Only We Know (10 page)

‘So you are awake.'

‘Yeah,' she muttered.

‘How do you have it?'

‘What?'

‘How do you have your coffee?'

‘White, weak. No sugar. Give me a minute. Or ten.' Sam decided her throaty morning voice was kind of sexy. He wanted to hear it again. He poked his head around the door.

‘Was that white with two sugars?' He crossed his arms and waited for her reply. The blankets rustled and she emerged. Her hair looked like a bird's nest. Her pale face set off two brilliant green eyes and the lips he'd found kind of mesmerising the night before snarled at him.

‘For fuck's sake. Not two sugars,
no
sugar.'

‘Coming right up.' He closed the door and grinned.

Calla entered the kitchen ten minutes later wearing black yoga pants, a baggy purple long-sleeved T-shirt that exposed one pale shoulder, and her Ugg boots. Her plodding footsteps were another pretty strong indication that she wasn't a morning person in any shape or form. Sam nodded to her cup of coffee on the counter. He decided it would be diplomatic to remain silent. She picked it up wordlessly, wrapped her fingers around the cup and sipped it slowly. She didn't seem to want any conversation, either, which was fine by him.

It had been a long time since Sam had shared his mornings with a woman. He always made sure his dates ended in the dark with a front door closing behind him as he left. So he couldn't help but watch, fascinated, as Calla slowly came to life. First there was a warm sigh, then a generous yawn. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then bent over, leaning her elbows on the kitchen bench. Her baggy T-shirt dropped down in front and he could see she wasn't wearing a bra and, holy shit, he could see everything. The whole enchilada. There was pale skin dipping down to her rounded, perfect breasts and, sweet mother of god, her dusky pink nipples. Judging by the way they'd stiffened, she was cold. Very cold.

And he was feeling damn hot. The bed-ruffled, half-awake, sleepy-eyed goddess in front of him looked like a woman who'd just woken up exhausted after a night of torrid sex. She stood, lifted her arms and stretched to the ceiling and then side to side. There was an eye rub, a hair ruffle, and another yawn.

He tried hard, he really did, to stop looking down her top. To stop thinking about her body.

To stop thinking about fucking her.

Sam decided he needed some fresh air. And fast. He crossed the cabin and opened the sliding doors to the deck.

Calla knew she wasn't good in the mornings, but the coffee Sam had waiting for her was definitely helping. She'd had a fitful sleep, tossed and turned and tangled herself up in the blankets. At three a.m., she was woken by the sound of the kettle boiling and footsteps in the living room. She wondered why Sam was awake. Now, she watched him out of the corner of her eye, standing still as a sentinel on the deck outside, his hands jammed into his pockets. How did he do it? How did he look so put-together that early? And what the hell time was it anyway? He was already dressed in jeans and his green jumper. His face had seemed freshly scrubbed and he appeared to be wide awake and totally alert. And, mysteriously, he seemed to know she needed her space in the mornings.

Or, Calla wondered with embarrassment, maybe he'd been so appalled by what she looked like when she'd got out of bed that he'd had to go outside and dry-retch.

Another yawn found Calla and she rubbed her eyes. She grabbed her cup and did a little detour of her bedroom to grab a blanket to throw around her shoulders before joining Sam on the deck. The screen door squeaked her arrival. The air outside was crisp and clean. The view was the ocean and the Penneshaw beach, solitude and remoteness. It felt to Calla as if there was no one else around for miles.

‘Good morning,' she said.

He turned to her and threw her a smile. It did more to wake her up than the caffeine slowly trickling through her veins. His smile was like a triple-shot espresso.

‘Good morning,' he said casually.

There was a beat of silence between them. ‘Well, aren't you going to ask me?'

Sam turned to her with bemused eyes and a smile on his lips. ‘Ask you what?'

‘If I'm feeling okay. You seem to have been slightly obsessed by my well-being since we arrived here.'

He laughed. ‘Okay then. How's that headache this morning?'

Calla thought about it for a moment before realising there was no nausea, no pounding, no throbbing. ‘What headache?'

‘Good to hear.'

‘And thanks for the coffee, by the way. It's probably the reason I'm feeling good.' Yes, definitely the coffee. Keep telling yourself that and you might actually believe it.

‘It was my pleasure.'

Calla pried her sleepy eyes wide open to take in the view. The bright morning light and blue sky revealed a breathtaking expanse of sea and the far-off, mysterious mainland. She let out a deep breath. ‘That's pretty impressive.'

Sam nodded his agreement. ‘I'd forgotten. When you grow up looking at it every day, you kind of take it for granted.' He cocked his head in her direction. ‘When you've had some breakfast, we should go see about your car. It was towed to the garage here in Penneshaw.'

‘Okay.' She yawned. ‘Do you want me to make you something to eat? I figure it's my turn.'

‘I've been up since seven. I've been for a run, had a shower and eaten toast with Vegemite.'

God, she'd found an ironman. Calla looked down at her own workout clothes, which had never seen a workout. She felt like a sloth. She swallowed the embarrassed lump in her throat. ‘You run every day?'

‘Try to.'

‘Surely you don't have to. I mean … look at you.' And damn it all, she'd said that out loud.

‘Yeah, I have to.'

‘Even on holidays?'

‘This isn't a holiday, Calla.' With a flick of his wrist, he tipped the dregs of his coffee over the railing of the balcony on to the sparse garden below.

She got the hint from his actions that he was done with their conversation. He was undoubtedly keen to get going and had been patiently waiting for her to get her shit together so he could leave and go and see his father. She'd delayed him and now felt terrible for it. He'd already been so kind and generous to her, more than a stranger deserved, and now it was time to thank him and say goodbye, let him go so he could see his father.

