Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance (8 page)

Alex felt kind of mean, given the circumstances, but at the same time he was unable to help smart-arse comments rolling off his tongue in her vicinity. Besides, he couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying her discomfort – for the second time that day. It was better than her being all hoity-toity with her nose stuck up in the air. Plus, teasing her distracted him from doing other more risky things, like imagining her lithe, naked body beneath that very robe. No, the only way to think about her was in a businesslike manner. She was exactly the type of girl he’d fled from.

‘So, what actually happened to your clothes?’ he tried again, training his gaze on the bumper sticker of a four-wheel drive parked in front. It read:
Fourteen cans from anywhere – Salt Creek, the heart of the Coorong
.

Air hissed out of her lungs. ‘I went to the beauty salon just there, before quickly discovering the owner, Cyndi, is as mad as a meataxe. As soon as I lay on the treatment bed, she took off with my clothes and shoes and vanished into thin air.’

Alex swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘Uh, that’s Cyndi
Hartley’s
salon?’ His shoulders grew rigid and he could feel Winnie’s gaze suddenly burning on his skin.

‘Yes, Cyndi Hartley,’ she said slowly. ‘That’s what the certificate on the wall said. You know her, I’m guessing?’

Hesitantly, he slid his eyes in her direction. ‘Vaguely.’

A few micro-expressions skated across Winnie’s face. Alex guessed their meaning: confusion, wonder, then cold, hard realisation. Suddenly, she leant forwards and belted him one on the arm.

‘This has got something to do with
you
, hasn’t it? It’s all your fault.’

Alex held up his palms in defence. ‘It
could
do. Cyndi and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms. I should have known when you said your emergency was an, er, beauty one.’

Winnie’s next words were cool and measured, her brown eyes flinty. ‘What did you do to her?’ Gone was the degree of vulnerability. Despite the garb, the hoity-toity city slicker was back, like a thawed lobster coming back to life.

‘Nothing. Not really. It was all just a mistake. I had a few too many drinks at a house party one night. We’d had a whopper of a catch that day, so it was kind of a celebration. Anyway, apparently she laid a kiss on me, but I don’t really remember . . .’

Something flickered across Winnie’s face that Alex couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe she’d remembered her own attempt at puckering up to him. He’d tried to avoid thinking about it ever since.
Tried.
He pressed on. ‘Beyond the kiss, I apparently spurned her advances and she hasn’t quite forgiven me.’

Winnie’s features now reminded him of a dark, stormy morning on the boat. ‘And now she somehow imagines you and I are together – saw us talking at the pub or some such – and is jealous?’ She slumped back in her seat. ‘What the hell is wrong with this town and all its gossiping? The last thing I need in my first week is someone else who hates me.’ She directed a glare across the street. ‘Along with that horrible
Herald
journalist. Bloody hell.’

Anger suddenly rose up like a tide inside Alex. ‘It’s not my fault you women twist things and over-analyse them and turn everything into a weird game.’

Winnie sat up, eyeballing him. ‘And it’s not my fault you blokes can’t keep it in your pants.’

Alex rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He couldn’t believe he’d been prised from a nap after a long day’s slog for
this
. Irritatingly, an image of Winnie at the field day had arrived front and centre of his mind when she’d rung.

Maybe they were even now – Winnie for destroying his ute’s side mirror and he for inflicting Cyndi on her. Leaning forward, he turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine. ‘Let’s just get you wherever you need to be and get this over with,’ he said coolly. ‘Where are we headed?’

Winnie’s arms crossed over her chest. ‘I think I deserve to finish up early after the day I’ve had. Please just take me home, if you remember where that is.’

‘I remember – home it is,’ Alex murmured, pulling onto the road, making sure to stick his head out the window first to check the side view. Their working relationship was obviously going as well as any other relationship between them might.

‘Grrr!’ On Friday morning, Winnie banged the phone back in its cradle and turned to Olive. ‘Allira’s model agency wants me to send a list of the “people”,’ she made quote marks in the air, ‘who’ll be involved in a possible fashion shoot for
Beach Life
. It’s like they’re expecting Patrick Demarchelier or Rachel Zoe. I doubt I’ll even be able to get anyone in hair and make-up from
Adelaide
to make the trip at our rates, let alone anyone big-name.’

