Hold On to Me (5 page)

When she reached her shop a couple of minutes later, a lump swelled in her throat at the sight of Ian and Lee, arm in arm on the footpath out the front of their café. Stella dropped what she was carrying, ran to the couple and threw her arms around them.

‘Oh no.' It was all she could say through her tears. Her friends hugged her back fiercely. ‘You got my message?'

‘Oh, Stella, we did and we're so sorry,' Ian said. ‘We've been so tied up with the police and our insurance company and about a billion different bits of admin.'

‘Oh, god. Please don't be sorry. I just wanted to let you both know how awful I was feeling for you and how happy I am that you are both all right.'

‘We're all right but we feel dreadful,' Lee said, with tears welling in his eyes. ‘It's all our fault.'

Stella pulled back. ‘What are you talking about, Lee?'

‘It was our air-conditioner that started the fire,' Ian said tearily.

‘It was an
accident
. Please don't feel guilty for me. I'm insured. It'll be okay. I'll be okay.'

‘But look at Style by Stella,' Lee murmured. ‘It's all ruined. You know how much I loved those stools.'

Stella shook it off. ‘It's all fixable; I'm sure of it. Please don't worry about me. I'm devastated for you both. Your café. Your coffee machine … oh, everything. Have you decided what you're going to do?'

The men exchanged glances. ‘Yes, we know exactly what we're going to do,' Lee said. ‘This has been such a shock that we don't think we have the heart for business any more. So we've decided to retire early. Only a little earlier than we'd planned.'

Ian said, ‘We've talked about it and we're going to hit the road anyway.'

‘This has made us think,' Lee added, looking at his husband. ‘Life's short. We're going to enjoy it while we can. We're not getting any younger and it was going to be our last summer anyway.'

‘I know but … it just seems so sudden. So final.' As she said the words, it hit home to Stella that she was going to lose her neighbours, her precious friends. Their words, out loud and in the air between them, made the whole situation feel more real than ever. She hugged them again. ‘I'm so sorry for the way this has happened, but I'm so glad for you both.'

‘We've loved Port Elliot,' Ian said with a shrug. ‘But maybe it's time we saw a little more of this country.'

Stella felt an ache in her chest that she knew would live there for a long, long time. ‘It won't be the same around here without you two.'

‘This is the beach,' Lee added. ‘I'm sure the wind will blow in new people for you to get to know. You never know who might buy this place and what they'll do with it. If they have the stomach for a renovation, that is.'

‘Oh, I'm sure you'll find someone who's up for a challenge,' Stella said. The three of them took in the sight of the former café. All they could see was plywood sheeting fixed to the front wall and police tape still strung around it like bunting. ‘Isn't … wasn't … this place heritage listed?'

Lee shook his head ruefully. ‘Don't know that there's a whole lot of heritage left. Four stone walls maybe.'

Stella had started her own business with a shell of a shop. Four walls. A sink. A shared toilet out the back. Anything was possible, she knew.

‘I'll miss your coffee. Best on the south coast. And your friendship, that goes without saying.'

‘Don't worry, we'll be bombarding Facebook with photos of all our adventures. But we'll miss you, Stella. We can't wait to see what you do with your place. You can rebuild. If anyone can, you can.'

‘Thanks, guys,' Stella said. ‘I plan to. I have a few irons in the fire already. I can't waste a minute.'

A couple of hours later, Stella had made a start on filling the skip, which had been delivered earlier that morning and plonked on the street right outside her shop. She and her shovel had worked hard, scooping up sodden stock, pulling apart her ruined counter, carrying all the wooden shelving and dumping it, and she was beginning to shovel up some of the mud when she heard heavy steps through her doorway and the splash of a shoe in a puddle.

She exhaled in frustration and hoped he'd heard it. Did the man not take the hint? She didn't even bother to look up before speaking. ‘Duncan, really, I told you I can do this all by myself.' She straightened her knees and lifted the shovel full of mud and debris carefully so it didn't slide off onto her shoes.