Calla pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. ‘Sam … I really appreciate your help. Giving me a lift back here and … and everything else you've done. But I'm sure your father wants to see you and I can handle things from here.'

Sam glanced at her and seemed to get just the slightest bit taller. ‘Calla, it's been no trouble.'

‘I know. It's what you do for a living and you're really good at it. Looking after people, I mean. But the thing is …' She felt slightly more comfortable making this confession to the ocean than to him, so she turned away from his gaze. ‘My car is a wreck and it looks like I'll have to go home. I figure I'll get the bus or the boat or whatever back to Adelaide.'

Sam turned to her. The look in his eyes suggested he was trying to figure out if she was serious or not. ‘You'll go home, just like that.'

She nodded.

‘Didn't you come to KI for a reason? Don't you want to find your brother?'

That had been the idea. She was closer than she'd ever been to putting her family back together, but the events of the past twenty-four hours had started her wondering whether maybe it was best to forget her whole crazy plan. She was suddenly feeling a little fragile about it. And having all her senses assaulted by Sam's kindness and caring hadn't helped her either. ‘Things happen, Sam. Plans change. I'll have to come back another time. In another car.'

He rested a hand on her shoulder. She felt his strength through the layers of blanket she was enveloped in. It took a whole lot of effort to look up. He was close. His chocolate eyes were soft and kind of lovely. His lips were slightly parted and, when he spoke, his voice dropped low and deep. ‘Don't get ahead of yourself. Let's just get it checked out, hey?'

CHAPTER

14

Sam attempted to slam the bonnet shut but it bounced back up with a disobedient crunch. Calla's car had been towed to the garage in the main street of Penneshaw, and it looked sad and sorry. He'd tried starting it but it wouldn't turn over. A cursory glance under the bonnet — he was no mechanic but he'd tinkered every now and then — revealed the damage to the engine. He was going to have bad news for her without even consulting the experts.

‘Sorry, Calla. The radiator's leaking and there is a tow-bar-shaped dent in the front of your car. That front panel there is pushed against the right tyre: you can't drive it anywhere.'

She sighed, crossed her arms and looked like she trying not to cry. ‘I kind of figured that, but thanks anyway for the second opinion.'

Man. He didn't want to be talking about the damn car. He wanted to put his arms around Calla and tell her everything was going to be all right. He pulled himself up and pushed that stupid idea to the back of his mind. ‘Your insurance company will probably write it off. You are insured, right?'

Calla nodded, looked up to the sky and sighed. ‘For what that's worth.' She kicked a tyre and then turned to rest her bum against the car.

In front of them, a rented tourist mini-van, the kind with graffiti and spray-painted pictures all over it, pulled in by the petrol pumps and two young people stepped out, laughing. One headed into the small shop attached to the service station while the other filled the van with petrol.

‘Maybe I can get a lift with the hippies,' she said in a small, defeated voice.

Sam was taken aback by her change in tone. In the short time he'd known her, he'd heard her snarly, teasing and even questioning, but he hadn't heard this. It threw him. He was used to seeing sadness, grief, shock. He walked through fire scenes with blinkers on. Attended car accidents and walked past fatally and traumatically injured people almost every day. So why did the look of defeat on Calla's face hit him square in the gut? Her reaction was about more than a smashed vehicle. He moved next to her, leant against the car, crossed his arms. Together they looked down the main street and to the ocean for a moment, but he couldn't keep his eyes there for long.

Her shoulders were slumped in defeat, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. Her mouth was tight, and her curls fluttered around her pale cheeks like leaves on a tree moving in the wind. For the first time, he noticed the faint freckles dotted on her face, the top of her cheeks, her nose. That urge to comfort her rose up in him again, making his fingers restless, but he settled for gently nudging her with an elbow.

‘So. What do you want to do?'

‘I … I want to go home.' Her voice hitched and he felt that too, somewhere in his chest.

‘You're sure?'

‘Yes.'

‘You can hire a car at the airport in Kingscote. I can drive you there to pick one up. That way, you can drive home.'

‘Thanks, but no. Could I ask another favour, to add to the exhaustive list of things you've done for me?'

‘Anything.'

‘Is there any chance you can drop me back at the cabin before you head off to your father's? I need to pack up my stuff and organise a ticket back to Adelaide.'

Calla turned to look at him and let out a long, low sigh. Man, she looked like her dog had just died. And then he couldn't stop it. He reached an arm around her shoulder, gripped her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. If he wasn't mistaken, she leant in to him just a little, just enough so her breast brushed against his chest. He turned his head towards her and her soft hair caressed his jaw, his cheek and he moved closer, resting his chin on the top of her head.

‘It'll be all right, Calla.'

Neither of them moved for a moment. A magpie on a roof trilled. The big blue morning sky chilled the air but Sam didn't feel it. When he felt Calla's shoulders stiffen, he let go and she slipped out of his embrace.

‘All right? All evidence to the contrary,' she said, and turned back to offer him a sad smile, ‘but thanks for the thought.'

Sam wasn't mistaken in thinking he heard a little sniff, and wondered if it was the cool air or her tears. He stood, motioned to the shop. ‘I've got to get some petrol and sort out what we do from here with your car. You want anything from inside? Juice? A coffee?'

‘No thanks.'

‘Chocolate?'

Calla's lips curved just a little. He was ridiculously happy that he'd managed to make her smile.

‘I need some fresh air, I think.'

‘Okay. Why don't you go for a walk? I'll come and find you. It's hard to get lost in Penneshaw.'

Calla remembered her first night on the island. She'd managed it with no problems at all. ‘I think there's a little art and craft gallery around the corner. Do we have time if I walk over and have a look?'

‘Sure. I'll meet you there.'