Olive chewed the end of her purple biro. ‘I thought Allira might be a bit of a prima donna. Her family locally seems to think they’re pretty important since she got famous.’

‘Nah, she’d be all right; she’s as sweet as pie in interviews.’ Winnie ran a hand through her hair. ‘My bet is it’s her minders, drunk on the power. I have a feeling they’re going to veto the shoot idea before Allira even hears about it. Just when I was beginning to think our cover might be in the bag, too.’

‘Yeah, guess you might need to start looking for other options just in case,’ Olive mused.

Winnie sank back in her seat. Another kick in the guts just when she thought she was getting someplace. Like scoring that Chester Wyatt interview, right before her clothes – and Cyndi – went walkabout at the salon. Life wouldn’t let her be on a high for too long. Straightening, she turned to Olive. ‘Sorry I was M.I.A. yesterday afternoon, too.’ She shook her head dazedly. ‘It’s just I had the strangest thing happen.’

Olive clutched her coffee mug with both hands and leant forwards. ‘Yeah? Spill.’

‘Well . . .’ Winnie tapped her fingernails on the desk. ‘I went to that salon down the road – Cyndi’s Beauty Spot – for a quick treatment yesterday. I really felt like I needed one. Anyway, I got ready in the back room and then the owner, Cyndi, and some customer called Honey disappeared – 
with my clothes
 – and never returned. It was so bizarre.’

Olive’s eyes widened to twice their size as Winnie continued. ‘I haven’t been game to call Cyndi to ask for my clothes and shoes back. Apparently she has a crush on Alex and must have somehow got the idea in her head that he and I were an item, so exacted her revenge. She and Alex kissed once.’ Oddly, as she said this Winnie felt the same stab of jealousy she had yesterday. Ridiculous. She didn’t have any claim on Alex – nor did she want one. ‘I was left stranded, in just a robe and disposable G-string.’

The ad manager covered her mouth, barely stifling a giggle. ‘How’d you get home?’

Winnie felt her skin grow red and blotchy at the memory, as though she’d just rolled in poison ivy. ‘Well, you didn’t answer your phone, so I had to call Alex to pick me up. I didn’t know who else to call. It was mortifying.’

Olive snorted. ‘You couldn’t have planned it better yourself. All near-naked and waiting like that!’

More heat rushed through her. ‘As if. Do
you
happen to know Cyndi Hartley, the beautician?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Olive waved a hand in the air. ‘She’s all right, though she
is
a little wacky. She got her heart broken a while back by some rodeo star and has never quite been the same. We move in different circles, but I get the feeling she gets hung up on any guy who happens to glance her way. She was a beauty queen once, but then packed on the kilos. Heartache can do that to a girl.’

Winnie couldn’t imagine the reed-thin Olive ever having to worry about ills like cellulite.

‘The girls here can also be funny about blow-ins making claims on the local fellas,’ Olive added. ‘There aren’t many to go around, after all. Something I know well.’

‘Guess I’ll let Cyndi cool down for a few days, then call her. I don’t want to make waves just yet.’ Winnie blew out a breath. ‘So how’d your eye appointment go yesterday? Blind as a bat yet?’

It was Olive’s turn for a blush to creep over her face. She bent her head to study some paperwork on her desk with more intent than seemed necessary. ‘Only as much as I always have been.’

Hmm. Olive was obviously hiding something. Winnie rolled her chair around, determined to find out exactly what. ‘Were you
really
at the optometrist’s?’

‘Yes, I was.’ Olive stared harder at the paperwork, looking like she could really do with an upgrade to her contacts. ‘Oscar Glick comes to town every month. You can ask anyone.’

A gust of air escaped Winnie’s lips, realisation dawning. ‘You’ve got a
crush
on him, haven’t you?’

‘No, no. Definitely not.’ Olive shook her head vehemently, then her shoulders slouched. ‘Well, maybe a tiny bit.’

Winnie was speechless. Mention of the crush had reduced the smart-mouthed ad manager to a painfully shy schoolgirl. Now the more demure knee-length skirt Olive had on yesterday made sense. It had
wife material
written all over it.

‘Have you ever said anything to him about being interested?’ Winnie pressed softly. ‘Hinted at it?’

‘No, of course not. I could stare into his eyes via that whiz-bang machinery of his until the cows came home and it wouldn’t make a skerrick of difference. He’s never shown any interest.’