‘Who's Duncan?'

Stella nearly dropped the damn shovel on her toes. It almost overbalanced in her hands and she had to take a deep breath to find the strength to keep holding it level. There was a man in her shop. A strange man. Black hair. Tall. Dark eyes. Olive skin like he'd just walked up from the beach after a day of topping up his tan. But he wasn't wearing boardshorts. He had on a short-sleeved black polo-style shirt with a logo on the pocket that she couldn't quite make out at a distance. Khaki shorts revealed that the tan went further than his face and forearms, and he was wearing industrial strength steel-capped boots.

‘You from the council?' Stella huffed as she struggled past him with the shovel. He had probably come to check out her clean-up, to ensure she cleared the footpath as soon as she could so it would be safe for pedestrians. She heaved the mud into the skip and leaned the shovel up against its metal side. She swiped the sweat from her brow, pushed her hair out of her eyes and propped her hands on her hips.

‘The council? No.' He looked her up and down, in slow motion, from her soggy runners to her headscarf. ‘I'm actually looking for Stella Ryan.'

The way he said her name sent something shimmering at the back of her neck. She knew that voice. It was him. She'd listened to his phone message the day before a few times. Okay, maybe ten. The voice had been enough to start her fantasising about what he looked like. A deep voice, rough at the edges. And now here he was in the flesh.

‘I'm Stella Ryan.' She looked him up and down again. ‘And you must be Anna's brother.'

‘Luca Morelli.' He reached out to shake her hand but she didn't—couldn't—oblige him. Stella held her two rubber-gloved hands in the air and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I would shake your hand, I normally do when it comes to business, but I'm filthy, as you can see.'

She lowered her eyes and he followed her invitation. She was tall, not quite as tall as him. Long legs. Between her runners and the turned-up hem of her old jeans, there were slender ankles splattered with brown spots, and then as his gaze navigated up her legs to the curve of her arse, he noticed a sliver of stomach on display where her singlet top had ridden up. One of her bra straps, thin and black, had dropped over her shoulder. The paleness of her skin was accentuated by more smudges of mud on her forearms, on one shoulder and across her face.

‘You own this place.'

‘That's my name on the window. No, wait, it
was
my name on the window.'

She wasn't what he'd been expecting. Not in any way, shape or form. The way his sister Anna had talked about Stella Ryan, he'd imagined someone more sophisticated. He hadn't expected a classy boutique owner to be doing her own manual labour. He'd expected a Lady Who Lunches And Directs The Tradies rather than someone dressed down and dirty and handling a shovel like a plumber.

‘I thought you'd have people in to do this for you. The clean-up.'

Stella looked at him. ‘
People
? You don't know much about small business in a coastal town, do you?'

‘Can't say I do.'

She looked at him a long moment and he returned the look. A car rumbled by and there was children's laughter in the street. Then he didn't quite know what to do with his hands, so he crossed his arms, stood with his feet a distance apart. He was waiting for her to offer him the job, but she said nothing.

‘I don't remember calling you,' she said abruptly.

‘No, you didn't. But my sister called me this morning and threatened me with all sorts of physical violence if I didn't come down here to the beach and take a look at your shop.' He glanced around the ruin. ‘Well, what's left of it.'

A reluctant smile curved her mouth and the tough businesswoman façade cracked just a little at the mention of Anna's name.

‘She is one of my most loyal customers. I'm guessing if she recommended you, you must be good.'

‘Or a relative.'

She laughed this time and the sound of it caught his attention in a whole new way. Damn it all. He didn't have time for this. He had so much work to do on his own place back in Adelaide.

‘So there was a fire,' he said.

‘Yes. Next door.' She cocked her head in the general direction.

‘It doesn't look like it spread here.' Luca scanned the four bare walls, could see the damaged plaster. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling and he walked over to stand under it. He looked up to the patch of blue sky.

‘The CFS did a great job containing it. But as you can see, there's a lot of water damage.'

