Faking It to Making It Page 17

  That met with silence.

  “I don’t want marriage. I don’t want a partner.” His hand was running up the back of his hair before he could stop himself. “I want to date who I want and when I want; without you all—or anyone, in fact—expecting it might one day lead to me settling down. It’s just never going to happen.”

  “Why?” his mother asked, rising now to take his hand, to look into his eyes. “The truth. All of it.”

  Jasmine had one of her boys, was hugging him tight, as if telling herself her own son would never feel that way. Faith watched, tears at the corners of her eyes. Hope breathed evenly, smiled softly and simply waited, as if she’d been waiting for the truth—all of it—all her life.

  “I was there,” Nate said. “After Dad died. Missing him, mourning him. I still think about him every day.” He fisted a hand in the front of his sweater. “But I don’t ever want to feel that much need and hurt and empathy and rage and love and fear again.”

  Hope slid gracefully to her feet and came over and gave him a hug. Then punched him hard enough on the arm to hurt. “We know. We watched in dazed amazement how our little big brother handled himself. You were the glue and we may have overused you. For that I apologise. Profusely.”

  She looked to the others, who all nodded with her.

  “But, for the record, while you’re stuck with us—interfering, emotional and fabulous as we are—finding that one person out there in the big wide world who you choose to be with...well, that’s something else entirely. Love is scary and magical and bittersweet and special and hard and wonderful and the best thing that can ever happen to you in life.”

  He looked around at his sisters—all strong women. All nodding. All of whom had come out the other side, able to throw their hearts into the ring. All hopeful he might still.

  And even while he ought to have been setting up a whiteboard, with graphs and charts and a loud hailer to explain how and why it was different for him...all he could think of was Saskia.

  Saskia, whom he’d chosen to be in his life, even if only for a finite time. Saskia, who pushed him and challenged him and laughed with him, made room for him. Saskia, who made him feel light and funny and free. Saskia who made him feel.

  Bittersweet didn’t even begin to describe the pleasure and the pain. The pleasure of knowing her. The pain of losing her.

  Hell.

  “I have to go,” he said, his voice raw.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Faith as she gathered up the remote.

  Hope shot him a wink before sliding down onto the floor to play train smash with the boys. And Jasmine, relieved of duty, leant back against her wall and closed her eyes.

  “We heard you, darling. No more matchmaking,” his mother promised as she walked him to the door. “Though you can never make us promise not to hope you’ll one day find her. Or that maybe you already have.”

  “Mum—”

  “You’ve said your piece. My turn. You always were such a stubborn boy. Once you put your mind to something—whether it was building the best linen fort ever seen, or looking after all of us after Nathan died—that was it. Your father was stubborn too, you know. But his stubbornness was inclusive. And even though he died too young, he died happy. Nurtured. Inspired. Deeply touched by love. I’d hate to see you regret any choices you might have made in powering that stubborn streak with fear, not love.”

  She gave him a kiss, then near shoved him out through the door—likely so his womenfolk could dismantle every word he’d said. Either way, he had said his piece.

  Crazy that the hardest part had been admitting that he and Saskia had been faking it. Maybe because amidst the hard truths that was a big fat lie.

  He waited for dread to set in at the very thought, but instead felt...nothing. As if the tide of emotion that had swelled earlier had abated, leaving him bereft. Empty. Missing her. Her warmth, laughter and charm. The way she kissed, the way she melted against him, her feelings for him gleaming from her honest brown eyes.

  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and took a deep breath of fresh air—and reminded himself of the likelihood he’d never see her again.

  Now she was gone. Gone from his life. His days. His nights. His everything.

  And like that the dread was there. Engulfing him like a wave of fury that he could have been so stupid.

  His mother was right. And Hope. And even Faith.

  He did use his obstinacy as a shield. He did need help. And Saskia was way too cool for him.

  And yet he was in love with Saskia Bloom. He loved the woman with a conviction and certainty he could no longer deny. And he’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in her touch, tasted it in her tears—she’d been right there with him in every possible way.

  Afraid to love, afraid not to.

  “Hell,” he said, this time out loud, and he kicked the porch so hard he limped out to the car.

  * * *

  Saturday morning Saskia headed to Dating By Numbers, her infographic in tow.

  She could have emailed—it would have taken five seconds flat—but she wanted to see Marlee. The woman might be part shark, but she was smart, she had knowledge, and she’d seen through Saskia in a red-hot second. If anyone could smack her out of this funk it would be the wizard behind the pink curtain.

  “Saskia,” Marlee said, with honest pleasure in her eyes before she hid it behind a cool smile.

  “I wanted to give you this.” Saskia had framed it. It was a work of art—quite simply the cutest thing Lissy had ever whipped up.

  Marlee’s eyes roved over the hopeful colour, the joyful curlicues, the straight stats and romantic hooks, a smile lighting her eyes as she saw “follow your heart” scrawled across the bottom.

  “Thank you. It’s darling.”

  “So glad. Take a day to look it over, in case you want any changes, then I’ll send it to the digital marketing team and get it moving.”

