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The café was its usual level of early-morning busy, and I kept my head down and made coffee. Either Dean didn’t call in for his regular flat white, or he timed it for when I was working on another task. I was glad. Confused didn’t begin to describe how I felt. Confusion mingled with disappointment and a side-shot of anger, and if I let it fester, it would make an unhealthy cocktail.
When the rush dwindled to the occasional customer, I grabbed ten minutes for a break. A large mirror sat in the courtyard, making the small space look larger, and I gazed at my reflection—at the blue-eyed blonde staring back at me. Was this what stupid looked like? Was that how guys saw me? My chest ached at the idea that was how Dean thought of me.
“Hey.” Lou stepped to my side and slung an arm around my waist. “We’re twins.”
Lou was taller than me and curvy, her skin olive to my pale. Her dark hair couldn’t be more different than mine. It was cropped all over, with the tips dyed bright red, and the punk-rock cut suited her elfin face.
Despite my mood, I couldn’t help snorting with laughter. “How d’you figure that?”
“We’re both gorgeous.” She blew a kiss at our images. “Have you ever thought about getting inked? One of my cousins has a tattoo parlour. He’s done all mine.”
Lou wore her ink as easily as she carried her vivid hairstyle. Jungle leaves disappeared down the back of her neck, and foreign symbols trailed up the inside of her left forearm.
“How many do you have?” I asked.
“Lots. There are more on my back. Look.” She turned away from me, unfastened her apron, and then tugged up her T-shirt. Her back was a work of art. From her neck down to the top of her denim skirt, tiger cubs peeked out from behind palms, while birds flew in a blue sky, and splashes from a waterfall looked so realistic I wanted to wipe the droplets away.
I was speechless. “Wow,” I managed to say. “That’s...” I groped for a word.
“Bright?” Lou asked.
“Stunning. How long did it take to do?”
She laughed, rearranged her clothes, and retied the apron strings. “It took months. The best part of a year. Well over a hundred hours.”
I gazed at her. “It’s so beautiful, but you have it covered up all day.”
“Eh, I let it out sometimes. You know.” She winked, but there was a wistful note in her voice. “Not been much of that lately; I’m still in that dry spell.”
Lou was the perfect person to ask. “I want to change the way I look, but I’m on a tight budget. Do you have any ideas?”
Her eyes widened, and her smile resurfaced. “What are you thinking of?”
I touched my hair. “This. I’d like to be a brunette, and maybe have it cut it shorter, too.”
“Leave it to me.”
All day I wavered about seeing Dean and helping choose a place for him to live. He didn’t need me for that. He was a grownup and could make his own decisions, but he’d asked me to go with him. I’d no idea when this would be, and since we hadn’t swapped phone numbers, I couldn’t even check with him. He said he was working days, but that was all I knew.
I was pleased when Jacques called me to the café phone to take a call and it was Dean.
“Hey,” Dean said, his voice warm. “You okay if I pick you up seven-ish tonight? I’ve got three places lined up to look at. And maybe gimme your cellphone number in case I’m running late?”
“That’s fine.” I rattled off my number, and he read it back to me. “See you later,” I said, and forced myself to hang up before any further conversation could emerge.
My phone pinged with a text. Already? I tugged it from my back pocket.
Checking that this is the right number for the consignment of floggers and nipple clamps?
What the holy fuck? It pinged again immediately.
Only joking. Wanted to make you smile. See you around 7. Dean
It was hard to be angry with him when he was in a playful mood, and I debated what to reply.
Two non-funny, rapidly deleted messages later, I finally hit the right words.
Who is this? You’ve reached the Peka Peka Baptist Church.
I left it a moment, and then sent a follow up.
Only joking. Seven is fine. See you later, Steph
*
I hurried through my evening routine of feeding King, walking him on the beach, and doing my sand art, and we were back at my place by six-thirty. Enough time to shower and change into clean jeans and a fresh, lace-edged shirt. I wanted to look respectable but nice. Did I want to impress Dean and his current landlord? No. I wanted the opportunity to wear pretty clothes.
After apologising to King for locking him into my kitchen, I went downstairs and into the courtyard, as an unfamiliar pickup truck rolled to a halt by the gate. It was Dean and another guy I recognised from the café.
