Here at the end of January, in these long, hot, sunsoaked days of high Australian summer, it’s impossible not to think of my Escape to the Coast series.
I’m thrilled to share with you the first few chapters of Summer Beach – my sweet, slow-burn, second chance, rockstar romance…
(If you’ve already read Summer Beach, please scroll down for other sweet reads and events.)
Chapter 1
Autumn
In the humid darkness, a fragment of music wafted, then all was silent.
The music began and halted again, on and off like a scratched record doomed to repeat its short arc forever.
Samantha Kelly’s mind hitched a ride on the melody, then jolted as the sound ceased. If only the song would continue and spirit her away from this alien musty smell of dust and rotting vegetation, away from the gloom of the old beach house where she tossed and turned and failed to sleep, despite her exhaustion. Jetlag was the pits.
She sat up and stared out the open louvers at the dark tangle of vines and undergrowth and, beyond them, at the sheen of moonlight on the bay. She batted at a whining mosquito, sighed in frustration and flopped back down.
Beside her in a box filled with old clothes and towels she’d managed to scrounge, Scoobie huffed and settled and began to snore. While her father’s old sausage dog’s long-term future remained a challenge, at least he’d eaten some of her pie for dinner and slept at last.
Faintly came the shush of tiny waves, washing and retreating to the endless breath of the world’s oceans.
Sam visualized the great stretch of the Pacific she’d just traversed from her home in LA to this small corner of Australia’s coast, this place of lost memories and musical mysteries.
Mmmmzzzzz. She slapped at the mosquito so hard her ear rang, and shrank down under the sheet for protection, then added mosquito repellent to her mental shopping list.
Here it came again, the tantalizing beauty of that music — was it a guitar? In the night air it was clear and close, the strings plucked in a complex, haunting sequence of chords, building beauty, prompting longing — for what? More music?
The sudden silence was strangely lonely. As her friend Fliss would say, Sam didn’t “do” loneliness.
She longed for her simple life back in LA as an IT consultant, humming along just the way she liked it. While her clients had dramas, Sam loved to be the calm expert while her skills set things right for them. Though each client was different, all of them loved her for it.
She counseled herself. The challenge of selling this beach house was really no different. She’d just work through each stage until all was solved, sold, and out of her life.
Just as she began to drop off to sleep again — “bing”. A message popped onto her phone. Only two people in the world could contact her in “silent” mode — her brother, Rick, and Fliss, her best friend.
She reached out from under the sheet and grabbed it. There was Fliss’s photo icon, unmistakable with that white halo of hair, frizzy as fairy floss and cotton candy.
The text was bright in the darkness. Sam squinted. “Hey, Sam! You’ll never believe what’s happened!”
“What?” Sam keyed back.
“Call me?”
Sam scooched back up the bed and stared out the louvers as Scoobie wuffled and settled again. She squinted at her phone. One tiny bar of coverage. She shook her head, pressed Fliss’s number and hoped for the best.
“Hey, Sam!” said Fliss. “Where are you this time?”
“Australia.”
“Wonderful! Back again so soon? New client? I distinctly remember you telling me at your dad’s funeral you couldn’t wait to get back to LA. So what happened?”
“I did go home, but I promised Rick I’d sell the beach house, since he’s handling the sale of Dad’s apartment in Sydney. Oh. And it’s my turn to look after Scoobie. Turns out Rick’s wife’s allergic to dogs.”
“What beach house? Everyone wants a beach house, Sam. Where is this? Why don’t you just keep it?”
“I asked Rick about that, but they’re based in Melbourne and Lauren isn’t interested. Nor am I. LA’s my home. No one’s ever heard of Burradeer. This place is almost two hours from Sydney and it’s a wreck. It’s so out of the way there’s barely any phone coverage, let alone internet. Drives me crazy.”
“Sounds idyllic to me, Sam — a real hideaway. Burradeer … Isn’t that near Gosford? That’s not so far from me, here in Newcastle. Can we meet up? I don’t believe this. I don’t remember you ever talking about a beach house.”
“That’s because I spent school holidays with you and Gina, with Dad always working. We never came here. The place is practically derelict now.”
“Don’t they call those ‘fixer uppers’?”
“They can call it what they like. It makes me sneeze. And I have clients waiting for me back in LA. I just want to clean it up enough so it’ll sell, then get on with my life. Hey, maybe you’d like to buy it. It almost makes sense for you. Not sure how far it is from Newcastle but it can’t be too bad.”
