Chapter Five

Cora woke the next morning, her back tight from sleeping at an awkward angle. Trent had advised it would be best to give Liv’s room another day or two to fully dry out, since he was concerned about her breathing in anything harmful before the post-flooding treatment process was complete. He’d offered her the spare bed—aka the one he’d been sleeping in the past few days—but she’d refused.

Frankly, she was having a hard enough time keeping her eyes off Trent without sleeping in a bed with sheets that probably smelled like hot Aussie man. The comfy blue couch seemed like a much safer option. A much smarter option. Especially considering she’d already given so much away about herself—talking about her family’s brow-raising quirks and sharing the story of her tattoo.

Like someone as charming as him gave a crap about metamorphosis.

Cora scrubbed a hand over her face. She’d probably sounded like a total weirdo. For all her mother’s efforts to turn her into the perfect young lady of society, she was still a little too thoughtful and a little too strange and a little too introverted for her own good sometimes. She looked at the tattoo, peeking out from the hem of her sleep shorts. She’d drawn the original design herself, keeping it simple and stark with the crisp black lines and minimal shading.

At the time she’d been desperate for change—stuck in a toxic battle of wills with her mother, failing her classes, struggling to get out of bed in the mornings with dread weighing her limbs down. She’d numbed it all for a while, going out for cocktails with her friends most nights of the week and ordering mimosas at brunch every weekend. It was surprisingly easy to make the excessive drinking socially acceptable. Because she wasn’t keeping a bottle of Johnnie Walker in her purse or necking something covered in a paper bag.

Her drinks were ordered at classy bars. She rotated her friends so nobody knew exactly how often she was out, downing martinis like water. She’d headed home nightly, teetering on her heels with a glassy look in her eyes, and covered it all with concealer the next morning.

Thankfully, that time hadn’t lasted long, and Cora had gotten herself out of that hole before things got too bad. But she remembered the day she’d trekked out to Brooklyn to get her tattoo, palms sweaty while she gnawed on the inside of her lip. Only the scratch of the needle had been a welcome blessing, the pain reminding her that she had the capacity to feel. To take charge of her life.

She traced the design with her fingertip. The image reminded her that she wasn’t done growing yet, that she could always do something to push herself in the right direction. That it wasn’t too late.

And life had gone better after that…until it hadn’t.

A clatter in the kitchen startled Cora out of her reverie. The noise was followed by a muffled curse, and she shifted on the couch to look out across the room. From her vantage point, she could see Trent reaching into the cupboard above the coffee maker, his strong, lean body on full display. A pair of shorts rode low on his hips, and he was topless. The muscles in his back and shoulders worked as he pulled a bag of ground coffee down from the top shelf.

The man was magnificent. Top shelf, A-plus, and gold stars all around. Not to mention that he seemed to spend more time with his top off than on.

No complaints here.

The fact that she was looking at Trent with hunger stoking a small fire in her belly was progress. Not that she was going to do anything about it, mind you. One, she wasn’t taking advantage of her friend’s generosity only to screw her brother. Literally. Two, the whole point of this trip was to find some direction for her novel…and that did not involve getting distracted by feelings of lust.

“Want a coffee?”

Trent’s voice startled Cora so much that she yelped and almost fell off the couch. Snatching the blanket up over her chest—like that would make a difference—she cringed as her cheeks filled with heat. How did he know she was awake? Had he caught her staring at him like he was a hot fudge sundae with extra whipped cream?

“There’s a mirror on the wall.” Trent pointed to a circular, decorative mirror that was framed in a gold sun-like design. “I could see that you were awake. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.” She pushed up into a sitting position and released the blanket. “And I would love a coffee, thanks.”

Oh God, he had been able to see that she was staring. How embarrassing. Cora’s track record with men wasn’t the greatest. In fact, if she were to write an autobiography centered on her love life, it could be called How to End a Date Early for All the Wrong Reasons.

Which was exactly why she’d been thrilled to find a guy who “got” her—being in a relationship meant she no longer had to suffer through awkward first meetings and fumbled kisses and that sinking, disappointed feeling she got when it was clear that a limp cucumber had more chemistry than her date.

“What’s the plan for today?” she asked, folding the blanket and setting it neatly on the couch.

