“This is nice.” Hana sipped a glass of merlot and looked around the restaurant. “I’m glad it’s not too busy.” She raised a hand to acknowledge Logan’s cousin through the serving hatch as he smiled and waved.
“Yeah, this place is a gold mine.” Logan sipped his glass of cola and nodded to Alex. “There’s nothing similar nearby so it gets trade from passing tourists.”
“Those don’t look like either,” Hana whispered, jerking her head towards a large group enjoying the French cuisine. Business suits and expensively tailored shirts set them apart from locals and tourists.
“Oh, yeah. I recommended this restaurant to them. They’re a group of surgeons staying at the hotel and using the conference facilities. They fancied something different tonight.” Logan swilled the liquid in his glass, his brow furrowed as he processed an internal wrangle.
“Mark seems settled at our place,” Hana said with a smile. “I forgot how messy he is though. He’s driving Wiri mad.”
“Wiri?” Logan’s confusion raised a smile to Hana’s lips. He showed no clue that his obsessive tidiness and compulsive behaviour was reflected in his nephew.
Hana nodded. “Yeah, Mark’s leaving things out and Wiri’s putting them away. I’m watching a mini version of you walking around the house tutting.”
“I don’t tut!” Logan looked offended and Hana snorted.
“Yes, you do; you think we don’t notice.”
Logan shrugged and pursed his lips. Hana watched him plan his next sentence and dodged the subject, cutting back to the reason for their meeting. “So what’s wrong?” she asked, fixing her eyes on her gorgeous husband. “You’re looking very serious.” She tried to smile but gave up, nerves making her face muscles twitch.
Logan’s grey eyes held a sheen of amusement as his gaze rested on Hana’s face and he shook his head. “You always expect the worst,” he said, his lips turning upwards. Hana grimaced, irritation snapping at her sensibility. Perceptive, Logan reached for her hand, clamping her writhing fingers in his and forcing them to be still. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he began.
Hana interrupted. “Those words make me worry.”
“Yeah, but don’t. No secrets; we promised, remember?”
Hana nodded. “Just put me out of my misery.”
Logan pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her tense fingers with seductive flare, making Hana squirm in her seat. “Someone’s offered me a job.”
Her expression became stony and she froze in place. Fear danced across her eyes. “I don’t want to leave Mātakitaki!” Her use of the Māori name for the mountain softened her husband’s intense grey eyes and drew a firm squeeze of his hand on her fingers.
“I love you so much,” he breathed, appreciation oozing from every pore. “You’re my perfect wahine, you know?”
Hana’s features morphed from blank to miserable. “Then leave things as they are, Logan. I’m happy, the children are happy; please don’t make us move.”
Logan dipped his head. “Fine, I’ll say no thanks.” Sadness leaked through his tone and Hana’s brow knitted. Guilt tugged at her heartstrings.
“Tell me about it,” she ventured, unable to hide the dread in her voice.
Logan shrugged. “It’s back at the school, teaching English. The principal rang me last week and I said I’d consider it.”
“Angus rang you?” Hana screwed up her face and looked surprised.
“No. Angus retired after Dobbs died.” Logan’s eyes took on a flint like quality and Hana knew not to probe for answers. Her husband smoothed his scarred thumb over the back of her hand and chose his words with care. “The new principal started two years ago and it sounds as if they made some decent changes. Malcolm Levine’s sick, so is retiring early. Someone recommended me to cover his classes.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Cancer.” Logan wrinkled his nose. “Unfair, hey?”
“Yes. That’s terrible. How long would you be there?” Hana’s mind wandered to thoughts of the cramped staff accommodation and Logan’s endless work duties at the boarding house. The sigh escaped her without warning.
“A term,” Logan said. “The Gatehouse is still empty and they’ve offered it to us until December. It’s still furnished after our last stay, so we only need a few suitcases and ourselves. It doesn’t matter now.” Logan smiled politely at the waitress who brought their dinner, terminating the conversation while she grated the pepper mill over his food. Hana gritted her teeth as the woman simpered far too long over him, feeling the sexual attraction coming off her in waves as she wiggled her young hips and made grinding pepper into a pole dancing routine.
“Let me pull the blind for you,” the woman said, leaning over Logan to twitch the curtains. He leaned back as her breasts thrust into his face.