“I’m not buying anything on my salary. None of us can afford property in Australia any more, remember? Sam, I’m dying to tell you my news, but don’t give me a hard time, okay?” Fliss’s voice dropped a tone. Was she guilty about something? “I’m going to need you, Sam.”
“Would I give you a hard time, my best friend forever?”
“You are indeed my very frank friend, Sam. Okay. Here goes, I’m getting married, and I want you to be my bridesmaid.”
“No! Fliss! Really?”
Sam pushed back the bed sheets, stood and wandered to the window in a daze of disbelief. After school, and even after they’d finished their training and gone their separate ways, Fliss to work in early childhood education in Newcastle and Sam to work in IT in LA, her very best friend had always been there for her, at the other end of the phone.
They’d had a deal. That neither of them would marry. That they loved their careers and each other and couldn’t imagine signing up for anything as old-fashioned as a wedding. So what had changed for her oldest, dearest friend?
Miffed, she knew she should be pleased for Fliss, but the news was a shock.
“I know I should congratulate you, Fliss.”
“You’re supposed to sound a bit more genuinely enthusiastic for me, Sam. Though I’m not surprised you’re reacting like this. You’ve always been honest with me.”
“I just don’t understand, Fliss,” said Sam. “We were the last of the stayers, you and me, the singles, the ones who didn’t need a man to ‘complete’ us. You and me and Gina, until last year, anyway. How is Gina? Are you in touch?”
“Expecting twins. I’ve never seen her so happy, if a bit uncomfortable.”
“Exactly. Wow. Hook, line and sinker. Still, that’s Gina. All in. But you, Fliss? You’re the one who started it — the idea we’d never get married. So come on, tell me. You’ve fallen in love? Fallen deep down into that abyss, where you lose your true self and get swallowed up folding some man’s socks for the rest of your life.”
Silence.
“Fliss?”
“I asked you not to give me a hard time.”
“Well, you have to admit we promised each other, and we’ve repeated that promise every time we’ve heard about another engagement or wedding, haven’t we?”
“Yes.” Fliss sighed. “I do remember, including that secret toast with you at Gina’s wedding. We couldn’t believe she’d gone the way of the rest of the world. So you’re right. I’m a hypocrite. I confess. But Rob’s special. Be happy for me, Sam. And be my bridesmaid. Will you do it? I need you.”
Sam sighed, and there it was again in the silence, that drift of music, so haunting, so beautiful, until it stopped, all too abruptly. Sam longed to hear where it led.
“Sam?”
“Just one more question, Fliss. We promised we’d always be honest with each other. Why get married?”
“Fair question, and I’ll give you an honest answer. I got lonely, Sam. Not lonely for a friend. Lonely for someone right by my side, someone to share all the news of the day with, and all my plans for the future. And company. Someone to rely on for practical things, too, like carrying the groceries and putting up curtain rods.”
“A handyman?”
“A partner in life. Maybe you’ll understand when you meet the right person, too. I hope you will, and soon. Don’t you get lonely too sometimes?”
“I’m far too busy to be lonely. Oh, Fliss, are you trying to marry me off now, too? That’s so typical of you, Fliss! Remember when you talked me into joining the netball team and I kept breaking my fingers, and taking up photography, even when I had zero talent, and …”
“So will you do it, Sam? Will you be my bridesmaid? There’s nobody I’d like better by my side on that special day.”
“Of course I’ll do it, Fliss. I’m honored, if mystified. Would I let you down?”
“No. That’s why I asked you. But could you try to sound a bit happier for me?”
“Okay, but first, we promised to remind each other, if ever one of us was tempted, that two thirds of marriages end in divorce.”
“It’s just a statistic, Sam.”
“Heartbreak isn’t a number, Fliss. I don’t want you to get hurt, but if you stay single, you’ll never run that risk.”
“Yeah, but maybe I’ll end up living just half a life. That’s what Rob says.”
“That’s no surprise. He’s the one with socks in the game.”
Fliss laughed.
“Tell me about Rob.”
“Thanks, Sam!”
“I’m getting used to the idea. So, come on. Tell me everything. Who’s Rob? Where did you meet him?”
“I never thought I’d fall for anyone like this. You’ll like him. I know you will. He’s one of my ‘after care’ parents.”
“Oh, Fliss! You’re sure he’s not just looking for a full time child carer?”
“He says he loves me.”
“Of course he does.”
“Oh I know that sounds trite. I don’t know how to explain.”