“I’ve got a mate coming around this morning to help me fix the plumbing and check on the water damage. Then I figured we should get to work on trying to put this bloody scrapbook back together.” He shook his head. “I’ll never understand why Liv couldn’t get them a voucher to a nice restaurant. Or buy them a plant or something. She turns everything into a fanfare.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Cora headed into the little open-concept kitchen where Trent was making the coffee. He placed one steaming mug in front of her along with a carton of milk and a bowl of sugar with a small, gold spoon sticking out of it. “She clearly put a lot of effort into it.”

“A lot of effort that we will have to replicate.”

Cora smiled at his use of “we.” It felt like they were a team in this, despite their dramatic first introduction. And being on someone’s team wasn’t a feeling she’d had in a really long time. “So you weren’t big on arts and crafts as a kid?”

“Uh no, that was strictly Liv and Mum’s hobby. My brother Jace is a comic book artist, so I guess we could put him in that category, too. Well, minus the glue guns and shit. But the rest of us boys were firmly in the sports and outdoor activities camp.” He dumped some milk into his coffee and waded a spoon through it. “Footy, cricket, tennis, surfing. If there was a competition attached—we’d play it.”

“Sounds like that would take the whole sibling rivalry thing to the next level.”

Trent laughed. “Yeah, you could definitely say that. You’ll see it in action, anyway. Nick is on our cricket team and Adam fills in sometimes if we’re down a player.”

“I really don’t think my being on your team is a good idea.” Cora sipped her coffee and tried not to stare at Trent’s half-naked form. The man was literally physical perfection. And, as someone who had great appreciation for the written word, she didn’t use that particular one lightly. “I can promise you the only time I would ever hit a ball would be in self-defense, and only then because the planets aligned and I made contact out of sheer coincidence.”

Trent shook his head. “You can’t be that bad.”

“Trust me, if I’m a bad person and I go to hell…it’ll be some kind of batting practice.” She shuddered at the thought. “Growing up, I was that kid with a nose in my book at all times.”

Well, when her mother wasn’t berating her for being “antisocial.”

“It doesn’t matter—we’re competitive, but we’re not sore losers. Besides, the biggest thing at stake is a round of beers afterward.” Trent took a long sip of his coffee. “It’s a social thing, and it doesn’t matter if you’re any good. That’s not the point of it.”

As much as she knew she’d be awful, the thought of spending more time with Trent wasn’t exactly unappealing, to say the least. Like his sister, he was friendly and down-to-earth. A veritable antidote for the snobby people she’d grown up with, for whom judgment and ridicule were their sports of choice.

“How novel to do something for the fun of it,” she said, a bitter tone lacing her words. But then she shook her head, determined not to let her baggage cast a shadow over her time in Australia. “Anyway, if you accept my total lack of skills, then I look forward to footing the bill for beers afterward.”

Trent eyed her. Clearly he hadn’t missed her little comment—just another thing she’d shown him about herself, and which she should have kept locked away.

A knock at the front door interrupted the conversation, and Cora took the opportunity to duck into Liv’s bedroom and change out of her pajamas. If Trent was working on the plumbing, then she’d park herself outside and spend a little time with her manuscript. At least that way she could work on her tan at the same time—multitasking for the win!

She gathered up her laptop and the printout of the feedback letter her father had written for her, on which she’d scrawled a bunch of notes. Trent was talking to another man—a guy with dark hair, a beard, and a full sleeve of tattoos down one arm.

“Cora, this is Hale. He’s our local plumber extraordinaire.” Trent grinned. “And Cora is a friend of Liv’s. They’re house swapping at the moment.”

“I’m also the source of the water damage,” she said, sticking her hand out. Hale clamped his big bear paw of a hand around hers and gave her a firm handshake. He had mischievous brown eyes that crinkled good-naturedly when he smiled.

“Uh no, that blame lies entirely with this clown here for not turning off the mains.” He jerked his head toward Trent. “Now, if you’d gotten a real plumber to do the job—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Trent rolled his eyes. “Enough with the self-promotion.”

“Just saying.” Hale held up his hands. “If I were here, there wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“If you hadn’t moved your noisy girlfriend into our house, I wouldn’t even have been here to start work on the plumbing yet.”

