‘Mum, do you want me to come in with you?’ Serena looked through the shop window at baskets filled with wool, quilting packs, and assorted craft items, and decided her mother would be well occupied while she popped into the courthouse.
‘I’ll be fine. I might go for a walk up the street after I’ve had a browse so text me when you’re done.’
Dawn had loved long walks before her treatment, and this was the first time since chemo began that she had been interested and energetic enough to even contemplate the activity. In the midst of her personal dilemma about Paul, this progress in her mother’s recovery made Serena want to skip and jump in circles around Dawn. She settled for a hug and a bright smile. ‘Okay. Don’t buy up the whole shop.’
Leaving her mother to lose herself in the neat displays of the craft store, she strolled past the bakery. Shar was sticky-taping a discount flyer for the newly opened craft shop to the inside of the bakery window. Serena smiled and gave Shar a quick wave before she turned and crossed the street.
Head down against the chilly wind gusts, she made a small leap onto the kerb and crashed into a broad, dark-jacketed chest. Her gaze flew up and landed on a stubbled chin and a familiar pair of brown eyes. And a pair of lips she knew the taste of only too well.
Paul caught her elbows as she bounced off him.
Unprepared for the sight of him, or the heat of his hand burning through her leather jacket, she teetered in her high-heeled boots. Slowly, her chilled hands warmed and, with a start, she realised she had grabbed a fistful of plaid shirt beneath his open jacket and was plastered against Paul’s chest.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.’ Releasing her grip by sheer will, she flattened her hands on his chest and pushed gently. What she really wanted was to pull him closer.
But even though her mother was certain neither Carey twin was her father, Frankston was still in the picture.
Her throat closed on the enormity of that obstacle.
As though he sensed the enemy lurking beneath her skin, Paul dropped her elbows and took a step backwards. ‘And there was me thinking you were looking for any excuse to—ah, no worries.’ He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded towards the craft store. ‘Have you been checking out Callie’s new shop?’
‘Not yet. I left Mum there browsing while I went to—she loves crafty things. She says it relaxes her.’ Talking with Paul about her search for her father was firmly in the box of taboo subjects, for so many reasons. It hurt to think how much she had longed to know her father, how much she had wanted a brother or sister when she was little. All those be careful what you wish for talks she’d shared with her mother had come back to bite her.
‘Great. That’s great.’ He flicked a look at his watch. ‘Sorry I can’t stay. Appointment—late—gotta go.’ Dark eyes lingered a moment on her face. She fancied she saw regret before he turned and strode away.
She watched him all the way down the side street, hoping he’d look back, praying he wouldn’t. They weren’t family, but maybe they couldn’t even be friends. Not if Frankston proved to be her father. It was silly, unrealistic, and yet everything in her ached for her loss.
Paul wasn’t hers.
Cursing fate did no good, but suddenly she couldn’t handle dealing with the clerk in the courthouse. Well meaning as she had been, the woman would ask questions Serena didn’t feel like answering today.
A glance into the craft shop showed her mother engaged in conversation with a woman around her own age.
Tipping her head back and peering at windswept clouds, Serena knew she’d be poor company. Better to leave her mother talking colours and yarns or whatever had the two women engrossed, and take herself off somewhere quiet.
A blue and white sign below the street name pointed the way to the library. Losing herself in a dark thriller to match her mood seemed a good option.
Dawn waved to Serena from the footpath outside the cafe, and she pulled into a nearby parking spot.
Her mother climbed in and rested a large brown paper bag on her lap before leaning over to pull her door closed. ‘Sorry it’s so late, darling. I met the nicest woman in the craft shop and she’s invited me to meet her for coffee one day soon. Then I decided I’d wander up here for a coffee anyway.’
‘No worries, Mum. Did you have a nice afternoon?’ Serena checked her mirrors and slowly pulled away from the kerb.
‘I did.’ The paper bag crinkled as she adjusted it on her lap.
‘I can see that. Did you leave her with any stock?’
‘Be nice or I won’t knit this up into a new jumper for you. Look at this yarn.’