Sam pictured Fliss squinting her eyes as she sought her words in the silence.
“Rob cares about me. Most of the parents, I don’t blame them, but they care about their kids. So many of them don’t even bother to learn my name. I don’t mind. I can see how hard they’re stretched. Most of them, they drop off their kids and their minds are already on everything else they have to do for the day, on their work problems or whatever.”
“I can imagine, Fliss.” She resisted the opportunity to say Fliss might be in the same boat soon.
“Most parents are exhausted by the end of the day, and they come in, and they’re calling their kids, rushing them along, and I know they still have to cook dinner and get everyone into bed, clean everything up. There’s no way they can even begin to get to know me as a person, as a friend.”
“Exactly.”
“And then there are the others, the lady lunchalots, on their phones all the time. They barely give a wave, and then at the end of the day, they’re still on their phones!”
“That makes sense.” Sam nodded as Scoobie twitched in a dream, then snored again.
“But Rob was different from day one. When he asked how I was, he really listened. I gave him the ‘fine thanks’ answer and expected him to turn away, but he kept looking at me, until I said I was really well and how I’d worked in the garden all weekend and was really pleased with what I’d achieved, and he looked at my fingers, and sure enough there was still a tiny trace of dirt – my skin’s so pale – and I bunched them up, embarrassed, and then we both laughed. And then he kept asking about it, and whether there were any flowers yet. Alright, I know it sounds corny, but he’s lovely.”
“No. I’m sorry. I have to get used to the idea of sharing you, the new Fliss, my Fliss plus one.”
“Plus three, actually. Rob has a son and a daughter, each with his blond curls. They’re adorable.”
“Oh Fliss. You don’t think he’s just a strategic planner? You’re sure he doesn’t just want you for child care! Are you sure love isn’t being blind here? And what happened to the children’s actual mother?”
“I’ll admit that on the surface it’ll be rather convenient for him. He travels a lot with his work — he’s in charge of distribution in Australia and the Pacific — but wait till you meet him. And his children are lovely.”
“Where’s their mother?”
“It’s so sad. She left them.”
“Oh, Fliss. You’re so generous.”
Ever the mother duck, Fliss had swept Sam, younger than most new boarders, under her wing when she arrived at their boarding school half way through the year. By the time all the other girls in their year group arrived, in Year 7, Fliss and Sam were like Siamese twins, finishing each other’s sentences, laughing at old jokes together, and showing the others the ropes, like where to find the jigsaw puzzles when it was too wet outside to kick a ball.
For Sam, it was as if life began in boarding school, and Fliss was welded on, closer to her than her brother, Rick, who was four years older and at a boys’ boarding school a suburb away. Their schools were so insular they might as well have been on another planet.
“So you’re totally sure about this man?” Sam said.
“Of course! We’re engaged, aren’t we? Rob says he loves me and I’m wearing his ring. Actually, I hang it around my neck on a chain at the moment because I don’t want to get paint and playdough all over it. And he’s told me to go ahead and plan the wedding. We can have it anywhere in the world, Sam. He travels so much we have loads of Frequent Flyer Points.”
“You couldn’t just go on a holiday with him and forget the whole wedding thing?”
“Oh Sam. I know I said I didn’t want a family, but I’ve thought about this. That was just sour grapes because I never really had a family life as a child. Why else would I have chosen to work with children?”
“You went into childcare because you said you didn’t want to live on the land and it was the only other thing you knew — one big happy boarding family — institutions. And because you’re great with kids and with their parents. You’ve made a career, Fliss. You’re not throwing it all away, are you?”
Instantly, Sam regretted her words. Fliss’s silence condemned her. Who was Sam to puncture Fliss’s balloon? Her oldest friend hadn’t had enough love in her life. So what if this Rob was exploiting her. For all she knew he was besotted, as he should be.
“Forgive me, Fliss. Sorry. I’m happy for you. If I’m being totally honest, I think I’m a bit jealous. I’ve had you all to myself all my life. I have to learn to share you with this Rob.”
“You’ll like him, Sam. I know you will. And you’re right to question me. I know it sounds like an about-face, when we’ve always promised each other we’ll stay single, but you’ve been so busy with your work and your father dying, I didn’t want to talk about my happiness when you were so sad. I’ve known Rob for almost a year, and he’s only just proposed. I wanted to share my news with you straight away. Can we get together and talk about it some more? It’s not like you’re in LA for once. Burradeer’s only an hour and a half from Newcastle. Let’s catch up. Can you come to Newcastle before you leave? I’d take a day off and give you a hand, but my deputy is on maternity leave and …”
“Of course I’ll be your bridesmaid, Fliss. I’ll get used to the idea. I’ll jump on a train before I head to Sydney and fly out. Now tell me about this wedding.”
