Page 12 of Where the Wattles Bloom

Rowena was salivating as she bit into the baked confection. The pastry snapped perfectly and she moaned as the silky texture of custard cream oozed across her tongue and vanilla infused her senses.

‘God. This is good.’ She turned to him for confirmation, because it didn’t seem real that such a creation existed anywhere on earth, let alone in the middle of freaking nowhere. ‘Seriously … I think my tastebuds just died and went to heaven.’

He didn’t answer for a moment or two, just stared at her lips that had to be covered in powdered sugar. She licked them nervously, her pulse a little trippy.

‘I told you.’ He dragged his gaze away. ‘The Morellis are sacred around here.’

‘Morning, Lachy.’ A guy who looked older than dirt approached from the opposite direction, greeting Lachlan with a nod. He was wearing a hat and had a lit cigarette drooping from his bottom lip.

‘Morning, Bill.’

Rowena, quickly trying to finish the cannoli, wondered if Lachlan was going to accompany her all the way to the hospital as he kept pace beside her. ‘Do you come into the bakery every morning?’

She knew zero about farmers, but she didn’t think too many had time to swan into town every day for baked goods. Hadn’t he said his grandmother was an excellent cook?

‘Nah. Just wanted to check in on Concetta, see if she was okay and if there was any update on Silvano.’

‘Wouldn’t it have been quicker to call?’

He gave a half laugh. ‘Sure. But that’s not the way we do it out here. Plus’—he held up a bulging white packet—‘I felt like chocolate croissants.’

Rowena would bet her life savings that he could eat that whole packet and not worry about it going on his thighs.

A couple stepped out of the newsagency just ahead and also called a greeting as Lachlan and Rowena passed by.

‘Morning, Stella, morning, Bruce,’ Lachlan replied.

The woman glanced at Rowena curiously but Lachlan kept going, as did she.

‘Are you nervous about your first day?’

‘A little.’

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t apprehensive. But not about the kind of stuff most people were anxious over when starting a new job—making a good impression, getting along with people, not screwing up.

Considering her recent history, Rowena was just hoping she could get through the day without that sick feeling of dread that had been her constant companion in those weeks and months before she’d cracked up.

Her therapist had been disapproving of Rowena’s use of that term. Its negativity, its stigma. But hell, that’s exactly how her sudden implosion had felt, and this was her breakdown so she’d use whatever damn words she wanted.

Thankfully, she was in a much better place now. With treatment and medication, her panic attacks had subsided. But she hadn’t been back to work for three months, and maybe she’d never be able to cope with high levels of stress again?

Which was kind of an occupational hazard …

And that thought was more frightening than anything. She loved what she did. More than that, she was good at it. She’d been a disappointing daughter. A terrible wife—twice. And a failure as a woman countless times.

But being a neonatal intensive care nurse? That she could do.

‘The staff are great there.’ His voice broke into the sticky morass of her thoughts. ‘It’s not a big place but they punch above their weight. It has a great community feel.’

He stopped at a familiar vehicle parked at an angle, nose to the kerb. ‘This is me.’

A bark caught her attention and Rowena noticed the dog in the tray of the ute, tongue lolling. The red and white dappling of its coat was distinctly Australian cattle dog.

‘Yours?’

He nodded. ‘Red.’

‘Original.’