeling sorry for herself like this. No wonder Scottie didn’t want her.
She stepped closer to him, willing him to stay there—willing him not to turn and open the door just yet; not yet. Here was her Scottie, everything she’d loved about her childhood friend and her good-humored flatmate, so easy to be with, but she wanted so much more. Could there ever be more between them?
“You okay, Nic?” he said. His face softened with concern.
“Must be the beer,” she said. “It never did agree with me.”
He placed a caring hand on her shoulder, and then removed it, as if she were a hot potato. She was. She was burning up inside, burning for Scottie, burning to show him how much he meant to her, how much she’d miss him, how much she could offer him if he’d only show a glimmer of interest in her that way.
She glanced up at his face and away again and turned off the hall light, anxious to hide her blatant need for him.
He smiled at her the way he’d always done. She couldn’t look away. There was that tiny dimple in one cheek, that little indent—and before she knew what she was doing, she’d reached out her hand to touch it, and he’d grabbed her fingers and cupped his own warm hand against her own cheek.
He wiped away her tear with his thumb, inclined his face towards hers, and closer still. Her eyes held his, his breath was a whisper, as his lips brushed hers and returned, inevitable, essential, with the hint of the certainty of so much more between them. Her heart pounded, her lips softened. She reached her hand behind his neck to bring him closer.
She leaned towards him, up on her toes. Yes. This flash of strength from the man beneath his kindness, and within his tenderness, his own spark of need, with an urgency that begged fulfilment, inevitable as the curve and crash of a mighty wave against the shore, a hunger that would not be denied.
Scottie moaned and pulled her closer, but then his other hand pushed against her shoulder and he pulled away. He turned around as if scalded and lurched towards the door, the back of his hand against his lips.
Behind him, she leaned against the wall, gasping, heart pounding, still hungry for so much more.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry, Nic,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that. Look. I might as well head out right now, actually. It’s only a few hours before my flight. Thanks for everything, kiddo. See you in five weeks.”
He was out her door and gone before she registered what was happening, her body on full alert for love, not for this abandonment.
“Kiddo?” It was his old name for her, back when they played ping pong together. Is that how he still saw her? As some kind of child?”
“Addio,” she said to the back of the door. “‘Farewell.’”
She knew she should be happy for him as she wandered past his empty room week after week.
It still smelled vaguely of polite, clean male, of Scottie, and she inhaled deeply, her hand on the door frame.
Loneliness stabbed her deep in her chest. She missed him. And what if he met someone else on the tour. What if he never came back?
Chapter 6
In the dark tunnel, alone in the train carriage with his suitcase, Scottie could barely think. He’d nearly blown it.
Moving in with Nicole, even temporarily, had been a mistake, a slippery slope of mounting desire, of remembering every detail of her that he’d never stopped loving.
All through high school, she’d punished him for that love. She’d literally told him to “get lost.”
Living with her, grabbing cereal every morning in the kitchen, he loved to watch her face, fresh from sleep, before she covered it with makeup. He loved her freckles and the soft ginger tips of her eyelashes, and her fragrance, like fresh fruit; the familiar shoulders and hands and feet he’d loved since childhood, the way she’d slant her face towards him, quizzical, then smile as he answered a question about the weather or his plans for the day. It opened up a golden stab of joy in him, every time.
His attraction to her was deeper than ever. He longed for her with every fiber of his being. But surely he hadn’t suffered for nothing back when they were teenagers. That they could be friends now was worth protecting. Why risk losing it again by making a wrong move, especially after the disaster with Beck?
Back there in her apartment, as she’d kissed him goodbye, it was only with the strength of his rational mind that he’d been able to wrench his body away from hers.
He’d miss her. He missed her now—a mere ten minutes after his departure—more than he’d ever missed Beck. Beck’s absence was a relief, but with Nic there was a visceral longing, as if part of him were missing.
He groaned.