“Nothing’s decided yet.” As Fliss reeled off options in intricate detail, Sam slid back down under the covers again and yawned, the phone on one ear and the other attuned to the sound of the guitar notes humming, then halting again in the night air. She stifled a large yawn.
“Am I boring you, Sam?”
“No. I’m just jetlagged and it’s really hard physical work cleaning up this place. I’m used to sitting at a computer all day. I’m exhausted. Can we chat on the weekend about what my bridesmaid duties entail?”
“Of course! I’m being selfish. ‘Night!”
Again the guitar music stopped and started, like a rustic old radio with an intermittent fault. Questions circled in Sam’s mind like the mosquitos above her sheet. Should she and Rick keep this place, as Fliss suggested? Maybe they could sell it unimproved? Just how much could she achieve in her remaining week and a half of leave? Why did days stretch forever when they were children, desperate to grow up, but now whole years flipped past and she barely noticed?
Well, she’d do her best, with the house, and with being Fliss’s bridesmaid. Wasn’t that all anyone could ever do?
The strains of music came again, and she drifted into a half sleep of images of endless summers past, of play and exploration, of sandy feet and sunburned shoulders, of barbecues and stars.
When she and Rick were children, they’d flop in the shade in the high heat of the day to read or dream or doze until the hot sun rolled on towards the cool of the late afternoon, then suck on frosty sweet cordial blocks of ice, pink and orange and green.
…
Dawn brought a ruckus of kookaburra laughs as Scoobie licked her hand. Through the dirty louvers, low clouds threatened rain. Sam’s eyes ran and her nose was blocked. Had she picked up something on the airplane, or was it just the dust?
Mildew, cobwebs and dead leaves had taken up residence inside and out, but as a shaft of sunlight peeped in from the eastern veranda, she rolled out of bed with renewed vigor and hope.
In the laundry with its ancient copper and twin tub, she found a broom, a bucket and half a packet of old sugar soap, and set to work. Scoobie viewed her progress dubiously, nose poking out from under his blanket of striped pajamas.
Sam emptied a fifth bucket of filthy water, surveyed her progress and figured the shop might finally be open.
Scoobie trotted beside her happily enough down the long driveway, but he halted and dug in his heels at a glance at the sharp lumps of blue metal on the bayside road. When those soulful brown eyes stared up at her, the message was clear.
“Exhausted already, Scoobie Doo?” she said. “Scoobie Doesn’t Anymore,” Rick warned her when he’d handed him over to her at their father’s Sydney apartment.
“We’ll see about that,” said Sam. But the world was big when your legs were six inches tall. Perhaps Scoobie even remembered the place. Not for the first time, she wished she’d made time to talk to her father about their holiday house at Burradeer, but talking took two, and her father had always been remote, not just geographically, from her boarding school and then the US, but emotionally. No sense sighing over it. It was just how it was.
Sam hoisted Scoobie into her arms, marched him back up the drive, and dragged his box into a spot of morning sun on the veranda. She settled him back inside it.
“Back soon,” she said. She smoothed down his warm ears as his dark eyes searched hers, then closed.
As she set off again in the cool Autumn morning, a shaft of sunlight lit the yachts at their moorings. The warmth of the sun triggered memories of better times. This was the way to the ice cream shop. Sam smiled.
Chapter 2
A woman with long dark hair waited ahead of him as Jake entered the small shop and stood at the post office end of the short counter. There was something so familiar about her, he balked as she stared at her phone and scrolled down a list.
“Do you have mosquito repellent?” she asked the shopkeeper, Nola, across the counter.
The stranger’s coloring, the set of her shoulders and the curve of her waist caught his eye, and Jake strained to catch a glimpse of her face. He shook his head. How could he still be searching for Lulu when he knew the truth?
In front of her near the till were a copy of the local paper, rolled oats, soy milk, bananas, tissues, rubber gloves, chocolate and cashews.
She was probably a new weekender, or a short term renter needing extra supplies.
“Sold out,” said Nola, hands on her aproned hips.
“Oh,” said the stranger. “Okay. And dog food. I need dog food, please. Any Pamper Pooch?” There was a slight lilt to her voice. Irish? American?
