April tried to take a nap, but despite fatigue from the early morning, her mind wouldn’t switch off. Housework helped. She vacuumed floors, scrubbed the shower, cleaned the kitchen, then collapsed on the couch and watched the last half of an old movie on TV before her eyes drooped closed.
She shot up when she awoke and turned her wrist to look at her watch. ‘Crap!’ It was late afternoon. April went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. When she was ready, she stepped in and moved the shower stool aside. She stood one-legged on the slip-proof mat, under the warm stream, aware of how good her balance was these days. If she’d tried to shower this way before the accident her leg would have become fatigued by now, but her right calf muscle was hard and strong. She swivelled on her toes to wash her back, and when she’d finished, sat for a few brief moments on the stool to rest her muscles. Putting her prosthesis back on was a welcome relief. When it had first been made for her, it had, strangely, felt like a burden. Something needed, and gratefully accepted, but also a reminder of her limitations. Learning to use it had been like trying to switch to using her left hand instead of right. Except worse. There had been the constant fear of falling, which still affected her sometimes, but hardly ever anymore. At first, as a new recipient of helpful modern technology, she’d spent hours staring at it like it was some stranger intruding on her personal space. And that had made her feel silly. She wasn’t sure how long it had taken before she’d felt like it had become part of her; her friend, her guide, her helper. But eventually it had.
April changed into a long slinky black skirt, and a slim-fitting V-neck top with three-quarter sleeves: purple with a black trim. When her hair was dry and make-up applied, she fed Romeo and locked her house, making her way to Zac’s with a small bag, and a bottle of wine that luckily she’d had in the fridge. Or maybe she should have asked if he wanted her to bring dessert. Anyway, she could always pop back home if they needed anything else, though if he hardly ever left the house he was probably well stocked with everything they would need.
His front door was wide open. Soft, earthy, instrumental music greeted her. ‘C’mon in,’ he called out from the kitchen.
She stepped inside and instinctively glanced at the candle and photos on his mantle. The candle flame flickered and emitted the warm, cinnamon fragrance.
The scent of garlic and herbs also filled the house, as Zac opened the oven door and turned over the chicken pieces.
‘What’s cookin’?’ she asked.
‘Don’t you mean what’s cookin’, good lookin’?’
‘Nice try. So does it have a name?’
‘Nope. But let’s call it Wednesday Chicken.’
‘Sounds irresistible.’ She chuckled.
‘Would you like to name it then?’
‘I’ll need to eat it first before knowing what to call it.’
‘Then I’ll eagerly await your input.’
They continued their conversation like a tennis match until Zac washed his hands and finally met her gaze, then it dropped to the bottle in her hand.
‘Oh, here. I didn’t want to come empty-handed so this was all I had at home. Unless you have something else?’ She held up the bottle of red.
‘Um, I have homemade lemon, lime, and bitters, I’ll just have that. But feel free to have the wine yourself.’ He slid his hands into his pockets then removed them and twisted to face the high cupboards. ‘Oh, I’ll get you a glass.’
‘That’s okay, I’ll have what you’re having.’
‘You sure? It’s up to you.’
‘Yep. I’ll just put this over here.’ She moved the wine to the corner of the kitchen counter near the knife block. ‘Creative in the kitchen, huh?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘If there’s something I want, I’ll make it. You cook?’
‘Yeah, but I’m not that great. So it’s probably good you didn’t come over.’
‘It’s not that hard. Find instructions online—easy.’
‘Somebody’s confident.’
He shrugged again. ‘I like to look after my health, it’s easier to do that if you’re self-sufficient.’
‘So tonight’s meal could be called Healthy Wednesday Chicken.’
He smiled. ‘It could. It’s an improvement. But I’ll be expecting something more creative from you after dinner.’
‘Good thing I’m not drinking the wine then, otherwise I might call it something ridiculous like Healthy What Day Is It Chicken.’
‘Ha!’ Zac’s laugh was natural, but he scratched his head awkwardly. Was he just being polite and pretending my humour was humorous? ‘Oh.’ He walked to the mantle and picked up the candle. ‘Should put this over here.’ He placed it in the middle of the round, rustic wooden dining table.