Winnie tapped a finger on her chin. ‘And he doesn’t wear a wedding ring?’

Olive shook her head.

‘No gay tendencies?’

‘Nope. And no framed pictures of a supermodel-like girlfriend on his desk either. Just lots of empty styrofoam coffee cups and energy-drink cans.’

‘Hmm, well, maybe he’s just shy, like you. Or had his heart broken. You know what? You should say something next appointment. You only live once. What have you got to lose?’

‘Uh-uh, no way. I’m not going back, despite what my psychic might say. I can’t keep coming up with excuses to see him. Do you know how many unopened boxes of contact lenses I’ve got? It’s embarrassing.’ The corners of Olive’s mouth pulled down. ‘Sometimes you have to know when to give up.’

‘C’mon, you have to make one last-ditch effort to see him. A coffee date or something, seeing as he sounds like somewhat of a caffeine addict. You can’t die not knowing. What’s the worst thing that can happen?’

Olive appeared to ponder this. ‘I’ll have to drive all the way to Mount Gambier for the rest of my life to avoid seeing him whenever I need my eyes checked.’

‘Well, that’s not half as bad as getting your clothes nicked by a crazy beautician or stepping in manure in front of a heap of farmers at a beef field day.’ Winnie glanced at her watch. ‘Bugger. I’ve got an appointment with Ms Bridezilla and no doubt she’ll have my head on a chopping block if I’m late. I’d better scoot. But I’ll try to come up with some scenarios of how we can get you two together on the drive over.’

Olive grimaced. ‘Great. Worked out how to drive stick yet?’

‘Nope, still using my own car. I’ll just put my petrol use on tax for the moment. Alex still owes me another driving lesson.’ Yesterday certainly hadn’t been ideal for one considering her dress – or lack thereof.

Roughly ten minutes later – nowhere was far in town – she was at the Delaware family home. Topiary rose bushes lined the path to an old white weatherboard house fronted with a massive verandah. At the door, Winnie pressed on the bell, hearing it chime through the house.

Eden materialised in the doorway, an adorable tan Pomeranian sporting a pink collar in her arms. ‘Stop yapping, Armani,’ the bride-to-be commanded the pooch before turning to smile at Winnie. Strangely, her radiant smile looked a little wobbly, considering Eden had had confidence by the bucketload last time they’d spoken. Winnie reached to pet the dog before she was ushered in.

As she whisked down the hallway, the Bridenstein informed Winnie they were heading to her home office. The room itself smelled like a potpourri bowl and featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a neatly tended garden. After placing Armani on a dog bed in the corner, Eden sat ramrod-straight in a beige leather chair behind her desk. She gestured for Winnie to sit opposite in one upholstered in colourful stripes of ribbon. It all felt rather formal.

‘Uh, you work from home?’ Winnie asked, gesturing at Eden’s laptop and well-ordered trays of paperwork.

‘Yes, I have my own graphic design business.’ Eden clasped her hands together on the desk. ‘Professional dance – my former career – had a limited lifespan, unfortunately. I do personalised invites, business cards, brochures, you name it. That’s what’s brilliant about living back in Kingston. I can handle enquiries from all over the world by phone and email and I still get to enjoy the country lifestyle.’ A dreamy expression took over her features. ‘Our own invites are going to be quite regal-looking, complete with envelopes with monogram red-wax seals.’

‘Wow.’ Winnie tried to avoid staring at Eden’s red-painted mouth. It reminded her too much of a blow-up doll’s. ‘Does Flynn live here, too?’

‘Yes.’ Eden fiddled with her ginormous engagement ring. ‘Well, in the granny flat out the back. We’ve had a new house built nearby and we’ll move in when we’ve tied the knot. But for the moment, I’m back in my old bedroom, living with the parents.’

No living in sin for the couple then. Winnie edged her notepad out of her handbag. As she rested it on the desk, she felt a hand cover hers, and looked up.

Eden’s face was grave. ‘Before you start, I have a favour to ask.’

Goosebumps appeared on the tops of Winnie’s arms. ‘Um, sure.’

There was an awkward silence, then Eden let out a rush of words. ‘How would you fancy being one of my bridesmaids?’

‘
Sorry?
’ Winnie felt as though the pink shag rug under her feet had plunged beneath her right through the Earth’s crust.

