Storm Shells (The Wishes Series #3) (31 page)

I dipped my head to mutter my reply. “Thank you for your concern, but I didn’t actually drink anything.”

She widened her eyes. “Really? I was drinking alone? That’s so sad.”

Trieste sounded so appalled that I couldn’t help laughing. “I’ve heard that alcohol can act as a depressant,” I told her, leaning down to speak quietly.

* * *

I didn’t think Trieste would remember much of the liqueur lesson from the night before, but getting wasted hadn’t dented her memory at all. Not only had she remembered, she must’ve left my apartment, gone to the nearest liquor store and researched some more.

I stood just out of sight and listened as Trieste gave Felix her best spiel. He didn’t exactly seem enamoured. He continued polishing glasses and nodding every time she paused to take a breath. Maybe I should’ve reminded her that less is more. When she started rattling off the alcohol content of everything on the top shelf of the bar, I was ready to run over and shut her down myself. Then I remembered that Felix was shady, and I didn’t want him to be enamoured by her in any way, shape or form.

* * *

It turned out to be a busy night at Billet-doux. I ended up staying until the end of dinner service, doing nothing more important than being present. After I’d secured the night’s takings in the safe, I made my way back to front of house, preparing to leave.

When I heard voices coming from the staff cloakroom as I passed, I stopped to listen – perhaps because it was Felix talking.

“She’s been all over me for weeks,” I heard him say.

I recognised the guy he was talking to as one of the kitchen staff. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked.

“Give her what she wants,” replied Felix, like the smarmy douche that he was.

“She’s weird, dude.”

“Weird but willing,” said Felix, making kitchen guy chuckle.

The rat I’d always smelled where Felix was concerned was now beginning to stink. Kitchen guy continued laughing as Felix tore Trieste to shreds.

I hung behind the partially open door until I couldn’t take it any more. Once he mentioned his plan of getting her into bed, I drew the line.

I pushed the door all the way open, making them both jump.

“Hey, Adam.”

I swear I saw his almost-moustache twitch.

Kitchen guy bolted past me as quickly as he could without running.

“We were just talking about Trieste,” volunteered Felix. “I’ve asked her out on a date.”

He’d made it sound so innocent, as if he’d suddenly seen the light and realised how great she was. I wanted to smack him.

I pointed toward the door. “And now you can go out there and tell her that you’ve changed your mind,” I ordered.

He shook his head. “Why would I want to do that?”

“A few reasons. Firstly, date rape is illegal. That’s the plan, right? Get her smashed and get her back to your place?” He didn’t answer me so I continued. “Secondly, I think you like working here. If you want to keep working here, you’re going to cancel and you’re going to leave Trieste alone.”

The idiot actually thought about it for a second before calling my bluff.

“You can’t fire me.”

“You want to try me?”

After a long moment of deliberation, he pushed past and skulked out to front of house.

Trieste was on the far side of the room, straightening tables, too far away for me to hear the conversation. I saw her nodding as he broke it to her.

Trieste was a tall girl. She seemed to shrink before my very eyes as her shoulders slumped. She looked devastated.

If I was a good friend I would’ve gone out there to comfort her, but somewhere along the line I’d lost the ability to deal with anyone I cared about – and I truly did care for Trieste. She’d seen me through some pretty dark days lately. A good friend would’ve returned the favour.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t a good friend. I was the kind of friend who snuck out the kitchen door so he didn’t have to deal with her.

June 26

Charli

It took a couple of weeks for Ryan to pull together his wine deal, and as much as he insisted he got a bargain, it still cost him plenty. Apart from dealing nonstop with Meredith Tate, he’d also taken Lily out for dinner in the hope of getting a better deal. Hearing the gruesome details over breakfast the next morning was the highlight of my week.

“It was excruciating, Charli,” he complained. “I endured an hour long car ride to Hobart with the girl. She never shut up. By the time we got there, I practically had nothing to live for.”

I was laughing so hard it became soundless. “I did warn you.”

He shoved the last piece of toast into his mouth. “No amount of prior warning could’ve prepared me for that.”

“Are you going to see her again?” I asked, trying to compose myself.

Ryan took his plate to the sink. “Not if I live to be a hundred.”

The only sure-fire way of not seeing Lily again was to get out of town, but his initial plan of buying me out and getting back to New York as soon as possible seemed to have gone awry. I liked having Ryan around so I never questioned why. He’d hardly mentioned Billet-doux lately, let alone presented me with his buyout offer. I never questioned that either.

I began clearing the table. “Do you have plans today?”

I had to ask. Thanks to his bromance with Alex, his social schedule was busy. They were constantly chopping wood, pulling cars apart in the shed or surfing. To clarify, Alex surfed. Ryan fluffed around in the low-breaking waves trying to find his balance on a mini-mal board that Alex had been storing in the shed for a hundred years.

Having fun was a concept that eluded Ryan most of the time. The uptight, suit-wearing New Yorker had crossed over to the dark side by becoming a laid-back country hick, if only temporarily.

“I have nothing planned. Why? Do you have something in mind?”

I finally felt ready to make a start on the nursery. Alex and Gabrielle had offered to help me clear out the spare room and paint plenty of times, but like all things important, I’d been putting it off.

“Will you help me paint the baby’s room?”

Judging by his expression, the mere suggestion had caused him pain. “You should probably know, I’ve never painted a wall in my life.”

“That’s because you’ve always paid someone to do it. You’d never chopped wood or worked on cars until you got here either,” I reminded.

He smiled brightly, proud of his boondock accomplishments. “I suppose not.”