‘You’ve unpacked a bit more, I see,’ April said, eyeing the combined living and dining room. There were now books on the bookshelves that had been empty when she’d been here earlier. She scanned the titles but didn’t recognise any of them.
‘It’s becoming more like a home, bit by bit.’
April peered closer at the books. ‘Novels or nonfiction?’
‘Nonfiction, mostly. They’ve helped me a lot. You read?’
April scratched her arm. ‘Ahh, my reading is on par with my cooking. I mean, I can read of course, I just forget. Or my mind keeps me occupied with other things. Or I read Facebook. But, oh! A friend gave me a book recently, so I’ve been reading some of that.’ She was three-quarters of the way through the book that was as much about the rugged masculinity of the hero as it was about the rugged country landscape. Fine with her.
‘Oh yeah? What’s it about?’
April diverted her gaze as she recalled the shirtless man on the cover. ‘Something about a guy who moves back to the country, to the place he grew up, and reunites with old friends and enemies.’
‘And?’
‘And … there’s like, arguments and stuff, and he has to help his adoptive dad run the farm, because he’s sick, but he’s keeping a secret from him, and there’s also this girl, I mean woman, who he meets and she has this food business, like she makes jams and stuff from local produce, but she has a secret too, and …’ And in chapter nineteen they finally get it on in her kitchen when she’s showing him how to make blueberry jam and he gets some on his face and she licks it off and …
‘Hang on, so is it the sick adoptive dad who has a secret or the guy who moved back home?’
‘The dad.’
‘What’s the secret?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Well, tell me when you find out.’
‘I will.’
‘Cool.’
April grinned. ‘Or you could just read it after me.’
‘But I like how you tell the story.’ He grinned too. ‘And let me guess, the guy and the girl hook up?’
‘Several times.’
He laughed. ‘Maybe I will read it then.’ Zac put two plates on the kitchen counter then some cutlery. ‘And you’ll have to read one of mine.’
Umm … She didn’t feel that inclined to read some New-Age self-help book, but what could she say? ‘I’m not a fan of self-help,’ she said. Of course, the truth. No filter needed.
‘Have you ever read any?’
‘No, but—’
‘Then how do you know you’re not a fan? And anyway, they’re not just self-help, there are books about spirituality, philosophy, poetry, and the science of the universe.’
‘Sounds riveting.’ Well, she would probably like the poetry, after today’s enlightening experience.
Zac went to the bookcase and extracted a book. ‘Here, start with this, it’s not too lengthy and you can read small amounts at a time.’
April took hold of the small book, The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran. ‘Is this really you and you’re hiding behind a pseudonym?’
He laughed again, this time more high-pitched as if she was being ridiculous. ‘Yes, and I time-travelled back to the early twentieth century just to write it.’ He opened the cover and pointed to the original publication date.
‘Ah. Okay, I can’t refuse a challenge. I will read it. On one condition.’ She lifted a pointed finger.
His eyebrows rose.
‘You visit my store one day.’ She held up her palm facing him as his posture shifted and his confident stance slackened. ‘I know, I remember what you told me today, and I know I don’t know anything about the agoraphobia or what you’ve been through, but I do know that you didn’t always have it, and that anyone can get through anything if they really want to, so I want you to promise that one day, even if it’s in a million years, that you’ll walk through the door of my store.’
‘Do I have to buy anything?’ he joked.
‘That’s optional.’ She shrugged.
‘Good. Because I’m not a fan of pushy sales people.’
‘So will you?’ April held the book near the bookcase. ‘Or should I put this book back and never become enlightened to its magical secrets that have helped you immensely?’ She raised her eyebrows at him the way she’d seen Olivia do to Mia when she wanted her daughter to obey.
He shook his head, not to say no, but as a show of his amusement. ‘How could I imagine going through life knowing that you never got to read that book? You’ve put me in an incredibly difficult situation here.’ He half-smiled. ‘So yes, one day, I promise, I will walk through the door to your store—well, not literally walk through the door, that would hurt—but I’ll visit your store, yes.’