Jake grimaced as Nola sighed. It was everyone’s bad luck Nola was on duty this morning and not her cheerful sister, Erin. Customer service was Nola’s burden. No matter that the sun was out, waves slapped at the wharf and the sea air was crisp and delicious at this turn of the season.
The children would arrive soon on their way to school, to deliberate over their sweets and lollies, with never enough coins and pleases and thank yous to prompt rapid action from Nola. Just why Nola placed the jars right at their eye height and then complained about their deep interest, he never understood.
Jake shifted his feet on the wooden floor boards. If the customer’s ad hoc shopping list was much longer, he’d be caught in the before-school rush. Nola placed sales before service, so his simple task of collecting his parcel would come last of all.
He secretly willed the visitor to hurry up. He’d summed her up already — another late twenties, highly strung career type trying to find herself by hiring the Fletchers’ cottage for a week or two, or staying up at the guest house that charged thousands, but on some special diet, despite the expensive menu. If these people were so wealthy, why did they smile so rarely?
He glanced around the shelves, predicting her next items. Herbal tea, a jar of olives, vegetarian frozen pizza. Why didn’t the Fletchers lease their house already stocked?
He scratched his cheek. Oops. Forgot to shave again, but what did that matter? If he could only collect his parcel, he’d be on his way.
He amused himself by imagining the woman’s dog. Something small and fluffy. Or a poodle, highly clipped, as out of place here at Burradeer beach and bay as its owner. “Pamper Pooch”? Nola and Erin’s general store and post office stocked human food, not dog food.
He leaned forward and tapped the top of a chunky meat and vegetable soup can to try to speed up the process, but just then, the woman stepped back and his shoulder collided with hers.
“Oh!” Her breath was warm on his outstretched arm. She shrank back towards the counter, shocked, as if repulsed by his touch. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Hardly an international incident,” he said, slightly regretting his choice of old t-shirt. The woman had a pale face, her skin so luminous he had to fight the urge to run the back of his fingers down her cheek, to know that softness. She was younger than she’d first appeared, refined, but somehow troubled and tired. Again a memory stirred in the back of his mind. That curve of cheek, and those dark eyes …
He cleared his throat.
“My dog used to eat this at a pinch,” he said, and tapped on a can of soup.
Nola rolled her eyes.
A mosquito hovered at the woman’s neck. His eyes followed it. He could squash it from here, bring his open hand to cup her jaw and cheek and press it against that softness of her skin, so warm and smooth.
He lowered his eyes and shook his head. He could hardly slap a stranger, especially one who’d just shrunk from his touch.
He pulled his own canister of roll-on repellent out of his pocket and handed it over.
“Take mine,” he said. “You’re about to be bitten again.”
“Oh. I can’t take this.”
“Why not?”
“It’s yours.”
“I’m giving it to you.”
“But what about you?”
“The mosquitos are sick of me. They prefer new blood.”
She shrank back again, her dark eyes scrutinizing his shoulder where they’d bumped. He stepped back and straightened. If he’d known she’d be here this morning he might have made more of an effort.
“Seriously. Just take it,” he said. “I’m used to them — practically immune.”
He stiffened at her appraisal and returned her gaze. Her eyes were serious, astute — like search lights. Her long lashes did nothing to soften her scrutiny as she registered his unkempt hair and stubble, the holes in his t-shirt and the stains on his jeans. They were clean, but the daubs of glue and varnish were there to stay.
It was a relief when she turned back to Nola and her purchases, and pulled out her phone to tap and pay.
“Thank you.”
Nola cleared her throat.
“Cash only, love,” said Nola in a monotone. Classic Nola.
“Surely that’s not legal,” said the customer.
“Cash, or you’ll have to wait,” Nola said. “Machine’s not working.”
The woman removed a slim backpack and reached into a compartment deep inside. Out came one of those travelers’ pouches with her passport and notes — greenbacks, if he wasn’t mistaken — and a small stash of Australian notes, so colorful in contrast. She slapped a hundred dollar note on the counter and pushed the pouch back, deep into her bag.
When Nola counted out the change, punishingly slowly, the woman shoved it into her jeans pocket and stuffed the goods into her pack, then pulled out some of the coins and added a string bag to her purchases.
The doorbell jangled as the first of the school children entered, clamoring for the counter and Nola’s jars.
By the time Jake had collected his parcel the woman was half way along the bay, well past the Fletchers’ place and beyond the guest house turnoff — a lone figure weighed down by her purchases as she rounded the point towards his end of the bay.