Dean got out and came to hold the gate open for me. “Hey,” he said, a friendly smile on his face. “This is Sam, my landlord. He’s driving, since he knows where we’re going.”
Sam waved from behind the wheel. “Hi, Steph.” He was always polite when I served him, and he usually took the time to chat with Lou or Jacques. There was no reason to feel shy with him, apart from one. How had Dean described our non-relationship? Did Sam assume I was Dean’s girlfriend?
When Dean walked me to the vehicle, his palm nestling in the small of my back, it would be impossible for Sam to draw any other conclusion.
I climbed into the back seat and fastened my safety belt, while Dean settled himself in the front. He turned around to speak to me. “I was telling Sam about your gallery opening. Did you do your art tonight?”
“Yeah, I did. Thanks.” I cast around for a change of subject. “How many places are we looking at tonight?”
“Three,” said Sam. “And the first one is around the corner. Hardly worth driving, except we need to, for the others.”
The first was a small, cutesy cottage, one street back from the beach, and set at the top of an incline. A gravel path lined with scented roses led to the front door. “The owners are in Europe for the next six months,” said Sam, “and they’d love a short-term tenant to keep the place occupied.” He quoted a weekly rental figure that sounded reasonable. “It’s a double-bedroom and has decent floor space and a good deck at the back.”
The deck had a view of the sea and opened onto a sprawling area of grass. The lounge had long windows on two sides and was light and airy. I liked it.
“What do you think?” I asked Dean.
He stood on the deck, hands in his pockets, gaze focused in the distance. “Yeah. It’s good. How about you?”
Why did he want my opinion? Did he want a female perspective, in case he brought Belle here? I shut down that trail of thought. I couldn’t afford to be jealous on top of everything else. “It’s pretty.”
He looked directly at me, a smile teasing at his lips. “Yeah.”
I stepped closer. “Why am I here? Why do you need my opinion?”
“Maybe I like seeing the world through your eyes for a change?” His voice was soft.
“Ahem.” Sam joined us. “If you’re ready for the next one, let’s go.”
The second house was a converted barn in the garden of a large, old villa, where the owner lived. Melinda was a smart-looking middle-aged woman, whose eyes lit up when she saw Dean. She ignored me.
“If you decide to take it,” she gushed, “you won’t need to do any cooking. You can have your meals with me. It gets lonely in such a big place, all on my own.”
I sensed, rather than saw Dean’s alarm at her enthusiasm for his company, and mischief stirred inside me. “That’d be a good idea. You said you hate cooking.”
“I’m sure I didn’t,” he said.
“Let me show you the garage. There’s plenty of space for whatever you want to store.” She took hold of Dean’s arm and led him away.
I coughed to hide my laughter, and found Sam gazing at me. “She’ll eat him alive, won’t she?” I asked.
He nodded. “There’s a good possibility. I thought of this one because Melinda prefers short-term tenants.”
“That’s probably how long it takes her to chew them to a husk and spit out the remains.”
Sam grinned, and his face lit up. “Let’s go rescue him.”
Dean was making his way back to us, a look of relief on his face when Sam asked if he was ready to go to the next house.
The last one was a larger house on the other side of the village. It was modern and functional, but plain inside—grey walls and tan carpets, matched with black curtains. Neutral and dull as fuck. This one had just been refurbished and didn’t have a new long-term tenant yet.
Dean looked around but kept glancing at me, as though gauging my thoughts. We didn’t say much.
Back in Sam’s truck, Dean twisted in his seat to look at me. “Well? Do you like any of them?”
I shrugged. I liked the first one, but it had nothing to do with me which—if any—he chose.
“The cottage we saw first,” said Dean, his gaze fixed on me. “I like that one. What about you, Steph?”
“It was my favourite. Although I thought Melinda had... umm... potential too.”
“Fuck that.” Dean was firm. “I’ll take the first one. How soon can I move in?”
While they worked out the rent details and the moving date, I tuned out and gazed at the twilight beyond the window. I could imagine living in that little cottage, picking roses to put in a bowl for the table and watching the sun set from the deck.
Was that Dean’s plan? To put that idea in my head? He’d said we’d be friends, but it looked as though he was having as much difficulty with that concept as I was.