Brooding Rebel to Baby Daddy Page 3

  Bear grinned. “When I moved here, I imagined I’d find hordes of them. Strong silent types. All scarred and muscled from chopping wood all the time.”

  They both paused, as the coffee machine hissed and steamed, imaginations whirring.

  “No luck?” Sable asked when all was quiet.

  Bear slid her drink across the counter. “Well, I won’t say I’ve had no luck...”

  Sable smiled and found herself wondering if Rafe still fitted that bill. Or he might have a beer belly. Thinning hair.

  She hoped he was content. Had tearing down his father’s house exorcised the demons he’d carried with him as a kid? Or had the fire in his belly morphed into something darker?

  Was he single? What if he had kids?

  No. No kids. That she was sure of. It had been their one sticking point, the one thing they’d ever truly argued about. For him children would never be on the cards. Growing up the way he had—his mother deserting them, his father an angry drunk—having all but raised Janie on his own had devoured any desire on that score.

  She’d cried into her pillow more than once, knowing that choosing him would mean giving up her own dream to have a family. A very different family from the way she grew up.

  Before she’d taken the decision off the table entirely by leaving.

  Only now, with her newfound clarity, she’d figured out a way for them both to get what they wanted.

  Bear leant his elbows on the counter, bringing his face near level with hers. “Fair warning,” he said. “Now that we’re proper friends I feel like I should tell you—people like to tell me things. As if I’m a hairdresser, taxi driver and priest combined. And you’re the talk of the town.”

  Sable shifted on the stool. “And now that you’ve met me what will you tell them?”

  “That my doughnuts are fresh and my coffee is the best in town.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. For she believed him. And it had been some time since she’d felt as if she had someone on her side.

  Then, right as she began to feel better about things, there came a rush of cold air from outside, right as the brass bell rang over the door.

  Bear looked up, his smile appreciative. Flirtatious.

  And by the way the hair on the back of her neck stood on end Sable knew—someone dark, strong and hot had just walked through his door.

  “Hey, Bear,” an all too familiar voice rumbled behind her. “What’s the big emerg—?”

  Like a subtle shift in the air, a vibration that sang through her bones, Sable felt the moment Rafe saw her. Recognised her. Even before his words slammed to a halt.

  Had he heard she was back? Or did he simply know the shape of her, the way she’d have recognised the shape of him anywhere?

  Bear cleared his throat. Motioned to her with his eyes. Reminding her that wanting to be invisible and actually achieving it were two very different things.

  Sable turned slowly on her stool. Her cheeks burning. Blood roaring behind her ears.

  And she looked up to see Rafe Thorne—the boy next door, her first love, the man who held her future dreams in a simple yes—standing right in front of her for the first time in nearly a decade.

  She’d prepared herself for this moment. Practising conversations with herself in the mirror in the bathroom on the plane. But seeing him, in the flesh, it all went out of the window.

  For the boy she’d known was no more as he’d been honed into a man with fierce abandon.

  She was powerless to stop herself—her eyes roved. Taking in the curl of his cowlick. The bumps of his knuckles. The solid strength of his throat. Hair still thick, still curled, still wild. Stubble covering a hard, tight jaw. Lips that had always made her knees go weak.

  Dark chambray shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows showcasing forearms laced with the kind of roping veins that made a girl swoon. Collar unironed, top button undone—no, missing, having fallen from its length of unspooled cotton. Jeans softened in places where they’d been made to work hardest—knees, pockets, zipper. Rugged brown boots with the toes scuffed, the laces fraying.

  Twinge, skitter, thump.

  Now that there was no longer a planet between them her heart went on a rampage behind her ribs.

  In both hands he held a piece of...something. She couldn’t tell what. But it was a habit he’d had, even as a kid. Picking flowers, or grass stalks, as he’d passed, knotting them, stripping them, folding them... Those ingenious hands of his always needed to be occupied.