April held out her right hand and he shook it. His large hand enveloped hers with a gentle firmness. ‘Deal.’ She placed the book next to her handbag on a lone bar stool that stood at the kitchen counter. ‘So can I do anything to help, with my awesome kitchen skills?’
Zac ushered her to the table and pulled out the wooden chair for her. ‘Hmm, how about you take a seat and I’ll get everything sorted.’
‘Works for me!’ She tapped her fingers on the table. ‘But seriously, if I can help with anything, I’m not really that bad.’
‘I’m sure you’re not, but there’s nothing else much to do, so sit back and relax.’ He took a bottle from the fridge and poured some of the liquid into two glasses. ‘There you go, one hundred percent natural ingredients, hope you like it.’
April sipped the lemon, lime and bitters as the ice cubes crackled and clanked together. ‘I like it. It could make a good candle flavour. I mean, fragrance. If lemon, lime and bitters could be a fragrance.’
‘I don’t see why not. Do you have many food or drink related candles?’ He leaned on the kitchen counter and sipped his drink, then swirled the glass around in small circles.
‘Sure do. Cinnamon, obviously,’ she eyed the candle centrepiece, ‘and chocolate, vanilla frosting, watermelon, even coffee.’
Zac nodded slowly. ‘Have you ever taken a bite out of one when you were hungry? Just to try it?’
She chuckled. ‘I’ve been tempted. Some of them smell so delicious it’s hard not to.’
‘I bet you don’t have a Healthy Wednesday Chicken candle though.’
‘Umm, I don’t think that would be a great seller. And I definitely need to improve on that name. Leave it with me.’ She tapped her temple.
‘Speaking of Healthy Wednesday Chicken …’ He placed his glass on the counter and grabbed an oven mitt, opened the oven door and pulled out a large baking dish, steam rising in curvy streams.
‘Actually, that smells really good. I think I would totally buy a candle that smelled like that,’ April remarked.
‘As long as I get commissions. Fifty percent.’
‘Of course.’
He placed the dish on top of the stove, and April took another sip of her drink. So far so good. The night had just begun, things were flowing well, and he didn’t irritate her the way he had before. The photos on the mantle caught her eye again, and she wondered about other people in his life. Did he have any?
‘Anzac Chicken?’ she blurted.
Zac half-smiled. ‘Are you going to randomly blurt out name ideas throughout the evening?’
‘Probably.’
He grinned. ‘Not bad, but I don’t think it would do the Anzacs justice. Unless we remove the An and make it Zac Chicken?’
‘Ha! Might as well call it Ego Chicken. Or, I’m Such A Damn Good Cook Chicken.’
‘Now you’re talking.’ He nodded and gave her a thumbs up.
He plated up the meals and carried them over, placing one in front of her. ‘Ooh, thank you. Looks yum.’
‘Dig in, neighbour.’
She sliced off a morsel of chicken breast and skewered it with zucchini, eggplant, and tomato. The tender chicken warmed her mouth, and a rich, enticing, slightly sweet flavour blended with the vegetables. ‘Very nice, Zac,’ she said. ‘I do give you permission to call it Zac Chicken.’
He swallowed a mouthful and shook his head, then said, ‘Nah, you can do better than that. Keep ‘em coming.’
‘I will. So what gives it this beautiful, rich flavour?’
‘I marinate it in caramelised balsamic vinegar with fresh herbs, garlic, and a few other secret ingredients.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want to bribe me for the recipe?’
She was about to take another mouthful but replied, ‘No, I’ll just invite myself over here whenever you make it.’
‘How about, for every book of mine you read, I’ll cook you dinner.’
April tilted her head. ‘How about every chapter I read?’
He tipped his head back in a chuckle. ‘Not gonna happen. Gotta make you work for it.’ He eyed her silently for a moment, and she thought he was going to say something like, ‘on second thoughts, sure, come over for dinner after every chapter you read!’ Which, if she read one every night, would mean she’d have dinner with him every night and never have to cook another day in her life. Now there was a good plan.