Ah, so Hale was the former roommate. To Cora’s surprise, the big man blushed. “Well yes, you know…honeymoon period and all that.”

“I’m joking. You know I think Aimee is great. I haven’t seen you this happy in years,” Trent said with a wink. “I won’t hold the screaming against either one of you.”

Hale shot him a look that said if his friend didn’t shut up, he was likely to be made to shut up. “I’d say we’re square now, seeing as you don’t seem to own any shirts.”

Cora clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.

Hale nudged Trent with his elbow, clearly encouraged by her reaction. “Seriously. If this guy walked around with his shirt off any more, they’d start giving him Matthew McConaughey’s movie parts.”

“Couldn’t come up with a more recent example than that?” Trent laughed.

“What about Channing Tatum?” Cora supplied. She could very easily see Trent giving it some Magic Mike action. Rolling hips and rippling abs and that sexy, panty-melting wink.

Ma’am, you need to keep your hormones under control.

“Oh, definitely,” Hale said. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Cora. I hope you’re enjoying our little slice of paradise down here in Patterson’s Bluff.”

“I landed yesterday, so I haven’t seen too much. But from what I can tell so far, I think I’m going to love it here.”

“Ah well, good thing you’ve got the town charmer to show you around.”

Cora raised an eyebrow. “Town charmer?”

Now it was Trent’s turn to shoot his friend a look. “Hale’s jealous I was more popular in high school.”

Hale snorted. “Yeah right. And you didn’t even finish high school, so I never got the chance to catch you.”

Something flashed across Trent’s face—so quick and so fleeting, Cora wondered if she’d imagined it. But then he raked his hand through his hair and winked at Cora. “Better to quit when you know there’re better things out there, right?”

Hmm. Wasn’t that what her ex had said to her? They were from different types of families and no amount of trying was going to change that, so it was better to quit and find a better match. That had cut to the bone. She’d tried so hard to be his best match.

“Anyway, I’m not paying you to stand around talking shit,” Trent said, slapping a hand down on Hale’s back.

“I wasn’t aware you were paying me at all,” his friend ribbed back. “But yes, let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got a job at twelve that’s been rescheduled twice already, so I have to be on time.”

“Yell out if you need anything, okay?” Trent smiled at Cora, and it sent a shiver all the way down her spine. When he looked at her, there was an intensity to his gaze—like he saw something more than she wanted him to.

Maybe that’s why they call him the town charmer. He makes everyone feel seen.

But no matter how good it felt to have a man’s attention burning her up, she couldn’t get used to that feeling. Cora knew how quickly a fire could burn out—she’d been dumped by every single guy she’d ever dated. Every. Single. One.

Maybe it was time to stop trying.

Cora headed outside to where a deck overlooked the backyard. A table sat with two wicker chairs, lovingly decorated with blue-and-white-striped cushions. The backyard seemed to go on forever, with huge trees on all sides leading into dense bushland. Maybe she’d take a walk later, get in touch with nature. And Central Park, gorgeous as it was, didn’t have the same peaceful vibe, what with all the tourists and street performers.

Cora settled down on one of the chairs and looked at the printout of the rejection letter her father had given her, telling her all the ways her manuscript sucked. It stung, of course. But her father only pushed her so that she would be better. He wasn’t like her mother, burning down every one of Cora’s dreams in order to make her fit some fictional fantasy daughter mold. Her father had a good eye, and she would do everything in her power to make this book good enough that he would take her on as a client of the agency.

Cora, I finished your novel last night. I know you worked very hard on this and I can see you really want to do well. I love you, sweetheart, and it pains me to tell you this book isn’t publishable. For starters, a character with such insecurities about her own worth is unsympathetic. People want to be inspired. They don’t want to read about a woman who is so desperate to be loved that she has no idea who she is. That woman isn’t a heroine.

For some reason, that last sentence made tears prick the backs of Cora’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She could do better with her story. She could make her heroine stronger and more resilient. More confident. She could wow her father. Make him proud.

Make him believe in her.

And that was a way better thing for her to focus on, instead of how Trent’s lingering gaze made her feel more alive than she had in months.