He’d give her a hand if he could catch her, but by the time he turned the corner himself, she’d disappeared.
Chapter 3
Sam yanked again on the kitchen drawer. It unstuck with a whoosh and jangle of old cutlery, bone-handled knives, corkscrews and yes, there on the left, the rustiest and most ancient can opener she’d ever seen — but at least the point was sharp.
At what stage did old garbage become ephemera, the memorabilia sought by museums? Decluttering this place was high on her list of tasks. What was it that real estate agents said? Get rid of two thirds of the contents of every room, cupboard and shelf to give the impression of spaciousness. She frowned. This old place was barely salvageable — a knock-down job. Was she wasting her time?
She wondered how Rick was going in Sydney, facing similar choices with their father’s apartment which was also to be sold. She’d phone him when she’d made more progress.
Sam stabbed the point of the opener into the soup can and rocked it back and forth, with jagged but effective results.
In the cupboard below were plenty of plates and bowls, all of them chipped, but Scoobie didn’t mind. He happily slurped up all the soup, shuffled back to his box and slept some more as Sam washed a couple of plates for her own use and stacked the rest on the southern veranda, ready to add to the ever growing throw-out pile down on the street.
She opened a cupboard in the living room. Sagging cardboard jigsaw puzzle boxes stared out at her, reminding her of wet holidays past. She slammed it shut, then tackled every cobweb she could find, indoors and then those draped from every beam and corner on the verandas.
“Perfect for Halloween,” she said to Scoobie, who wuffled, licked his curved black whiskers, yawned and placed his snout back on his paws.
Vegetation leaned in. On the northern side, the limbs of three trees invaded more than half the space. One grew so close to the edge of the railing it pushed it askew. Gradual damage was hazardous. Worse still was the threat of damage from an entire limb falling in a storm. She sighed. Sweeping and cleaning was easy enough, but removing whole trees was beyond her.
She’d give anything for a good coffee, but tea would have to do. So much desk work had made her unfit. She’d barely made it back with her haul of shopping, even after selecting only the barest necessities. She smiled. This work was like boot camp. She’d be back in shape by the time she got back on the plane.
As she set the kettle to boil, she pulled her phone from her back pocket and Googled tree lopping services. No internet this morning. Really?
Maybe there’d be some flyers in the mailbox.
She traipsed back down the driveway in search of mail. Odd. A mailbox lurked behind overgrown lantana, but the number was wrong.
When Sam broke back the brittle twigs, the distinctive fragrance and instant scratches on her arms brought back a memory of how she and Rick roamed the place as children. They’d explored every inch of the point, their bare feet tough by the end of summer and their bodies brown from the sun.
She leaned back, surveyed the road and took a breather. Apart from the huge hedge hiding her neighbor’s place, most of the street had gentrified. Gleaming two-storey, architect-designed beach houses had sprung up all along the bay. Only a few of the blocks were as neglected as her father’s.
Mosquitos zeroed in on her ankles, so she pulled the repellent out of her pocket and applied a little. Clearly it was in short supply around here. He’d been kind, that guy at the shop — a bit rough around the edges, but thoughtful and generous.
Away from the thick vegetation surrounding the house, the bay glittered, and boats tugged, tethered to their moorings. A lone pelican glided.
Lost in the moment, she jumped when she heard a voice.
“Hello?”
It was him, the mosquito repellent Samaritan, so laid-back he was barely awake. What was it about Australian men? She’d forgotten how attractive they could be in their “I’m not even trying” way, so unselfconscious — fit, tanned and slightly rumpled. No wonder Hollywood couldn’t get enough of them.
He smelled of washing powder. Those stains on his jeans were clearly a fixture.
Sam shot him an extra warm smile, and he stepped back, startled, as if she were the mosquito and he’d better avoid her.
“Hey, I don’t bite,” she said. “And I’m no longer a pincushion, thanks to your generosity. You’ve come to take it back?”
He shook his head. Serious fellow. Okay, so her attempt at a joke wasn’t great, but he wouldn’t even meet her eyes. He stood and stared away from her, up the driveway towards her place and back.
“Lost something?” he said.
A few things. Her mother when she was eight, her father just recently, and several American boyfriends, but she wasn’t about to let a complete stranger into all her secrets, certainly not while she was staying alone in the old house.
“You’re very kind,” she said. “I was looking for the mailbox.”