  Marlee looked over at Saskia, her eyes narrowing as she took the whole of her in. It seemed jaunty knee-high boots, skinny jeans, winsome floral top and fabulous faux fur jacket had been pipped by blurry eyes and a permanent crease above the nose.

  “Coffee?”

  “Sure.” Why not? She had nowhere else to be.

  Saskia followed Marlee into her office. Bit her lip. Held her breath. Then spat out the question that had been hovering on her lips since the moment she’d decided to come calling. “Can I ask you one last thing?”

  “What’s that?”

  “How many find The One?”

  “You want numbers?” Marlee asked, a red talon flicking towards the screen of her computer.

  “I want...hope.”

  Marlee turned, coffee forgotten. “Then the numbers don’t matter. The odds against only exist because of the odds for. In the end all that matters is you. And your guy. The rest is gravy.”

  “Gravy.”

  Taking Saskia by the hands, Marlee led her to a big squishy white couch in the corner. “I wasn’t going to say, but last time you were here I would have bet my fortune you’d been struck by cupid’s arrow. Now you look like you’ve been hit by a truck, which then backed up and ran over you again. What happened?”

  What happened? Even she wasn’t sure. She’d thought over that last conversation so many times, yet couldn’t get a grasp on what had gone wrong. What she’d missed. She just felt right deep down in her gut that there had been a moment when she could have had it all, and instead she’d let it slip through her fingers.

  She’d been so sure she loved Nate—until he’d convinced her otherwise. And yet days later it still felt like love, it still hurt like love, burned like love and yet she still couldn’t be sure.

  Saskia took a deep breath, then said, “I met a man—”

  “On my site?”

&
nbsp; Saskia nodded. “I met a man, dated him, fell in love—and screwed it all up.”

  “Happens every day.”

  “Heartening.”

  “Mmm. You know what else happens every day? People realise the errors of their ways and make up for it.”

  “How?”

  “Any which way they damn well can.”

  “You’re good at this. Are you married? I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, I think that’s a fair question, considering what I peddle. I was married. Many years ago. To a bear of a man with a big prickly beard and a laugh that stopped time. He passed away too young. And I’ve never found it again. Maybe because I had my one chance, or maybe because I’ve never put myself out there.”

  Saskia looked at the woman. Beneath her class and elegance and her sharp tongue she nursed a broken heart.

  “My father lived with a broken heart,” Saskia said, “his whole life. I always thought it rather romantic. And thus spent my whole childhood trying to make up for it, getting nothing in return. I thought that was love, but now I wonder if I haven’t been completely reactionary—treating every relationship as an ‘I’ll show you, you mean bastard.’ As if even one of them loved me it would prove, to a dead man, that I was right and he was wrong.”

  “Understandable,” Marlee said.

  “Yeah—‘understandable’ has pretty much driven me my whole life. But it hasn’t helped me sleep much the past few days.”

  “In my experience nothing beats a warm pair of male arms for that.” Marlee patted her on the hand and went to get the coffee.

  Marlee was right—each person reacted as they chose to react and each had to live with the consequences.

  As she thought about her choices to date and their consequences, and Nate—out there, loved and not knowing it. For her there was no choice.

  “I want love,” she said out loud. Then louder, arms out to the world, as if she’d been born again, “I’m Saskia Bloom and I want to love and be loved.”

  Marlee hovered in the doorway, her smile soft before it spread into a grin. “Now, this poor fellow we quite purposely have neglected to mention, is he a man of unparalleled excellence? Is he a man of manners and charm and fantastic genes? Is he a possibility partner for life?”

  She’d never looked for a partner.

  Sharing herself, leaning on him, taking his advice, listening to him—none of that had much come into it. Until Nate. That strong, blind, charming, heartbreaking, stubborn, oak of a man had never let her get away with steering on her own. He’d imposed himself as much on the relationship as she had. In equal measure.

  As if the curtains had been parted and the light let in, suddenly a whole new possibility opened up to her—the possibility of a life not for him but with him.

  It felt like a brave new world. Was she brave enough to see it through? If any man had made her feel safe enough to try it was Nate. Vulnerable enough to love it was Nate. Happy enough to let him take care of her as much as she took care of him it was Nate.

  She didn’t need Marlee to give her hope. She had more than enough to push her from the chair, give Marlee a hug and a kiss, and walk...no, run from the room.

  It was just after ten on the first Saturday in spring. She had a date.

  ELEVEN

  That was a hundred-dollar blow-dry wasted, Saskia thought as she wobbled down the stone steps that led to Blairgowrie Beach, one hand on her hair, trying to keep the once slick waves from turning wild in the whipping wind.

  As for the dress—foxy, floaty, seriously va-va-voom and chosen to blow Nate’s socks off—it suddenly felt too fantastical, too sexy, too lacking in fabric for a beach wedding on a blustery spring day. Not surprising since she’d bought the thing when high on burgeoning love.