Eden leant forwards. Her almost white foundation looked set to crack like an antique vase, her face was so pinched. ‘I know it’s last-minute, but I’ve had a bridesmaid from Adelaide pull out at the eleventh hour because she jolly well broke her leg. Imagine her hobbling down the aisle in plaster; it would have been a disaster.’ Eden’s voice had risen to a shriek. ‘As if that wasn’t enough, another bridesmaid’s pregnant and has been steadily growing by the day – just
great
for dress fittings. And I’ve got less than two months until my big day!’

Eden looked like she was about to have a cardiac arrest. Winnie was slightly terrified. ‘Um, yes, I can understand that would all be quite trying —’

The clink of ice cubes behind her signalled a welcome distraction. Eden’s mum, Mrs D, had appeared with a tray laden with a jug of iced tea and glasses. ‘Hellooo. Hope I’m not interrupting you girls. Just wanted to sort out some refreshments for you.’

Eden smiled tightly, gesturing at the desk. Pandora charm bracelets jangled at her wrist. ‘Here’s fine, Mother.’

Mrs D bent to set the tray down before her beady gaze rested on Winnie. ‘You know, I never did ask what position you preferred in netball.’

‘Oh.’ Winnie swallowed. She’d didn’t have a clue what positions there were. Pleated miniskirts and sport socks weren’t really her thing. It was all Alex’s fault, as usual. ‘Um, I guess I’d class myself as an all-rounder. Keeps it,’ she coughed, ‘interesting.’

Mrs D beamed. ‘That’s marvellous. You really would be quite an asset to the club.’

‘Oh . . . thanks.’

‘Well, don’t want to be a nuisance. I’ll leave you girls to your little chat.’ With a jaunty wave, Mrs D disappeared back in the direction she’d come from.

Winnie reached for the jug of iced tea, hoping it’d give her time to dream up a way to let Eden down gently. Unfortunately, the bride-to-be was right onto her. ‘So, about what I said earlier, what do you say?’

Beads of condensation formed on the outside of Winnie’s glass – much like the sweat developing beneath her bra’s underwire. ‘Um, you sure you don’t want someone more local involved? Someone you’ve known a bit longer?’ Sitting back in her seat, Winnie clutched her glass for dear life.

Eden’s dark eyes slid to her lap, where she flicked away non-existent fluff. ‘It’s been a long time since I lived in Kingston. I don’t know as many people as I used to.’

Goodness. Just like that, Winnie understood. The desperate look on her face. The wonky smile. Eden was just as alone and lost in the town as she was, despite her brave front. Okay, so maybe the woman had a slightly repellent personality, but Winnie could still empathise.

Despite being unable to believe the words coming out of her own mouth, Winnie kept her voice soft. ‘How about a trade? I’ll be in your bridal party if you design some free posters for
Beach Life
’s launch party to put around town?’

Eden seemed like the type of woman who would understand a business proposition. And it wasn’t like Winnie owed her anything. Giving in to Eden’s request would be taking one for the
Beach Life
team.

After a heartbeat of silence, Eden’s unnervingly red lips curved upwards. ‘Brilliant. You talk in my language! You won’t regret the decision either – it’s really going to be the wedding of the millennium.’

Winnie gripped her ice-cold glass tighter still and laughed weakly. Olive’s comment about Eden’s ‘poor bridesmaids’ echoed in her ears.

Full of confidence again, Eden sat up even straighter, if that were possible. ‘I have a final dress fitting in Mount Gambier on Sunday – after church. The girls are having theirs done, too. You’ll have to come along to see if my friend’s frock needs any adjusting for you. Everyone’s meeting at mine. It’s a two-hour drive, but it’ll be fun because I’ll drive us all down together.’

Winnie felt like a crown of thorns was digging into her skull. From go to whoa, it meant the equivalent of half a day in Eden’s company – on her weekend. The other bridesmaids were probably Eden clones, too.

‘Count me in,’ Winnie heard herself say faintly.

Eden finally plucked a glass of her own from the tray. ‘Now for the interview. Pity you have to write it up
before
the big day. It could have made a fantastic first-person account.’

‘Yes, pity,’ Winnie said, her voice drenched with irony. Not that Eden, in full bridezilla mode again, appeared to notice.