“I took it down.”
“You what?” She took a step back.
“No one ever emptied it,” he said. “The junk mail kept blowing out and down the street and into the bay.”
“But what if I need our mail?”
“You want junk mail? Here. Have mine.”
He stepped forward, plunged his hand into his letter box, pulled out a stash of drooping leaflets and bright cardboard flyers and thrust them at her.
“I appreciate the mosquito repellent,” she said. “And yes, I do want to read the junk mail, actually, so thank you.” She took the pile of damp cardboard and paper from his strong hand. “But you can’t just take down someone else’s letter box, you know.”
“What would you have done?” he said. “It was rotting, falling down. It practically fell apart. And who ever reads junk mail?”
Sam shrugged then lifted her chin and stared him in the eye. A decade of being underestimated by male company executives made her fierce.
“I do,” she said. “And I’ll thank you not to take down anything else of ours without our permission, and not to trespass.” She folded her arms. No need for him to guess she was here alone.
“Well, there you go,” he said, mock chastised. “But I wasn’t trespassing. Actually, you’re on my driveway.” He gestured up the hill with one strong arm. “This is just an easement, a right of way up to your battle ax block, behind.”
That was a surprise. Was it true?
“Well, I do need these,” she said, holding up the multicolored flyers. “There’s no internet, and I need a tree removalist, a painter, and a real estate agent, as soon as possible. Unless you’d like to give me any recommendations.”
He stared at her, a flash of emotion behind his eyes. Frustration? Anger.
She transferred the mail to her left hand and held out her right one. He was a neighbor, and she’d prefer an ally, not an enemy.
“Sam Kelly,” she said, extending her hand further.
He hesitated, looked her up and down, searched her eyes, then leaned forward to grasp her own.
“Jake Bannerman,” he said. His grip was strong and pleasant, but the shake, hasty. He dropped her hand, stepped back and cleared his throat. Was he annoyed? What had she said? Not that she cared about his opinion, a stranger’s judgment. Or did she? He began to turn.
“Can you recommend any tree loppers and estate agents?” she said, before he moved too far away.
He shook his head as if weary, and closed his eyes, then locked her own eyes in a gaze so intense she flushed.
Then he frowned.
“What?” said Sam.
“I’ve seen it so often here,” he said. He took a step back and folded his arms.
“Seen what?”
He stared at the trees, as if deciding whether to say any more. His eyes, when they met hers, were hostile.
“People only care about the view and money,” he said, then shrugged and stepped further away.
“You’re joking!” her outrage flared. Who was he to judge her?
“Yeah. You Kellys are as bad as everyone else. You neglect your Burradeer place for years, then breeze back, destroy habitat, make a few million and disappear again,” he said.
“So?” she said. Her hands flew to her hips, then she swiveled away, annoyed with herself. She’d never have let her emotions intrude in an altercation with an angry client. Why should this be any different? She was jetlagged, worn out, on the edge of being overwhelmed, that’s why. She breathed deeply to bring herself back under control, then turned her back on him and marched back up the driveway. She shouldn’t have even answered. No point standing there wasting time with someone so rude. She had work to do.
Indignation fuelled her efforts. Just because this “Jake Bannerman” chose to live behind an impenetrable forest didn’t mean she had to do the same.
Back inside, she hauled out every old box and damp newspaper she could find, away from the edges of the walls. On hands and knees, she dragged old flippers and beach toys and forgotten towels from behind the beds. She flung open windows to air the place, and opened every cupboard and drawer.
How dare he! Did he even know her father had died? Most people had the decency to at least express some kind of sympathy.
“Beach house” sounded so appealing, but this place was dark and depressing, despite the sunshine outside. Vegetation leaned in at the windows, blocking the light. What right did a stranger have to tell her what to do or not do with their house and garden? He should try living here.
Her shoulders drooped. Her efforts were barely visible. Too many old pieces of dark furniture crowded in on her. She ran a hand over an old dressing table, 1950s glamor style, with half the laminate peeling off. The oval mirror was spotted with gray and black, as if diseased. It belonged in the garbage dump.
Her arms and calves ached. If she didn’t keep moving, the task would overwhelm her. Thank goodness for gravity. From up here above the bay, the road was all downhill. What she couldn’t lift, she’d drag.
Gradually the house began to empty, as the pile of old garbage and furniture beside the road grew larger.
Perspiration stuck her hair to her forehead and dampened her shirt, and she promised herself an ice cream and a swim once she’d hauled down the rest of a clothes chest, drawer by drawer, along with the frame.
