held up his hands. ‘You don’t have to answer. I can see your feelings for this old amor written all over your face.’
‘I don’t love him.’
Artie merely smiled and moved down the bar towards an edgy customer brandishing an empty sangria jug, leaving her to ponder the conviction behind her words.
* * *
While Callie would have loved to linger over a sangria or two when the Spanish Flamenco band fired up, she had more important things to do.
Like visiting her mum.
Nora hated it when she fussed, so these days she kept her visits to twice weekly—an arrangement they were both happy with.
The doctors had given her three years. The doctors didn’t know what a fighter Nora Umberto was. She’d lasted seven, and while her tremors seemed to increase every time Callie visited the spark of determination in her mum’s eyes hadn’t waned.
After the life she’d led, no way would Nora go out without a bang. She continued to read to the other residents and direct the kitchen hands to prepare exotic dishes—dishes she’d tried first-hand during her travels around the world, during which she’d met Bruno Umberto.
Callie’s dad might not have stuck around long in his first marriage—or any of his subsequent three marriages, for that matter—but thankfully Nora’s love of cosmopolitan cuisine had stuck. Callie had grown up on fajitas, ratatouille, korma and Szechuan—a melting pot of tastes to accompany her mum’s adventurous stories.
She’d never really known her dad, but Nora had been enough parent and then some. Dedicated to raising her daughter, Nora hadn’t dated until after she’d graduated high school and moved out. Even then her relationships had lasted only a scant few months. Callie had always wondered if her mum’s exuberance had been too much for middle-aged guys who’d expected Martha Stewart and ended up with Lara Croft.
As she entered the shaded forecourt of Colldon Special Accommodation Home she knew that made it all the harder to accept—the fact her go-get-’em mother had been cut down in her prime by a devastating illness no amount of fighting could conquer.
She signed in, slipped a visitor’s lanyard over her neck and headed towards the rear of the sandstone building. As she strolled down the pastel-carpeted corridor she let the peace of the place infuse her: the piped rainforest sounds, the subtle scent of lemon and ginger essential oils being diffused from air vents, the colours on the walls transitioning from muted mauve to sunny daffodil.
Colldon felt more like an upmarket boutique hotel than a special home and Callie would do whatever it took to ensure her mum remained here.
Including shacking up with Archer Flett for a week to work on his precious campaign.
She shook her head, hoping that would dispel the image of her agreeing to his demands. It didn’t, and all she could see was his startling aquamarine eyes lighting with a fire she remembered all too well when she’d said yes.
She’d been a fool thinking she had the upper hand: she’d known his identity; he hadn’t known the woman behind CJU Designs. However, the element of surprise meant little when he’d been the one who ended up ousting her from her smug comfort zone.
Her neck muscle spasmed and she rubbed it as she entered Nora’s room. She didn’t knock. No one knocked. Her mum’s door was perpetually open to whoever wanted to pop in for a chat.
Vibrant, sassy, alive: three words that summed up Nora Umberto.
But as she caught sight of her mum struggling to zip up her cardigan that last word taunted her.
Alive. For how much longer?
She swallowed the lump of sadness welling in her throat, pasted a smile on her face and strode into the room.
‘Hey, Mum, how you doing?’
Nora’s brilliant blue eyes narrowed as she gestured at the zip with a shaky hand. ‘Great—until some bright spark dressed me in this today.’
Her defiant smile made Callie’s heart ache.
‘Buttons are a pain, but these plastic zips aren’t a whole lot better.’
Need a hand? The words hovered on Callie’s lips but she clamped them shut. Nora didn’t like being treated like an invalid. She liked accepting help less.
Instead, Callie perched on the armchair opposite and ignored the increasing signs that her mum was struggling.
‘I’ll be away next week.’
Nora instantly perked up. If Callie had to sit through one more lecture about all work and no play she’d go nuts. Not that she could blame her mum. Nora loved hearing stories of Rivera’s and dancing and going out, living vicariously through her.
Callie embellished those tales, making her life sound more glamorous than it was. Her mum had enough to worry about without concern for a daughter who dated only occasionally, went Spanish dancing twice a week, and did little else but work. Work that paid the hefty Colldon bills.
‘Holiday?’
Callie shook her head. ‘Work. In Torquay.’
She said it casually, as if heading to the beachside town didn’t evoke visions of sun, surf and sexy guys in wetsuits.
Particularly one sexy guy. Who she’d been lucky enough to see without a wetsuit many years ago on another sun-drenched beach.
‘You sure it’s work?’
Nora leaned so far forward in her wheelchair she almost toppled forward, and Callie had to fold her arms to stop from reaching out.
‘You’ve got a glow.’
‘It’s an “I’m frazzled to be going away the week before Christmas” glow.’
Nora sagged, her cheekiness instantly dimming. ‘You’ll be away for Christmas?’
Callie leaned forward and squeezed her mum’s hand, careful not to scratch the tissue-thin skin. ‘I’ll be back in time for Christmas lunch. You think I’d miss Colldon’s cranberry stuffing?’
Nora chuckled. ‘You know, I wouldn’t mind if you missed Christmas with me if your trip involved a hot young man. But work? That’s no excuse.’
Ironic. Her trip involved a hot young man and work, and she had a feeling she’d need to escape both after a long week in Torquay.
She stood and bent to kiss her mum’s cheek. ‘Sorry it’s a flying visit, but I need to go home and pack. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.’
To her surprise, Nora snagged her hand as she straightened, holding on with what little strength she had.
‘Don’t forget to have a little fun amid all that work, Calista.’ She squeezed—the barest of pressure. ‘You know life’s too short.’
Blinking back the sudden sting of tears, Callie nodded. ‘Sure thing, Mum.