What was that look in his eye? It had only been there a brief moment then disappeared. Maybe she imagined it. Maybe the candlelight had just reflected off his irises and made them look … different.
‘So where were you before—’
‘You didn’t get to—’
They spoke at the same time.
‘You go,’ she said, flicking her hand towards him.
‘I was going to say, you didn’t finish telling me the story of how your store got its name, that day when you …’
Dropped the you-know-what in front of you.
‘Oh yes,’ she interjected, before he could embarrass her. ‘Well, since you’re being so hospitable, I guess I can tell you now.’ She took a sip of drink then cleared her throat. ‘Okay, so obviously, candles glow, right?’
He nodded.
‘And my name is April. So, April’s Glow! Ta-da!’
Zac blurted a one-shot laugh. ‘Yeah, I’m not buying it, neighbour. Tell me the real story.’
April put down her glass. ‘Am I that bad a liar?’
‘I’m just really good at reading people.’ He swirled his drink in front of his lips then took a sip.
A random thought flashed through her mind as she wondered what sort of people he’d had to read in his previous vocation. What kinds of people had he met, fought, and seen hurt or killed? The idea of war seemed so far removed from him, sitting here in his modest dining room, eating good food, and talking about such luxuries as candles and books. Her gaze dropped to the tattoo on his inner right wrist as he put down his glass.
‘What does that mean?’ She pointed to the Chinese symbol that looked like a fancy letter N or H.
‘Hey, don’t change the subject,’ he replied.
‘But it’ll only take you a second to tell me.’
‘If I tell you now, then you’ll ask me about my other tatts and explaining them all could take quite a long time.’ He crossed his arms in front of his plate. ‘So, April’s Glow. Spill.’
‘Okay, okay.’ As she began talking he uncrossed his arms and resumed eating. ‘Well, there is the reference to glowing candles, and my name, but the thing is, when I was a child, I had a skin condition called rosacea. It gave me these inflamed red patches on my face, around my cheeks, and I hated looking different to other kids.’ She took a quick mouthful of food then continued. ‘Anyway, to make me feel better, my mum used to tell me that I had red cheeks because there was so much love inside me that it was bursting to get out and be shared with everyone. She didn’t tell me it was called rosacea until I was older. Up until I found out she had always called it April’s Glow. She made it sound like a special thing.’ April smiled. ‘So once she told me that, I wore my red cheeks with pride. If anyone asked why they were so red I’d say: “It’s April’s Glow”. Some people would laugh and others would say “why don’t my cheeks glow?”.’
Zac gazed at her with interest as she patted her cheeks.
‘It eventually went away, as you can see my cheeks are perfectly normal now, except when—’
‘When you drop embarrassing items on my front doorstep.’
April paused with her fork in midair. ‘Um, yep.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘And they’re probably glowing a bit right now.’
Zac laughed. ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist.’
April shrugged. ‘Anyway, when I got the idea for the candle store, I thought how candles make people feel good, or, like you said, give people hope, and I was reminded of how my mother made me feel better about my condition. So the name seemed like the perfect fit.’ She rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together above her plate.
Zac nodded slowly. ‘Nice. I like it. Much better background story than me calling my dinner Wednesday Chicken simply because I made it on a Wednesday.’
‘Yeah, it’s always better for things to have a greater meaning. Speaking of which, what does your tattoo mean, huh?’ She leaned forward, pinning him with her determined stare.
He glanced at his wrist. ‘It’s the symbol for strength.’
‘Oh. See? Only took you a second to tell me.’
He stayed silent.
‘Unless, is there more to it? And why the wrist?’ Something told her that he wouldn’t be the type to get a tattoo just because it looked good or seemed like a cool idea; with his deep mind surely each would have significant meaning.
‘I told you what it means, now I get to ask you a question,’ he said.
April leaned back a little. ‘Okay, fair enough.’
‘Do you have a tattoo?’
April took a big breath. ‘I did. But sadly, my tattoo is no more.’
Zac looked confused for a moment; then, as she glanced down at her prosthesis he opened his mouth in realisation. ‘No way. Really?’