She took a deep breath and flopped down on the second step, back and arms aching. Time for a break.
“Come on Scoobs,” she said. “See if you remember the beach.”
Once again the old dog trotted happily down the drive beside her but paused at the road.
Preoccupied with lifting him without dropping her towel, Sam jumped to see Jake down there beside the road, picking through her pile of garbage. A shudder ran through her. What Kelly family secrets might lurk in one of those boxes? She’d been too hasty trying to do all this herself. She should have hired some help. Her hostile neighbor might be vaguely attractive, but this was creepy.
She stood and watched as he bent over one of the drawers. Lean and fit, he ran his hand over its surfaces, the gesture practiced, respectful, almost intimate.
But did that give him an excuse to examine her family’s garbage?
As he straightened and saw her, he had the grace to flinch.
“What?” he said.
“Exactly what are you doing with our trash?”
“You don’t want it, do you?” he said. “It’s called upcycling. Re-using, re-purposing. Timber is rare now. There’s a global shortage. People discard it as if it’s disposable, but you can barely get spruce now, let alone Australian red cedar, like this. The way our society throws things out is a crime. Mind if I take this?”
“I have actually heard of upcycling,” she said. “Take it. There’s plenty more up the hill.”
She regretted her words the moment they left her mouth. Did she want this stranger in her house?
“Want a hand?”
“I’m fine. I’m done for now. Taking a breather.” Deflect. Avoid answering. Keep her distance. This strange neighbor was too unpredictable. She had a job to do. She wasn’t here to socialize.
“Of course,” he said, as he registered her towel.
“Cute dog,” he said. Was he coming onto her?
“Scoobie. He was my father’s.”
“Oh. Your father …?”
“He died.”
“Oh. Sorry,” he said. As he turned to her, he ran a hand through his shag of sun-bleached hair. The gesture showed off his strong shoulders. Better still was his expression as he locked eyes with hers. Contrite. And had he shaved? That jawline and Adam’s apple and the planes of his face. Not bad at all. Sam blushed as he swallowed and held her gaze.
“Look,” he said. “I want to apologize about what I said earlier, about the Kellys.”
“Oh?”
“We didn’t get on, your father and I, but that was years ago. I was a kid. It was wrong of me to lay that on you. And you have every right to do what you want with your own property. It’s nothing to do with me. It’s just there’s been too much destruction around here. I see the sugar gliders and possums, the butterflies — they have nowhere to go. Loss of habitat is real. Everyone thinks it’s someone else’s problem, but we’re all to blame. Not just you.”
“Well, that’s something.” She nodded and gave him a thin-lipped smile, an acknowledgement of his apology. Nothing warmer. She hadn’t asked for his diatribe.
Desperate to dip her aching limbs in the surf, she lifted her chin, gave him a curt nod and hastened down the drive towards the beach, away from him.
Clouds threatened. Warmth was rare at this time of year, and the sea, always a month or two behind the seasons, would already be cooling.
If she didn’t swim now, it might be years before she was back again, and by then, the old place would be sold. Maybe she’d never be back. A sudden sadness rose in her like thunderclouds, an ache she’d kept at bay by focusing on the task of cleaning.
She swallowed a sob and began to jog lest this stranger see her cry. Thank goodness for Scoobie’s dear warmth. She hugged the old dog close and pressed a kiss against the short fur on the top of his warm head.
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Events
Please join me on the Facebook Global Girls Online Book Club where I’m honoured to be “Author for the Day” on Tuesday 10 February 2026 Australian Eastern Standard Time (AEST). Australian Eastern Standard Time is 15 hours ahead of Chicago and 10 hours ahead of London.
You know that if you can possibly make it, you’re more than welcome at the official Sydney launch of The Chase at Brighton Court and full Escape to the Coast series at Galaxy Bookshop, upstairs at Abbeys, opposite the Queen Victoria Building in York Street Sydney Australia at 2pm on Saturday 14 February 2026, Valentine’s Day! I’ll be in conversation with award-winning romance author Cathleen Ross. Bring your date, your friends and family and enjoy complementary pink bubbly and cupcakes! This is a free event. JUST 2 WEEKS TO GO!
I head west in late march to sign my books at the Australian Romance Readers Association Romantic Rendezvous in Perth, Australia, on Sunday 29 March 2026. Book here. Please use this Amber Jakeman book pre-order form to avoid disappointment.