successful business. Heck, he hardly had time to come home any more! She hadn’t sighted him since Christmas, a full two months back.
There would be no phone call. No card, let alone a present. Yet she’d shopped for hours to find him the right gift for his birthday last year. She’d even cooked him a cake!
‘Molly,’ her mother called out through the bathroom door. ‘What’s taking you so long in there? Your breakfast’s been on the table for a full five minutes.’
‘Coming!’
Breakfast that morning was a small glass of orange juice, one boiled egg, one thin slice of wholemeal toast, one teaspoon of margarine and black coffee. A big improvement on the minute bowl of cereal Molly usually ate.
Ever since her father had died of a heart attack two years before at the relatively young age of fifty-one, her mother had become obsessed with health and dietary matters. Nothing passed their lips these days that exceeded the strict fat and calorie limits which were now Ruth McCrae’s culinary bible.
This meant mealtimes held little joy for Molly, who had a chronically sweet tooth. She found it all a bit trying, yet could not deny that her once plump curves had benefited from this change of eating habits. She’d dropped two dress sizes and would now not shrink from going to the beach—if she hadn’t freckled like mad.
‘Wow!’ she exclaimed as she sat down at the kitchen table. ‘This looks really good.’
‘Well, it is your birthday, love,’ Ruth said. ‘I’m going to cook you a special dinner tonight as well.’
Molly could not help wondering what a ‘special’ dinner constituted these days. She’d bet it wasn’t baked pork with crackling and crispy roast potatoes, followed by a big chocolate cake and coffee with cream in it. ‘That’ll be nice, Mum,’ she said, and picked up her knife, ready to attack the boiled egg.
‘Aren’t you going to open your card?’ Ruth asked plaintively.
Molly could have kicked herself. She put down her knife and picked up the long white envelope propped against the fruit bowl. Inside was a sweetly sentimental card and a couple of lottery tickets which promised first prize of half a million dollars.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t afford more,’ her mother said apologetically.
Molly glanced up with a bright smile. ‘Don’t be silly. This is great. I might win a fortune and then we could both go for a trip around the world.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that. I like my home too much. But you could go, I suppose,’ she added hesitantly.
Molly could see that this idea did not sit well with her mother. Perhaps she was already regretting giving her daughter the chance—however slim—of becoming rich and possibly flying the nest.
Ruth McCrae was a naturally shy woman, who’d become even more reserved and reclusive since her husband’s death. She rarely left the house except to go shopping, and that was only down to the small local shopping centre which also housed the library branch where Molly worked. She had no close friends and lived for her house, her garden and her daughter.
Once in a while, Molly found her mother’s dependence on her stifling. But on the whole she accepted her fate without undue distress. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter, which meant she was a quiet, undemanding girl with few unsettling yearnings.
The only yearning which could disturb her dreams—as well as her equilibrium—was Liam. Even then, she’d learned to control her unrequited passion for him. Clearly, he’d never guessed what smouldered behind her cool green eyes whenever they looked upon his handsome face.
And he never would.
This realisation suddenly brought another stab of anger. But this time none of it was directed at Liam. All of it was channelled straight at herself.
You’re a fool, Molly! If it was one of your girlfriends pining after some man who was way out of their reach, you’d tell her to forget him and move on. It’s about time you took your own advice.
Forget Liam. Move on!
Molly picked her knife up again and sliced the top off her egg with one decisive stroke. That was going to be her from now on. Decisive.
And her first decision was to stop fantasising about Liam and move on!
CHAPTER TWO
MOLLY was standing at the library computer, running the wand over the first of the huge pile of returned books, when something caught her eye. Something bright and red.
She glanced up through the glass doors to see a shiny red car turning its brand-new nose into the empty parking space right outside the library.
It brought no flash of recognition, despite being a very memorable model. Not quite a sports car, it was still stylish and expensive-looking. A newcomer to the area, no doubt, not knowing that this particular library branch was closed to the public on a Wednesday morning.
Molly was about to return to the job at hand when the driver’s door opened and a heart-joltingly familiar head of hair came into view, gleaming golden under the summer sun.
Liam.
Her heart leapt. So he had remembered her birthday. He’d even come in person. She could hardly believe it!
Her happiness knew no bounds as she watched him close the car door and stride up onto the pavement and across to the front doors. He smiled at her through the glass as he tap-tapped on the wooden frame.
‘Can’t they see we’re closed?’ Joan complained from where she was sitting at her desk, flipping through one of the new publisher catalogues. She could not see who was knocking. If she had, she would not be so anxious to send the unwanted visitor away. Joan might be a happily married thirty-three-year-old woman with three children, but she still had an eye for a good-looking man.
Liam was just that—and more. At thirty, he was in his physical prime, his elegant body in perfect tune with his equally elegant face. Six feet two inches tall, his lean frame made him look even taller, as did his choice of clothing. He had this thing for jackets, wearing them all year round.
In winter they ranged from soft suede numbers to tweedy sports coats. In summer he chose linen or lightweight wool in neutral colours, and teamed them with cool T-shirts during the day and silk shirts at night. Ties rarely graced his neck. In fact, Molly had never seen Liam dressed formally.
Today he was wearing stonewashed blue jeans, a navy T-shirt and a loose cream linen jacket with sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His streaky blond hair was longer than when she’d seen him last, falling to his ears from its side parting and flopping with its usual rakish charm across his high forehead. He looked slightly wind-blown and utterly gorgeous.
Molly immediately put her ‘moving on’ decision on hold for a good five years. Thirty, she decided anew, was soon enough to give up all hope.
The fact that Liam was standing where he was at this very moment had to give her some hope. Fancy him abandoning his precious business on a working day to drive the fifty miles from Sydney to Gosford, just to see her on her birthday.
‘For