Defensiveness rose in Hana, fuelled by an overwhelming sense of inadequacy which told her she was an average looking woman married to a demi-god. She stood and slammed her napkin on the table. “I’ll get out of your way if you want,” she stated, squeezing out of her seat in the corner. Logan’s expression channelled pained awkwardness as Hana stalked towards the bathrooms. She heard his quiet rebuke to the waitress as the door closed behind her, but rejection drove her into a cubicle to sit on the toilet lid and release her tears.
Five minutes later the outer door clicked and Hana heard soft footsteps in the bathroom. Their early sitting meant the restaurant was quieter than usual and she’d cried undisturbed in her three square metres of peace. Dread snaked a hand around her heart as she saw Logan’s black cowboy boots in the gap under the door. He knocked with his knuckles, the sound jarring in the silence. “Hana, come out,” he said.
“No!” She resented the sullenness in her voice, hating the petulance she heard. It smacked of a pure Phoenix meltdown at bedtime when separation from Wiri became inevitable.
“Fine!” Logan did his mysterious thing with the lock and the door sprang open, revealing a dishevelled Hana sitting on the toilet seat. Her auburn hair hung from its clip like a curtain and her makeup had defected to her chin.
“Go away!” Hana insisted. “I can’t come out because I look a mess. Leave me; I’ll climb through the window.”
Logan snorted and squatted next to her. He rested his forearm on her thigh for balance. “I told her off,” he said. “She was out of line.”
Hana shook her head. “The wiggling and flirting reminded me of Sylvia. She pulled out all the stops to get to you and if Jack hadn’t killed her, she’d have succeeded.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her cardigan.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Logan said, his voice controlled. “It takes two and I wasn’t interested in Sylvia any more than I’m attracted to the waitress.”
“Tell her that, then!” Hana raised her voice and Logan dried her tears on the neatly creased handkerchief from his breast pocket.
“I did, but you walked away just as I opened my mouth. She apologised.”
Hana grunted and blew her nose into the handkerchief. Logan’s eyes smiled up at her, making her feel even more of a fool. “Stop looking at me,” she bit and then hiccoughed, ruining the illusion of anger.
“I can’t.” He reached up and touched her cheek, smoothing away damp tears. “You’re beautiful and you’re mine,” he soothed. “I want no one else, only you.”
“I bet everyone out there thinks I’m an idiot now,” Hana sniffed, regretting her dramatic exit.
“Nobody knows,” Logan replied. “I told her to stop being inappropriate and she scuttled away after apologising. I’ll phone Alex tomorrow.”
“Does she know you own the restaurant? Is that why she did it?” Hana asked, mopping her eyes.
“Part own and no, I don’t think she knows.”
“That means she’ll do it to any good looking customer,” Hana sighed. “Ugly wives won’t dine here anymore.”
Logan snorted with laughter. “You’re not ugly, Hana! But yes, it’s a fair point and I’ll sort it out.” He smoothed tears from underneath her eyes again, his expression attentive. “Come out and eat. It’s going cold.”
“No thanks.” Hana shook her head. “I’m not hungry anymore. I want to go home to Mātakitaki and my children.”
“Okay.” Logan stood and held out his hand. “You sneak out the front and I’ll pay.”
Hana stood and pulled her dress straight, self-consciousness robbing her last vestiges of dignity. “Sorry,” she said, her voice subdued.
“It’s fine.” Logan cradled her face in his palms and kissed her salty lips. “Jealous wahine are the hottest.” His eyes glinted with mischief and he covered Hana’s lips with his to still the next question. “No, I didn’t pay her to do it either.”
Logan fished the ute keys from his inside pocket and Hana took them with a last wipe of her nose on the handkerchief. He kissed her nose and strode from the bathroom, ducking to avoid banging his head on the lintel. Hana ventured to the mirror and examined her ruined attempt at finesse, the eyeshadow long gone and a streak of red lipstick smeared across her cheek. “You’re a worry, Hana Du Rose,” she sighed, dabbing at it with Logan’s handkerchief. “The whole township will know about this by tomorrow.” She pondered on imaginary headlines and sighed, hating the small-town-goldfish-bowl mentality of the community surrounding the foot of Logan’s mountain. Hana leaned over the hand basin and stared at her reflection. “Maybe a break from here would be good,” she mused. “Just a little one.”