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How pathetic was that?
The mystery box was still sitting in the hallway, but the shawl was gone. She gave the package a cathartic kick as she passed. Walking into the living room, she dropped her handbag on the kitchen counter, turned around and jumped out of her skin as Dale looked up from the couch and lowered his magazine.
“Oh my God.” Sophy pressed the heel of her hand to her leaping heart. “Dale. Announce yourself.” She gave him an exasperated look. “Are you living here now or something?”
“I just like coming over for these warm welcomes.” Dale tossed the magazine aside. She saw that the shawl was draped over the arm of the neighbouring chair.
“Is Melissa home?” she asked, listening for signs of life down the hallway. The more she talked and the less she said, the more normal she felt. “I thought you guys had some big presentation today.”
“It’s this afternoon. We came back here to prep for it because some dickhead decided to start an indoor golf tournament in the office. Mel got called back in to sign a contract, but she should be back soon.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re using your time productively in the meantime,” said Sophy, raising an eyebrow. “And what are the ten hot new trends for autumn?”
Dale was frowning at her.
“Soph,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
And she was.
She was interfering. Nosy. Over-sensitive. A complete failure at communication and confrontation.
But objectively, fine.
“You don’t look fine.” Dale had unfortunately chosen that particular morning to develop his own sensitive side. She would have preferred that he continue the running streak of oblivious self-absorption.
Her mouth twisted.
“Hey.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down to sit next to him. His eyes were concerned. “Whoever it is and whatever they’ve done, Sophy, they aren’t worth it.”
But he was.
Damn it.
***
Mick drove out to Lake Hayes with Sean’s admonishments still ringing in his ears. The resident Don Juan could do a bloody convincing turn as a shrieking fishwife. He had declared open allegiance to Sophy, whom he’d annoyingly referred to as his “rabbit”.
“Sweet, pretty and twitchy,” was his irritating description.
There had been no need for the lecture. Mick had been sorry the moment he’d overreacted.
He still wasn’t sure what or how much she had overheard. Sean hadn’t been clear on the details and he sure as hell wasn’t going to approach Jennifer about it. He didn’t want her particular brand of poison anywhere near Sophy. It had been jarring enough just to hear Sophy speak her name.
He wasn’t proud of any aspect of that situation.
He wouldn’t be patting himself on the back over his behaviour at Silver Leigh on Friday, either.
Kissing Sophy had successfully rattled both his wits and his reserve, tossing every preconceived idea he had of the immediate future into a state of upheaval. There were kisses that were never going to lead anywhere but sex. And there were the more dangerous kisses, the ones that existed solely in and of themselves, that were about the pure pleasure of being close to another person, touching, being touched in return.
One bloody kiss.
The woman should come equipped with warning lights and an electric force field.
Mick turned left when he caught sight of a signpost, rolling the car to a stop over crunching gravel. For a few minutes, he continued to sit, fingers tapping absently on the steering wheel, trying to be honest with himself.
He had feelings for Sophy.