Serena glanced at the ball of wool in her mother’s hand. Gold thread ran through wool the colour of lapis lazuli. She reached over and rubbed the yarn between two fingers, while keeping her eyes on the road. ‘It’s soft. I expected it to feel rough with that gold thread.’
‘I can see it made up already, an off-the-shoulder style done on big needles.’
Trust her mother to find the perfect antidote for her blues. Bonding over clothing and creative crafts had got them through her adolescence, and was still an effective mood-changer. ‘Over white denim jeans and a cami top. I might have to call in and check out the stock in the craft shop too.’
‘There’s nothing like a little retail therapy to brighten the day.’
Serena turned off the main road and slowed as she approached the driveway of the B & B. ‘I’ve been thinking about the collection I designed for the cotton festival and trying to work out a way to market it that might highlight the plight of the cotton farmers and mill workers.’
‘Have you come up with any ideas?’
‘Maybe. If Max would speak to his chief about it, we might get some interest and a story out of the economic and community angles.’
‘Something along the lines of, if we don’t support our cotton growers we’ll lose Australia’s cotton industry? I like it.’
‘I’m gambling on the fact Max is investigating the closure and looking into the owner’s affairs for his article to spark a side story.’ Serena parked the car and carried her mother’s shopping and oversized handbag into the house.
Trish greeted them as they closed the front door and pointed at the paper bag. ‘What did you find?’
Dawn set the paper bag on the kitchen table, pulled out a ball of wool and settled in for a chat. ‘The perfect colour to knit a top for Serena.’
‘It’s lovely. Against your skin and red hair, it will be stunning. Cup of tea? I put the kettle on when I saw the car turn into the driveway.’ Trish selected three cups and saucers from her prized Royal Albert tea set and placed them on a lacy table runner.
‘Tea would be lovely, thanks. I love arts and crafts and after seeing that shop today, and the stall at the picnic, I’d like to visit the commune and see what else they are making. What do you think, Trish?’
‘Hmm, you should talk to Amber when you visit the commune. I’ll give her a call to tee up a visit if you like.’
‘That would be lovely, thanks. Serena, do you remember the stalls at the picnic?’
Serena had zoned out of the conversation, but her mother wouldn’t let her stay in the doldrums. She sat up and reached for one of the biscuits Trish had set out. ‘One of them had those scarves you draped me in, didn’t it?’
‘Yes. Delightful woman from the commune looking after it. Anyway, I’d like to see what else they produce. Fancy a drive out there later this week?’
‘Sure. I’m keen to have a look at the commune too. By the way, did you know Sean Flynn lives there?’
Her mother turned away and busied herself with unpacking her purchases. ‘Is that right?’
From the depths of her unhappiness, Serena realised two things: her mother, who never blushed, had pink cheeks, and had failed to follow up a juicy conversational opening. It seemed the MC from the picnic had piqued her interest.
Trish filled three rose-patterned cups with tea, and set milk and sugar in the middle of the table. ‘Sean makes beautiful furniture out of sustainable wood and fallen trees. People all over the country have bought his creations. You really should visit his workshop while you’re there. Watching him work is a treat, and that’s not just because of what he produces.’
Dawn sputtered and set her teacup on its saucer. ‘Now I really must check out the woodworker. His jacket was so long and baggy on Saturday, I couldn’t tell from the rear view.’
‘Mum! Are you two seriously talking about checking out his butt?’ Serena stirred sugar into her tea. She might be excused for not having immediately cottoned on to what Trish had said. Meeting Paul so soon after the discussion about her father had been unnerving and a headache throbbed behind her eyes.
‘What’s the matter, darling? Are you surprised that we’re talking about it, or that we’re still interested at our advanced age?’ Dabbing the corners of her mouth, Dawn caught Serena’s eye and winked. ‘You’re never too old to enjoy the goods.’
Both older women burst into shared laughter, and Serena gave rein to her mirth. But in the back of her mind, she knew which male would command her attention, no matter how old she was.