Nate went directly to the fridge, crouched down and opened the crisper. He lifted out the iceberg and cos lettuce he usually kept to mix together, along with a carrot, a rich-red capsicum, a cucumber and the packaged baby spinach.
“Is this enough?” he asked, balancing them in his arms.
Roberta had spotted the newspapers and was leaning over the table reading today’s story. “Huh what? Natasha mentioned my front-page fame. Isn’t there anything else exciting to report in this town?”
“You saved a man’s life. You don’t think that’s worthy of some attention?”
Roberta shrugged. “It happens every day in the big smoke. What were you saying, by the way?”
“Is this enough for the salad?” Nate placed the ingredients on the kitchen sink and leant against it, casually crossing his arms. “Even the smallest gesture of kindness in our community doesn’t go unnoticed. Don’t be surprised if the man’s family returns to thank you personally. It’s how we roll in these parts.”
Roberta glanced up from the paper, challenging him with a suffering sigh—city girl versus country boy—that sort of thing.
“Walnuts, mustard and cherry tomatoes.”
Nate tore his gaze away, stepping towards the small pantry. “I can provide you with two of your requirements, but I’m out of cherry tomatoes.”
“What about balsamic vinegar?”
“Yep, here!”
“Not good enough. Lead the way and unlock the teahouse kitchen. I know they have cherry tomatoes there.”
“Honestly, they’re not necessary; we’ll make the salad without them.”
“Not in this life, bloke. You threw out the challenge, and I’m following through with it. So, get moving and hurry up if you want to eat tonight.”
For a few heart-thumping moments, they duelled with their piercing gazes. Nate capitulated first, swore quietly and led the way out of the cottage.
Roberta giggled quietly behind him. “I love a man with colourful language.”
Nate harrumphed before growling, “Stay,” leaving her standing on the cottage verandah. He’d forgotten the key to the teahouse and returned inside for it. This woman was turning his brain to mush. He didn’t like it one bit.
On the narrow path towards the teahouse backdoor, they brushed shoulders, causing Nate to shiver in the coolish night-time air. The sooner they got past this ordeal of helping each other prepare this one meal, the sooner they could look after their own cooking arrangements. He already regretted his invitation. This salad wasn’t worth the turmoil it was causing him. He also needed dinner over and done with before the crew turned up for their usual fortnightly meeting. How was he going to get rid of Roberta while they thrashed out their next move in the fight against the wind farm taking over another piece of pristine wonderland?
Would the team recognise Roberta? If they did, he would become the laughing-stock of the group. He couldn’t believe he was in this situation.
Fumbling with the key, he berated himself for not picking up the torch or grabbing his phone on the way out. Bloody hell!
“Here, let me. I’m pretty good at breaking into places.”
Roberta’s warm hands took hold of the key attached to a piece of carved timber, causing his breath to catch in his throat. “That’s reassuring. I’ll be sure to let Natasha know of your bonus skills.”
“Do that,” Roberta casually returned, opening the door.
Nate reached over her pretty head and flicked on a switch, not missing the laughter in her eyes when they locked with his. “I’ll wait here. You obviously know your way around.”
She smirked and sauntered off towards the cold-room storage while Nate willed himself not to drop his gaze towards her curvy hips. Don’t do it! He failed. They dropped at the same time he struggled to swallow the lump wedged in his throat. Why was this woman affecting him this way? Christ! She was so wrong for him. Her manner, her confidence, her everything. It criss-crossed his head, leaving him puzzled. How could being around someone when he was so exasperated with them heighten every sense in his body?
He was questioning everything when she returned and thrust the punnet of cherry tomatoes at him.
“Here, hold this.”
Not giving him time to think, he took the punnet. Roberta wound her way back around the tables, stopping at the piano.
“Could I have a couple of minutes, please? It’s been ages since I sat at a piano.”
Pleading and asking for permission to play the instrument? All in one sentence? She didn’t wait for an answer and sat down. Nate leant against the doorframe where he hadn’t budged from for the entire time they’d been in the teahouse. She struck the first key, turning it into a warm-up scale. Nate moved closer, mesmerised by her supple fingers. His stupid brain imagining all sorts of things with those hands.
He willed himself to step closer. By the time he was standing beside the grand old piano, she’d moved into something so beautiful and melodic that its sound wrapped around his senses, pulling, tightening, his chest heaving, leaving him breathless and enchanted. He’d never heard anything so beautiful.
Nate dragged his eyes away from her hands. Roberta looked lost in her own world. He licked suddenly dry lips, the sensations whirling inside his head.
When Roberta stopped, the music continued to reverberate around the room.
“Wow.” He wanted to say more, but that was all he could muster.
“What a beautiful, grand old thing.”
When their gazes latched together, there was a softness, a vulnerability looking back at him.
Nate roughly swallowed. “My great-grandmother received it as a gift from my great-grandfather before his tragic death. That was back in 1924.”
“Do you play?”
Nate shook his head. “That was really something. Does it have a name?”
Roberta chuckled. “Just a little Beethoven and his Moonlight Sonata. Not all of it of course. Come, sit here.” She moved to one side of the piano stool and patted the spot beside her. “I’ll teach you how to play the chopsticks.”
Like a moth drawn to a bright light, he sat, immediately pulled to the warmth of the spot—spellbound.
The cherry tomatoes packet crinkled in his hand, jolting him back to reality, and he stiffened. “We can’t. We need to get dinner over with. I have a meeting tonight, and I still have some prep stuff to do.”
Roberta tilted her face towards an old photograph on the wall, her fingers pressing the odd key, her velvety chocolate eyes washing warmly over his skin. “With those same morons from the other day?”
And just like that, she shattered the magic.
“You need to find new friends,” she declared, gently closing the lid over the piano keys.
Nate jumped up, damning his stupid self for getting caught up with this woman. Who was she? Holy hell, she could sing Jimmy Barnes at incredible decibels and then turn around and play something as emotionally sweet as Beethoven. Then irritate the heck out of him.
He envisaged an invisible net hovering over him, gently falling, dropping and wrapping around his body—trapping his arms and legs.
His breathing was laboured as if he was already ensnared. “Come and make this salad you claim you’re so damn good at.”
“Right behind you.” Roberta slid from the piano stool and pushed it in.
She squeezed past him at the back door, allowing him to switch off the light and lock up. Despite the absence of her touch, his body burned with acute awareness. Except for their gazes—and they clashed again. Nate concentrated on his breathing, making sure it sounded normal. Not like he’d just run a lap around the lake at top speed. All the while, he cursed this woman who’d gatecrashed his life, leaving him with a sinking sensation it was going to get a whole lot worse.