‘Yes way. Of all the places to get a tattoo and it just so happens to be on the part of me that I end up losing. Loved that tattoo too.’ Her smile disappeared.
‘Have you thought about getting it redone on your other leg?’
April’s eyes widened. ‘No. I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
She pushed back a clump of wavy hair from her face. ‘Because it wouldn’t feel right.’ She could feel her face warming up, even though she wasn’t embarrassed. ‘What if … It could …’
She stopped trying to form sentences when Zac’s hand covered hers. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.’
She looked at his hand on top of hers, and his forearm with its manly skin and light shading of hair, corded veins, and the shadows formed by his sculpted muscles. It was as beautiful and unique as the grainy wooden table that lay beneath their connected hands.
She looked back into his cinnamon-speckled green eyes. He knew. Somehow, he knew that she had the invalid fear that if she got another tattoo, the same fate might manifest for her remaining leg. But she didn’t want to talk about fears. Wouldn’t. He may be comfortable with getting in touch with his inner self and reading all those books and pouring his heart out into poetry, but she wasn’t. She was comfortable with living her day-to-day life, being out in the world, talking to people. But interestingly, he wasn’t. They were like opposites. Magnetically attracted to balance each other out. One thing they did have in common was the ability to ask direct and honest questions and think them perfectly valid and not at all confronting or inappropriate. But being on the receiving end of those questions … she wasn’t used to that. Zac challenged her. He was a mirror, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to look closely at the reflection.
Her hand flinched a little and he removed his. ‘I might get another tattoo one day, but not on the leg. And not the same one,’ she said.
‘Can I ask what it was?’
‘Seems silly, but it was a tattoo of my budgie that I had as a kid. My first and favourite pet. I took a photo in and the artist made a design from it, and did the tattoo in full colour. Budge, his name was.’
‘The bird or the tattoo artist?’
April laughed. ‘What do you think?’
Zac laughed too, lightening the mood.
‘So you still haven’t asked what happened to my leg,’ she mused.
‘Do you want me to?’
‘I don’t know. It’s usually the first thing most people ask me.’
‘I’m not most people.’
‘I’ve discovered that.’
They both took another mouthful of food, then a sip of drink, like they really were in a mirror.
‘Okay, so tell me, if you like, what happened?’ Zac asked.
‘Car accident.’ She filled him in on the details of the crash and how her fiancé had ended up paralysed. She didn’t fill him in on the details of her recovery, which was as much emotional as it was physical.
‘You’re a strong woman, April.’ He stood and refilled their drinks.
She lowered her gaze. ‘Maybe I should get a tattoo like yours.’ Why couldn’t she accept a compliment with a simple thanks? She was strong, had earned the compliment.
‘Something tells me you’d suit something a bit more “out there”,’ he said. ‘Maybe a butterfly, or hey, if you like some of the insight in the book, you could have one of the phrases tattooed.’
‘Skin poetry huh?’ She nodded. ‘Not a bad idea. Do you have any?’ Her eyes cast a subtle scan down the length of his body.
Was her subconscious using her interest in his tattoos to try to get him half naked?
He turned around and she thought he was going to take his shirt off, but he simply lifted the back of it up a little, exposing a sentence in cursive font tattooed on his lower back:
As my heart beats, so too does yours
‘Not really poetry, but close enough,’ he said.
‘It’s nice.’ The tattoo, and his skin. ‘And the reason for it?’ She resisted the urge to reach out and touch it. Touch him. His skin was like a warm fireplace, enticing her towards it.
‘To remind people that we’re all the same. We’re all in life together, no matter our differences.’
‘Huh.’ April kept her gaze on the tat, until his shirt dropped down over it and he returned to his chair. ‘I like that. So, you walk around shirtless quite a lot?’
He chuckled. ‘Used to, in summer anyway. But now I don’t do so much walking around, except in quiet places. Nature, secluded beaches, for example.’
April nodded. ‘Well, I feel privileged to have seen the tattoo that others are being deprived of.’