* * *

Ryan’s promise of ignoring Flynn only held until he saw him. As we were leaving to head to the hardware store, Flynn appeared on his front porch. He glanced at us but kept walking to his car.

It was the big mouth New Yorker who spoke first. “Hello, Officer Davis.”

“Ryan, shut up,” I hissed.

Flynn changed course. “Hello. How are you?”

“Fine.” Ryan glanced back at me.

Flynn turned his attention to me. “How are you, Charli? You look lovely.”

“Doesn’t she?” gushed Ryan. “Her husband is a lucky man.”

The look of fury I directed at him was wasted. His back was turned.

Thankfully, Flynn took the high road. He made polite excuses and left quickly.

“Why did you do that?” I hissed, as soon as he was out of earshot.

“No reason.”

“Get in the car, Ryan,” I told him.

* * *

The aisles of Norm’s hardware store seemed narrower than I remembered, perhaps because I was wider. Ryan followed me to the back, righting a broom as I knocked it over and shifting a display of gardening gloves out of my way.

“You’re like a human bulldozer,” he muttered.

I pointed at the paint selection chart on the back wall. “Shut up and pick a colour.”

Ryan pretended to study the chart. “Don’t you already have something in mind?”

“Yes, purple.”

He clapped his hands. “Purple it is. Choose your tint and let’s get out of here.” Something about my expression as I glanced at him made him groan out loud. “It’s not that simple is it? You’re going to give me a big crock of fairy stories, aren’t you?”

I shook my head. “Not if you choose the right colour.”

Ryan turned his attention to the chart. “Well, I like that one.” He pointed at a deep purple square. “It’s the same colour as five-hundred-dollar poker chips.”

It was truly a horrible shade, and far too dark for a nursery.

I dismissed his idea instantly. “How about lilac?” I suggested. “Lilac represents the purest form of love. The sincere kind, where nothing is expected in return.”

“It’s not bad,” he conceded, “but very boring and pastel. How about something a bit brighter and more lively?” He pointed out another poker chip purple.

I scrunched up my nose. “Nothing about violet is lively.”

“Why not? It’s bright.”

“It symbolises meekness and humility. Violets are shy flowers. They hide under their leaves.”

He looked across at me, frowning. “You are so full of baloney.”

“It’s the truth, Ryan,” I insisted. “Where do you think the term ‘shrinking violet’ comes from? I don’t want my kid to be a shrinking violet.”

“I sincerely doubt that’s a possibility, Charli,” he retorted. “She has you for a mother.”

* * *

I didn’t feel up to making small talk with Norm while he mixed my paint. We decided to take a walk down the main street while we waited. As expected, Ryan was unimpressed by Pipers Cove’s shopping hub.

“At least each store is exclusive,” he teased.

“Not quite. We have two beauty salons.” I pointed down the street toward Jasmine’s salon.

Ryan read the sparkly sign. “I take it that is the best one?”

I muffled my laugh with my hand, unwilling to draw the attention of the sparkly Barbie lurking inside. As we passed, I peeked through the front window and spotted Wade at the counter. He saw me too. I probably could’ve gotten away with a quick wave, but I was in the mood for tormenting Ryan. I grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him inside.

“Hi, Wade,” I beamed. “Are you manning the salon today?”

“Just for a minute. Jasmine stepped out to get some lunch.”

“Oh, I see.”

Ryan cleared his throat, either prompting me to introduce him or hurry up and get him out of there.

“Who’s your friend?” asked Wade, making the call for me.

I patted Ryan’s arm. “Oh, he’s not my friend. He’s my brother-in-law. This is Ryan.”

“Oh, right, the wine bloke. You’re Lily’s new flame.”

“No,” snapped Ryan. “That flame was extinguished early, Wayne.”

“Wade,” he corrected. “I think you’d better set things straight with Lil. I don’t think you’ve distinguished anything.”

I made a polite excuse to leave and nudged Ryan toward the door.

“Wait,” called Wade, stepping out from behind the counter. “Aren’t you going to buy something, Charli? You’re the first customer we’ve had all day.”

At a loss, I glanced around the salon. “Ah, I don’t think I need anything.”

“How about some shampoo?” he suggested. “We have a strawberry one.”

He snatched a bottle off the shelf and waved it at me. Nothing about smelling like a punnet of fruit appealed, but I felt sympathetic enough to let him continue his pitch. “We have vanilla too, but I have to be honest, it doesn’t taste anywhere near as good as it smells.”

“What about something more spicy, Wade?” I asked, trying to divert his attention from Ryan, whose body was shaking with silent chuckles. “How about something like sandalwood or patchouli?”

He pointed at me as he backed away. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll check out the back.”

When he was gone, I picked up the fruity shampoo, unscrewed the lid and sniffed it. Ryan whispered, “How does it taste, Charli?”

I elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up.”

“We could make a run for it while he’s gone.” He gave an upward nod toward the door.

I smirked. “I can’t run very fast these days.”

“I’ll carry you.”

I stepped away in case he decided to throw me over his shoulder. “Just be nice. Maybe you could use your fabulous business acumen to argue the price of shampoo with him. Get me a good deal.”

“I’m not going to argue anything with him,” he replied. “I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.”

I was keen to get out of there too, before Jasmine returned. We walked out of the salon with two bottles of shampoo purchased out of pity, and headed back to the hardware store to collect our paint.

* * *

By the time we got back to the cottage, I was too tired to paint. Ryan didn’t try talking me round – it was a job he hadn’t been looking forward to in the first place.

“You should sleep,” he told me. “You don’t look good.”

Looking good wasn’t achievable these days, so I took no offense. I nodded and staggered toward my room.