‘Did you lose all your stock?'

Stella held her chin high, nodded her head slightly. ‘Every last piece.'

Luca watched her. For someone who'd just lost everything, Stella Ryan sure seemed to be calm about it.

He propped his hands on his hips. ‘What do you want to do with it?'

‘What do I want to do with it?' Stella huffed as if he'd just asked the dumbest question she'd ever heard. ‘I want to get back in business—that's what I want to do with it. I figure all I've got left is a shell and it'll need relining, a new ceiling, maybe some new trusses for the roof depending on the damage, new shop fittings, the whole lot. I've already lodged a claim with my insurance company and I'm just waiting for it to be approved. Do you have references?'

‘Hold the phone.' She was moving way too fast for him and he couldn't fight the strangest feeling that she didn't seem to need him at all. She clearly had the whole lot figured out herself.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘You want references?'

‘Yes.' She crossed her arms and shot him a narrow-eyed gaze. ‘While I trust Anna implicitly, how do I know that you're a good … what are you exactly?'

Luca dug a finger into the embroidered logo on the pocket of his shirt. ‘I'm a carpenter with a builder's licence and two years ago I set up my own construction company.'

The dirt-smudged woman crossed the puddles on the floor and stopped in front of him. He looked down at her jet-black hair. She'd pulled it back with a piece of material knotted on her head but it still looked a little wild and unruly, and there were splashes of mud dotted in the strands. She moved in close to his chest. The design on his shirt pocket was almost at her eye level. If he looked down, he'd be nestling his face in her hair. He could smell her scent: shampoo and sludge.

‘“Morelli Constructions”,' she announced with careful deliberation. ‘Nice brand. Red, white and green. Is that a reference to the Italian thing?' She tipped her head back and looked at him.

‘Il Tricolore.'

‘So you speak Italian too?'

‘Only when I'm trying to impress a customer,' he said, and he couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips.

‘Molto bene.'

‘You speak Italian?'

‘No. But it's amazing what you can pick up from watching Scorsese movies.' Stella took a few steps back and waved an arm around as if she was ushering him inside. ‘So, what do you think, Morelli Constructions?'

Scorsese movies? Who was this woman?

Luca looked around the trashed space. It really was a mess. Renovating it and then fitting it out would be like starting from scratch. Despite her brave face and her determined words, he wondered if Stella was up for it, really up for the expense and the time and the extra costs as they discovered exactly the extent of the damage. He knew from experience that oftentimes there were things below the surface that had suffered the most harm. They could only be discovered once you peeled back some of the damage and got a good look inside.

‘There's a lot of work to be done here.' He paced out the distance from the front door to the rear wall with long strides.

She watched him, waiting until he stopped by the front door. ‘I know.'

Luca then paced out the width of the space. Did the mental calculation in his head. ‘Are you sure you just don't want to call it quits and walk away from this? There must be vacant premises down here that you could just walk into and open for business. What's the name of your shop?'

‘Style by Stella,' she announced with a tilt of her chin. There was pride in her voice and he understood it. It had only been two years for him and he felt the same sense of satisfaction every day when he got up and pulled on a shirt with his name on the pocket. He saw all that in Stella's face: the hard work, the determination, the dark days and the successes. The fear of failure and the dogged optimism that went alongside it.

‘Nice name.'

‘Mine or the shop's?'

‘Both.'

Luca shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘I want to warn you: this could be a major headache and will probably cost you a lot more than you think, even with my best price. These places look old.'

‘I think the word you're looking for is “heritage”.'

‘Nope. The word I'm looking for is “expensive”. Factor in salt damage from the beach. Your normal wear and tear.'

Stella's smile disappeared and she pulled her shoulders back. It did interesting things to her breasts, which were curved and lush and barely hidden under her tight singlet. She slid a finger under the wandering bra strap and pulled it back into position. ‘You've got to understand one thing, Morelli Constructions. There's absolutely no freaking way I am walking away from this place.'