‘It’s nice to show it off for the first time in a long while.’ He smiled, then his hand moved to his wrist tattoo and he rubbed it a little. ‘Anyway, enough about tattoos, would you like second helpings of the Chicken With No Name?’
April took the last mouthful, then replied, ‘No thanks. It was delicious, but I’m full.’
Zac stood and picked up their plates. ‘Satisfying Chicken?’ he suggested, a curious crease in his brow.
‘Pathetic,’ she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. ‘You can do better than that. I mean, with the name. The chicken was far from pathetic!’
‘Nice save,’ he said. ‘I was about to throw you out.’ He chuckled as he walked to the kitchen, rinsed the plates then placed them in the dishwasher.
She stood too and stretched her arms above her head. ‘I’m glad we’re finally talking like proper human beings. Most of the time,’ she said. ‘I was trying to get to know you these past couple of weeks, but it didn’t seem like you wanted to all of a sudden. But this is nice. So thanks.’
Zac turned to face her. ‘My pleasure. And sorry if I was a bit distant, was just dealing with some stuff.’
She held up her hands. ‘Hey, no worries. And I’m a bit of a nosy person, so I wouldn’t have been offended if you simply didn’t want to tell me your life story.’
‘Well, we’ve started making up for the past two weeks tonight,’ Zac said.
‘We have. But in my mind are at least another three hundred and fifty-seven nosy questions, so watch out.’ She pointed his way.
A curious expression crinkled his face. ‘How about thirty-six?’
‘Huh?’
‘Have you heard of the thirty-six questions that went viral on the internet?’
‘No, and that worries me, because I spend a lot of time on Facebook. How could I have missed something that went viral?’ She feigned shock and brought her hands to her cheeks.
‘There was a lot of hype about this list of questions that had the potential to help people fall in love, but the research and story behind it was interesting. It’s about deepening connection between two people, whether they be friends, lovers, or strangers, by facilitating mutual vulnerability and self-disclosure. It’s like a fast track to emotional intimacy.’
‘Sounds scary.’
Zac leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter. ‘Not really, you just answer questions about who you’d invite over for dinner, what you’d most regret not doing or saying in life, what you’d take from your house if it was on fire, that sort of stuff.’
Curiosity swirled up inside, but a slight hint of tension crept through her muscles. Vulnerability was something she didn’t care to feel. She could chat and gossip like a pro, but how open and honest she was depended entirely on the nature of the topic.
‘So what do you say, wanna do them?’ His unblinking eyes awaited her agreement.
‘Are you saying you want me to fall in love with you, Zac?’ A flirty tone sweetened her voice and she put one hand on her hip.
‘No, I’m saying do you want to do the thirty-six questions and see if we can make up for the past two weeks of me being a distant, boring neighbour, while you were being your normal, nosy self?’
April’s amused laughter filled the house, and from somewhere Zac’s cat meowed.
She could just say no. Say thanks for dinner and be on her merry way, but Zac had opened some kind of invisible door inside that she hadn’t known was there. She didn’t exactly want to answer thirty-six questions about herself, though the three he’d mentioned sounded okay. But, she desperately wanted to hear his answers, and it was that reason that made her say ‘yes’.
‘Awesome! I’ll get us some dessert and snacks and we can move over to the couch and get started.’
What am I getting myself into?
‘Ah, Zac?’ she said.
‘Yeah?’ He looked up from the fridge where he had bent down to get something from the freezer.
‘I have a name for your meal,’ she replied. ‘Since I have no idea how you got me to agree to this … this … experiment thingy, and we’ve revealed a few significant things about our lives already, I’ve deduced that there must be some kind of truth-extracting ingredient in your chicken.’ She planted her hands on the kitchen counter. ‘I officially name your meal: Truth Chicken.’
Zac straightened up. He held a tub of something up in the air. ‘And we have a winner!’
And she had officially decided that she was crazy, knowing full well she couldn’t back out of this now, and hadn’t even thought to ask to see the actual questions first. They were most likely, most definitely, about to become more than just neighbours, in the weirdest, most unconventional, yet irresistibly intriguing way.