  The flash of familiar brought her consciousness back into her body. Until she could feel the stool beneath her backside. The uncomfortable heat in her cheeks. The tremble in her legs.

  For this was why she’d come home.

  Not to flee the disintegration of her old life. Not even to see Mercy.

  She’d come home for Rafe.

  To ask a favour of him she’d never consider asking of anyone else. A favour that would change her life.

  For she planned to ask him to father her child.

  Not to help her raise it, or even know it for that matter. She wanted nothing from him bar his DNA. Then he’d never have to see her again.

  She slid from the stool, the clack of her heels on the tiled floor jarring in the heavy silence. “Rafe,” she said. “Hello.”

  Rafe, on the other hand, didn’t say a word. His eyes cavernous, the deep dark depths giving nothing away.

  She hungrily searched his face for a way in. For anger. Hurt. Surprise. For pleasure. Something.

  Anything but ambivalence. It was the one emotion she’d never been able to match.

  Then Rafe’s gaze lifted away from hers, caught on the big man behind him, and he said, “You, I’ll talk to later.”

  Then he turned on his boot and walked out of the door. The brass bell singing prettily before the door shut with a decisive snick.

  What? Wait! No!

  Words spluttered and puffed inside Sable’s head.

  Until Bear said, “Go! Go after him.”

  And as if she’d received a metaphorical shove in the back, Sable rushed forward, dragged the door open and hastened after Rafe.

  Past the trees growing out of little garden squares in the concrete, and out onto the road, her boots slipping on the rain-slicked bitumen. Her coat swung heavily as she spun in a full circle. The avenue was vacant in both directions. Unless he was hiding behind one of the cars parked at an angle towards the shopfronts, he’d vanished.

  She let her arms drop to her sides and sighed.

  What did she expect, showing up out of nowhere the way she had? That there’d be enough water under the bridge. That time would have healed all wounds. And whatever other naff sayings she could pull out.

  She should have planned this better. Worked harder on the first words she’d say when she saw the guy again. Something more persuasive than a breathy, Rafe. Hello.

  “Ugh!” Sable went to make the long walk home, to make a plan for a proper ambush, before she remembered she’d left her camera in The Coffee Shop.

  She turned to head back inside only to catch a glimpse of blue out of the corner of her eye.

  Rafe sat on a set of rusty stairs tucked into the alleyway between the café and Mike’s Bikes next door. One boot on the ground, another on a step, head down as he toyed with whatever was in his hands.

  Heart thumping like crazy, Sable headed down the alley. Her shoes scraped on the wet concrete and Rafe stilled, his nostrils flaring, before he tore the piece of grass he’d been playing with in half and tossed both pieces onto the ground.

  Laying hands on his knees, he pressed himself to standing.

  When his eyes met hers, there was no ambivalence, which was a relief. But he did not look happy to see her. He looked ready to walk. Again.

  She swallowed, licked her dry lips, readying to stop him. B
ut his gaze followed the movement. Locking onto her mouth.

  She’d been sure time would have numbed any latent attraction. Instead she felt sharp. Achy. Overly bright. As if she were standing barefoot on an iceberg, while looking into the sun.

  Then his gaze lifted, his liquid dark eyes staring into hers.

  Time seemed to stop, and stretch and dissolve, until she was simply Sable and he was simply Rafe.

  For one brief, crisp moment she imagined just leaping right in.

  Rafe, she saw herself saying, I want a baby, and I want you to be the father.

  Then a muscle flickered beneath his eye, and she saw past the unblinking facade to the heaviness in his eyes. Yes, there was curiosity, but only on the other side of a great gaping crevasse of trauma.

  Leaping in was not an option. There was too big a distance to bridge.

  Unfortunately, time was not on her side. Not only did she plan to stay in Radiance for as short a time as humanly possible, her own body was against her. For it had decided to make baby-making a challenge. Which meant she had to get building that bridge and quick.

