She taught me how to cook. How to choose a good mango. How to core apples for a classic turnover until my fingers ached...’ Bittersweet happiness filled me at the memories. ‘She was French. Very elegant. Very classy. Wore make-up and perfume every day, even when dropping me off at kinder. Everyone idolised her.’
Except Dad. I’d never known the real reason their marriage soured until I’d heard the hurtful accusations he’d flung at her the day she’d died. But he’d definitely been in the minority, because everyone loved Mum.
‘She sounds wonderful,’ Abby offered with a smile. ‘Was that why you looked a little freaked out when you helped fill that massive order? Did being in the kitchen again dredge up memories of her for you?’
Surprised by her insight, I nodded. ‘She was wonderful. And every time I set foot in a kitchen, even at home, I feel it right here.’ I thumped a fist over my heart, wishing the simple action could dislodge the permanent ache there whenever I thought of Mum and how much I missed her.
Before I could think up something to change the subject, Abby continued. ‘What about your dad?’
‘He was a prick.’ The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them and if she heard the venom behind them, she didn’t say.
Her hand resumed stroking my thigh. ‘How so?’
‘He hated my guts.’
Her lips parted in surprise. ‘But you were a child. How could a father hate his own child?’
I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not when I’d never told anyone, including Remy. So I settled for a watered-down version.
‘Their marriage hit a rocky patch. I was the spitting image of Mum. Guess that made me dislikeable.’
Her nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘I’m not in the habit of slandering people I’ve never met but your dad sounds like a real piece of work.’
‘Understatement of the year,’ I muttered, annoyed that her quick defence meant so much.
This date had been about proving our differences, not growing closer because of shared confidences. I needed to get back on track, fast.
‘Anyway, Remy is the only family I have and he more than makes up for the past.’
I could see the turmoil in her eyes, like she wanted to prod further. Instead, she said, ‘Tell me how many women you’ve taken on ferry dates before.’
Surprised and pleased at her change of subject, I grinned. ‘As of today, only one.’
She made a cute scoffing sound.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I believe you’ve been a bad boy since you hit your teens and I imagine you’ve had a string of girlfriends.’ She poked me in the chest. ‘So don’t try to deny it.’
‘I’m not denying anything.’ I held up my hands, like I had nothing to hide. ‘I just haven’t taken any of them on a ferry.’
‘Lucky me,’ she said, batting her eyelashes with exaggerated coquettishness.
‘I’m the lucky one,’ I murmured, wondering what she’d do if she could see half the thoughts whirling through my head. ‘I know what this fling is about for you. A way to move forward. A way to ditch your past once and for all.’
I squeezed her shoulders. ‘I’m lucky you picked me to do it.’
An odd expression flitted across her face. Regret? Anger? Hope? But it disappeared faster than I could analyse it.
She snuggled into me as the ferry chugged its way across the water. We made desultory small talk, about the Harbour Bridge, Luna Park and the mega cruise ships sailing through the Heads. Nonsensical stuff that I didn’t give a crap about, but safe conversation. Safe from the possibility of emotions or feelings or deeper truths.
Like how much I wanted her to enjoy this simple date and possibly see the real me. The me beneath the tattoos and smart-ass attitude. The me who could fall for a girl like her given half a chance.
But there was a world of difference between us and if there was one thing I’d learned from Father, it was that I couldn’t be a relationship kind of guy.
I couldn’t be selfless, not after spending too many years feeling worthless. When he’d died, I’d vowed to use every ounce of bitterness and resentment and hurt to concentrate on being a guy worthy of success. A guy worthy of recognition. A guy worthy of every good thing in life.
Being involved with a woman like Abby would ensure I wouldn’t be number one any more. I wouldn’t only care about myself and not give a damn about her. I’d need to let her in, let her see the deepest part of me where a smidgeon of that scared, worthless kid still resided.
I wasn’t prepared to do that.
‘We’re here,’ I said unnecessarily, as the ferry docked and passengers started disembarking.
‘Good, I’m starving.’
She held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world as we placed our order at the outdoor fish ’n’ chip pop-up café, squeezing it when we confessed a mutual hankering for grilled barramundi and extra chicken salt on our chips.
If only it were that simple, that similar taste in food could be the foundation of something more permanent between us.
Because that was the kicker amid all my ruminations. While I didn’t want a full-blown relationship that required giving too much of my private self, I wouldn’t mind continuing our arrangement for however long I was in Sydney.
But Abby had clearly stipulated a short-term fling at the start. Besides, she deserved more. I’d seen the way she’d started looking at me, and while I liked it I couldn’t shake the feeling that Abby developing real feelings for me would only end in heartache.
I carried the paper-wrapped parcel as we strolled towards the beach, in time to watch the sun dip behind the horizon in a blaze of mauve and indigo.
‘Wow,’ she said, slipping her hand out of mine to bound to the sand. ‘I know you’re a master of many talents, but organising a sunset like that is too much even for you.’
‘Anything for you,’ I murmured under my breath, grateful she couldn’t hear me.
Sure, I’d wanted her to enjoy this date, to see the simple pleasures I liked, but I’d also wanted to prove a point to myself. That we were nothing alike and she’d probably prefer a Michelin-starred dining experience to this.
But seeing her obvious joy when she unwrapped the paper, snagged a piece of fish in one hand and stuffed hot, salty chips into her mouth with the other made me want her more.
‘This is divine,’ she mumbled, her mouth half-full, and I laughed. The kind of laugh I hadn’t done in a long time. A laugh filled with genuine happiness of being in this moment with this woman.
‘What’s so funny?’ She wiped her mouth with a tissue she’d fished from her handbag. ‘Let me guess, I’m not like your previous stick-insect model girlfriends
