that home dying.
Selfish. Unthinking. Male.
She thumped the steering wheel. It did little for the resentment simmering like a dormant volcano. She wasn’t footloose like him. She couldn’t jump on a plane whenever he snapped his fingers. She wasn’t impulsive and selfish. She wasn’t her father.
But as her anger faded a sliver of clarity glimmered through. Maybe she was looking at this all wrong. Archer had walked away from her once without looking back. This time he wanted to continue seeing her, to explore a relationship. And, while she didn’t want to risk her heart again, she’d been harsh. She’d said some pretty nasty stuff at the end, accusing him of being a shallow, emotionless commitment-phobe.
And what had he done? Gone and copped more from her mum. Not many guys would do that. The Archer she’d once known would have headed to the airport without hesitation.
But this older, more mature Archer wasn’t the same guy he’d once been. He was wiser, more responsive, more willing to see past the end of his surfboard.
And the thing was, if a guy like him had taken a monumental risk in tracking her down to lay his heart on the line should she consider taking a risk too?
Was her lack of trust worth a life of misery in losing the love of her life?
She rested her hands on the steering wheel and her head fell forward, her eyes closed.
She couldn’t leave Nora, that was a given, but maybe she could compromise in some way? She wouldn’t expect him to wait for her, but the thought of having Archer in her life—to support her, to care for her when the dreaded inevitable happened with her mum—was pretty darn appealing.
She knocked her head repeatedly against her forearms.
Yep, she’d been a fool.
The rev of an engine penetrated her misery, punctuated by three short blasts on a familiar horn. She lifted her head, daring to hope, just in time to see Archer kill the engine of the red Roadster, unclip his seatbelt and vault over the door.
He strode towards her, determination lengthening his strides, and she got out of the car, waiting for him to reach her.
‘We’re going for a ride and I want you to promise me you won’t speak the whole way.’ He snagged her hand and tugged.
She resisted. No use giving in too easily. ‘As an apology, that sucked.’
She bit back a grin at his comical disbelief.
‘Me owe you an apology?’ He shook his head. ‘Not. Another. Word.’
This time she let him lead her towards the Roadster, open the door and buckle her in. His familiar fresh air and sunshine scent wrapped around her like a comforting hug.
She gritted her teeth to stop herself from nuzzling his neck, and curled her fingers into her palm to stop herself reaching for him.
He took a deliberately long time, taunting her, and she almost capitulated. Almost. He straightened, his grin smug, and she wanted to smack that smugness off his face.
As they wound through the heavy Christmas Day traffic she snuck glances at him, her heart giving an extra kick when they locked stares for a long, loaded moment at some traffic lights.
All her mental pep talks to get over him, all her determination to move on, vanished in that one look. The sizzle of heat was invisible yet unmistakable.
She’d never been more thankful when the lights turned green.
Ten minutes later he’d pulled into a rare parking spot in Lygon Street and his intention hit her.
He’d brought her to Melbourne’s Little Italy. Was he aiming to soften her up by resurrecting memories of Capri?
They were so past Capri it wasn’t funny, and she fully intended to tell him so. But the hint of vulnerability in his questioning gaze caught her completely off guard and she bit back a smartass remark.
She saved it for when they were seated in a tiny trattoria so reminiscent of their favourite place in Capri she half expected Luigi, the owner, to come strutting out to welcome them.
‘Can I talk yet—?’
‘No.’ He made a zipping motion over his lips and proceeded to order: linguine marinara, fresh bread, Chianti.
Their meal.
Yep, he was trying to schmooze his way into getting her to change her mind. As if a fabulous Italian meal would do that.
She had obligations.
She had responsibilities.
He snuck his fingers across the table, snagged her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
She had it bad.
He released her hand and she reluctantly, perversely, snatched it away.
‘You can talk soon, but only after you listen first.’ She rolled her eyes and he chuckled. ‘I had a plan. Wake up next to you Christmas morning, make all your Christmases come at once—’ she winced at his corny pun ‘—and then tell you how I feel.’
Her pulse stuttered, before pounding like a jackhammer.
‘But you robbed me of that opportunity and I wanted to run. I was all set to head to the airport early ’til I realised something.’
His gaze dropped to her hands, clasped on the table, before slowly raising to eyeball her, and what she saw snatched her breath.
Adoration? Hope? Dared she think it...love?
‘I figured this time I wanted to run towards something and not away from it.’
Some of her resentment melted as she gnawed on her bottom lip, wanting to speak, afraid of saying too much.
‘That airline ticket was my lousy way of saying I want to be with you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I can’t lose you, Cal. Not this time.’
The silence stretched between them and she took it as her cue to speak.
‘I can’t traipse around the world after you, even if Mum says it’s okay.’
He nodded. ‘I know. I was thinking maybe I should stick around for a while—teach classes at the surf school, give back to my home town and the sport that’s given me everything.’
Shock ripped apart her carefully constructed defences.
‘You’re staying in Torquay?’
‘If you make it worth my while.’ His mouth kicked up at the corners in a cheeky dare, and she could have sworn her heart kicked right back.
Wow.
Renowned nomad and confirmed gypsy Archer Flett was willing to put down roots. For her.
It was what she’d dreamed of—what she would have traded