  Sable levelled Rafe with a look. “You, I’ll talk to later.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He’d responded! Sure, it was gruff, but that was better than not responding.

  “Back there, to Bear, you said, ‘You, I’ll talk to.’ Making it clear you didn’t want to talk to me. I know a diss when I hear one.”

  Rafe’s dark eyes narrowed and Sable felt her heart thunder, hoping the risk of playing things loose and familiar would pay off. Would rekindle their old rapport quicker than not.

  And there. A flicker behind the wall. A gleam.

  Rafe slowly moved to lean against the brick wall, folding his arms across his broad chest and staring her down. “This is how you choose to go about the first conversation we have in years. By quibbling?”

  “I did say hello, back there in the café, but you must not have heard me.”

  A twitch. At the corner of his eye. Good twitch? Or bad?

  “Unbelievable,” he mumbled, glancing away as he rubbed a hand over his mouth. But not before she caught the quiver of a smile.

  Trying to ignore the way the drop in his voice sang through her bloodstream, Sable cocked her head. “Would you like me to start again? Talk about the weather perhaps? Like normal people?”

  Normal people. It was a line they’d used often. A way of coping with how the locals looked sideways at their less than typical families—her “alternative” mother and his volatile father. One of the many threads that had connected them.

  She saw the moment he remembered. The tightening at the corners of his eyes. The way his fingers gripped his forearms.

  But then he seemed to let it go. To decide not to care.

  He’d been good at that. While she wore her heart on her sleeve, every emotion written on her face, he was better at hiding his thoughts than anyone she’d ever known.

  A tactic to survive his father.

  Just as making herself smaller had been her way of surviving her mother. Had. Past tense.

  She lifted her chest, and her chin. Ready to show him just how big she could now be.

  When he surprised her, saying, “I’d like to see you try to be normal.”

  And before she even felt it coming, she coughed out a laugh. Then gave him a look that said, Really. Felt a little tingly in the belly region when he gave her a slow nod.

  Riding the rapport, she wiggled her fingers, shook her head, took a deep breath, plastered a big fake smile on her face and said, “Rafe! Oh, my gosh. It’s been years. It’s so good to see you. How have you been? Great, I hope! You look...” Hot. Savage. Mouth-watering. “Well.”

  Her words, full of faux cheer, seemed to bounce around the alley before dissipating in a hiss of steam as they reached his dark, still self.

  Then the edge of his mouth kicked up at one side. She felt it deep inside. Attraction. History. Heat. Pulsing through her like a fresh current.

  “I’ve been just...fine. Thanks.” Infinitesimal pause before the “fine”. Then he said, “You also look...well.” The pause before the “well” was longer still.

  Now what? Small talk? Big talk? Hard talk? Dirty talk? The talk?

  Slow down, kiddo. Bridge-building, she told herself. This here is all about building that big old bridge that is going to get you what you want most in the world.

  She took a small step towards him. “Bear told you to come to the café, didn’t he? Just now.”

  After a beat he nodded.

  “Because I was there,” she said.

  Another nod.

  “And I thought he and I were friends.”

  A small frown, then, “Why are you here, Sable?”

  Ah, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. One she absolutely planned to answer but not while there was so much tension in the air she felt as if she could levitate. “Look, can we go somewhere? Grab a coffee?”

  No. Not a coffee. Other than The Coffee Shop, every other place in town would be filled with people who would gawp and gossip and she’d be in less of a position to talk, to really talk, than she was in this alley. And while Bear might promise to keep his lips zipped, she really didn’t know the guy at all.

  Before she could press again, the rumble of an engine—big, meaty, eight-cylinder—heralded a muscle car cruising up the main street. Neither of them said a word until it was gone.

  “I have to get to work,” said Rafe, lifting away from the wall, his arms unfolding, hands moving to slide thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans.

  It was so reminiscent of the old Rafe, her Rafe, her chest ached.

  “Right,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course.”