  Goosebumps danced up and down her arms. But there was no going back now. She was there on a mission. She was a strong woman, a business-owner, a home-owner, a DIY decorator who had laid her own bathroom tiles. She had a tattoo and had swum with sharks. She could tell a man she loved him even if there was no certainty she’d hear the same back.

  Holding herself together—just—she scanned the crowd scattered along the narrow beachfront.

  She spotted Paige and Gabe, chatting to an older couple—Mae’s parents, judging by the twin sets of vibrant red hair. Lissy and Bamford were there together, but as friends, not lovers, and the two of them were cheerfully laughing at something Lissy had said. Even Clint and Mae were about—Clint chatted with friends in suits, many wearing no shoes, and Mae was on the other side of the crowd, spinning in a slinky backless number, the cool sea air clearly not touching her at all.

  And then the crowd parted and there he was. The man she loved.

  Seeing Nate after being sure she’d never see him again amazed and terrified her. As for the bone-deep knowledge that she adored the guy and had every intention of making him believe her... That made her knees positively quake.

  Especially when he looked the antithesis of ruffled—clean-shaven, with sunlight glinting off his neat dark blond hair, in a suit that made the most of the glory beneath it and with his eyes covered with sexy sunglasses. He looked...perfect.

  He brought a glass of champagne to his lips as he turned to survey the crowd, and she knew the moment he spotted her. His hand stilled, his mouth kicked at one corner, and his chest fell as he breathed out long and slow.

  The tinkling of laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, the soft swoosh of waves lapping at the shore—faded till all Saskia could hear was the thundering of her heart.

  He excused himself, put his champagne on a passing tray, shoved one hand in a trouser pocket and walked towards her. She ditched her heels as they kept sticking in the soft sand and walked towards him, meeting him halfway.

  When he came close he took off his sunglasses and she could see the smudges under his eyes, the worry lines etched at their edges. And, since he looked just how she felt, her heart gave a thumpety-thump because it might have something to do with her.

  “Hi, Nate,” she said, her voice hearteningly strong.

  “Saskia.”

  He leaned in to kiss her cheek and stayed there a beat past familiar. A beat into want. She let her eyes close, filled herself with his warmth and his heady scent. Before she did anything stupid like throw herself into his arms, she pulled away.

  “Credibility?” she asked.

  His eyes didn’t leave hers as a small smile curved the corner of his mouth. “Not this time.”

  Her heart thudding like a runaway hammer, Saskia glanced over his shoulder at the wedding party in the distance. “I had to come. I couldn’t disappoint Mae. She did help me finish my online dating research, after all.”

  He tilted his chin in understanding and the smile curving at the corner of his mouth kicked a little higher. “Well, I’m glad you came. In fact I have something for you. Brought it just in case.”

  She looked down to see a small silver bag with frothy silver paper poking out of the top. “You do realise the bride and groom are the only ones meant to be getting gifts today?”

  “We got them a toaster.”

  “Did we, now?” she asked, cool as she pleased, even while her stomach soared at his use of “we.” She tried to mentally slap it down but it continued to buzz along happily.

  Paige waved to Saskia across the beach, started to move, then saw she was with Nate and took a ninety-degree angle away from her.

  Saskia’s hand shook as she took Nate’s gift. His finger brushed hers and a spark shot between them—the same spark that had been there at the first meeting. The one she’d clung to as she’d fallen deeper and deeper under his disarming charm.

  She peeled away the soft silver wrapping to find a solitary bar of goats’ milk soap. Her one downfall into decadence. She’d men
tioned it maybe once and he’d remembered. And sought it out. And it was near impossible to find. That little shop in the Dandenongs was about the only place you could get it. Meaning he’d gone looking. With her in mind. In an effort to make peace? Or more...?

  Blinking, she looked up at him, clueless as to what to say.

  “It came in a pack of two,” he said. “I kept one for myself. My skin’s never felt better.”

  He smiled his innately charming smile, only this time there wasn’t any performance in it. Just him, his eyes roving over her face as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there.

  When his eyes landed back on hers—blue, hot, hungry—her whole body began to pulse. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick.

  “You’re most welcome. Now, since I haven’t quite got around to finding a standby date, would you care to accompany me?”

  He held out his arm; she slid her hand in the crook.

  They walked in no particular hurry towards the rest and Saskia said, “I knew you hadn’t asked anyone else.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Your sister rang just before I came.”

  “Oh. What did Faith say?” His hand came down on hers, their fingers entwining, and his thumb ran over her wrist, sending waves of heat and hope all through her.

  Saskia breathed out, even laughed a tad. “She told me about your family meeting. I’m so proud of you, Nate. Now, hold onto them with everything you have. Know how lucky you are to have them at all.”

  “I will. I do.”

  And since he’d given her an opening she saw no reason not to take it. “She also said you were pining.”

  Nate laughed. “Terror.”

  “She’s softer than you think, you know. She’s...” Hang on a second. “How did you know it was Faith?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It could have been Hope who’d called. Or Jasmine.”

  “Hmm?”

  Saskia tugged at his arm, pulling them both up short. She held a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun. Noticing, Nate moved to shield her all on his own.