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No great surprise there. He’d jumped her at her parents’ house, in front of her damn dog, for God’s sake.
And he’d spooked her. That was the fundamental point. He was never – ever – going to force his company where it wasn’t wanted, and she clearly wasn’t interested in taking things beyond the platonic between them. He couldn’t doubt that she genuinely found him attractive. The ability to evaluate other people’s states of mind, to interpret the cues of their body language and breathing patterns, to attempt to predict their next move, had been bludgeoned into him through sheer repetitive, gruelling, potentially lethal training.
And Sophy, bless her, was not the smoothest operator. She couldn’t dissemble her way out of a paper bag.
She was physically attracted to him. She seemed to enjoy spending time together. She did not want a sexual or emotional relationship with him.
In the interests of honesty, he could admit that it had rankled a little. She had backpedalled fast enough to break the sound barrier and the sheer horror in her expression hadn’t exactly padded the blow. She was playing havoc with the ragged chords of his self-esteem, left open and exposed by his family and severely twanged by Jennifer Nolan.
He wasn’t even sure how deep his feelings for Sophy went at this point. All things considered, she was right. They were better off as friends. And she was his friend. Regardless of any complicating emotions, Sophy was already his friend. If he hadn’t shocked her into common sense by acting like a complete ass this morning.
Taking out his personal phone, Mick pulled up her number and tapped out a brief message as he got out of the car.
Sophy. I’m sorry. M.
He shoved the phone back in the pocket of his jacket, beeped the car lock and went inside to evaluate the business potential of the Hidden Oak winery.
Ninety minutes later, he was shaking hands with the owner, Derek Hutton, when his pocket vibrated with an incoming text message. He bid the other man a good afternoon, accepted a thick file of financial statements and income predictions, and walked back out into the sunshine, shielding the screen of his cell to read Sophy’s reply.
Single Scoop on the waterfront has really good gelato. Maybe I’ll get some this afternoon. At about 2.
He smiled.
***
“That was the single most blatant display of cheating I’ve seen in my life.”
They were wandering side-by-side through the pop-up carnival that had opened on the town green. Sophy was admiring a pink plastic ring on her index finger. Mick thought it was the most hideous piece of jewellery he had ever encountered, but she had zeroed in on it at the ring toss like a periscope locating its target.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, smiling beatifically at her ill-gotten gains.
Mick snorted and slipped a hand around her shoulder to steer her out of the path of a rowdy group of teens.
“You might as well have just saved time and pushed the hoop over…” He broke off as she gave an exclamation and grabbed his hand, charging forward.
“Gluten-free doughnuts,” she said succinctly, as if that explanation covered all.
“We’ve already had gelato at the wharf, afternoon tea at the Skyline and coffee in the mall.”
“What’s your point, Mick?”
He bought her the doughnuts.
It was worth the incipient indigestion to have the pleasure of walking with her, watching her mood gradually climb the scale from sombre and withdrawn to light-hearted and teasing as the afternoon wore on. The sky was a bright blue, the water sparkled with hints of green and grey, and the atmosphere around the town was very summer-holiday, kids everywhere enjoying the last hurrah before the school year began.
Sophy left her hand in his as they wandered back to the lakefront and he glanced down at the top of her head, a warm feeling tugging at the base of his chest. He had to lash down the sudden urge to pull her close and kiss the fall of shining brown hair against her temple.
She had been waiting outside the ice cream store when he’d arrived at two o’clock, her arms and legs left bare by a t-shirt and shorts, her limbs deceptively long for her short frame. Her posture had been slightly hunched – defensive, self-protective – and her tension had hit him from a distance of ten feet.
She’d beaten him to the punch with an apology, her words tumbling out in a sincere rush.
“I’m sorry, Mick,” she’d said emphatically. “You’re right; it was none of my business at all.”
“Sophy,” he said firmly. “I was a dick. Don’t apologise when you’re on the high ground. It won’t do you or your relationships any favours.”
She hadn’t seemed to know what to say to that and they’d closed the door on the incident. She had refrained from mentioning Jennifer and he was grateful for it. Rule number one of survival: you didn’t voluntarily roll over and expose your wounds and weaknesses. At her guilty remark that she had completely forgotten about having coffee with Ryland and had left his boss high and dry, he had merely snorted, responding that the man would be more likely to take it as a provocative challenge than an insult. She would be lucky if he didn’t attempt to make her his fourth wife.
Disconcerted, Sophy had changed the subject. She had become first determinedly and then genuinely cheerful, insisting that as she’d monopolised most of his recent mornings off by forcing him into dull immobility, they were going to be active and devoted tourists for the rest of the day. They had been up the gondolas to the Skyline, high above the mountains. He’d enjoyed the view, despite his reservations about the effects of the altitude on her asthma and the wisdom of her going where the return options were limited to slow cable-car and wickedly fast luge. He’d been similarly reluctant to accompany her on the white water rapid jetboat ride, at which point she’d threatened to beat him unconscious with her lifejacket if he didn’t get over the “bleating nanny” attitude.