  What kind of work? Should she ask? Or save it? For next time. For she’d make sure there was a next time. As many next times as it took till the right moment arose.

  To ask him to father her baby. Then watch her walk away again.

  It started to drizzle. Sable pulled the collar of her coat together.

  Rafe stepped down onto the concrete and slowly walked past her. She had to look up to watch him pass. Catching his scent over that of the smattering of fine rain. Soap, diesel, and clean warm male.

  Before she even knew what she was doing she closed her eyes and drank it in.

  “You in town long?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes to find him beside her. Close enough to touch.

  “For now.”

  He gave her one last look, so dark and deep she had no hope of discerning what it held. And he said, “Then I guess I’ll see you ’round.”

  She nodded. Then watched him amble down the alley and out onto the street.

  The drizzle created a halo around the solar-powered street lights as they flickered to life as the afternoon gloom set in. Sparking off Rafe’s dark hair, his strong shoulders, the water flicking off his boots.

  “Hot damn,” Sable swore beneath her breath.

  “You said it, honey.”

  Sable spun towards the voice, hands raised, as her mother had taught her. “Men are dangerous. To body and soul. Protect yourself.” Only to find Bear coming out of the door by the steps on which Rafe had been sitting.

  He had her camera and a huge rainbow-coloured umbrella, which he tipped over her head.

  She tucked herself in beside him, even as she shot him a glare. “Were you listening that whole time?”

  “Not the whole time.” His expression was so innocent Sable had no choice but to laugh.

  Then, “So how long are you sticking around? This time?”

  Sable gave Bear a look. “Whose side are you on here?”

  “No sides. All sides.” He put big hands up in surrender before he slipped back inside his shop, leaving her with the umbrella.

  When she looked ba
ck Rafe was leaning in the window of what looked like Old Man Phillips’ rusty old Oldsmobile—only in the intervening years it seemed to have been given the fairy-godmother treatment, painted sparkling blue with silver wings down the side.

  Once Old Man Phillips drove off, Sable watched for another minute or two as the traders of Laurel Avenue each popped their heads out of their shops to wave to Rafe. Back in her day they used to lock their doors when they saw him coming.

  No pot belly, no bald patch. And he’d clearly made good. It was as bewildering as it was mesmerising.

  Sure, to the very marrow of her bones, she would not get the same felicitous reaction, Sable pulled her collar up around her ears and began the long walk back home.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AFTER A LONG afternoon spent working beneath a Stingray at the Radiance Restorations workshop, Rafe opened the front door to the Airstream to find his sister in the small kitchen, headphones clamped over her ears, dancing as she stirred some kind of horrid-smelling goop.

  He snuck up on her and jabbed her in the side.

  Janie screamed, and spun on him with her ladle, painting the ceiling with an arc of homemade vegetable stock.

  “What the heck, Rafe?” she said, tugging out her earbuds. “If that had been a knife—”

  She stopped before another word came out. Her eyes widening. The colour leaving her cheeks. Not the first time a knife would have been brandished in threat by a Thorne. Though, thankfully, not by either of them.

  And not in this space. This pristine, fully modernised, impossibly expensive tiny house of Janie’s.

  He’d had every intention of walking away from Radiance himself after knocking down his father’s house. Letting the blackberries eat the lot alive. Till Janie—eleven years old, all knees and elbows—had looked at him and said, “But it’s our home.”

  Next day he’d made a deal with Old Man Phillips to take the dilapidated Airstream off his hands, pimping the older man’s Oldsmobile for free in exchange.

  For Janie it had been therapy. Scrubbing, panel beating, building, surrounding herself with warm colours, soft fabrics. Comfort. A true home.

  Leaving Rafe no choice but to make peace with the town. To stop slouching in the hopes no one would notice him, stop scowling the way they expected a kid of Ron Thorne’s to scowl, stop refusing to make eye contact lest he see abhorrence in their eyes. To stop pining for the girl who’d left him in her dust. To become his own man.