Page 18 of Where the Wattles Bloom

*

There wasn’t a lot of time to chitchat after that, preoccupied as they all were with the game, but it was an enjoyable evening and it was good seeing Rowena progressively relax as she got into the swing of the evening and the fun of the competition. Good to see her in a social situation with her colleagues as well.

It was clear that, after only a few days, they all liked her—respected her, too, deferring to her opinion when she felt strongly on an answer to a question. Or maybe it was just that she was new and they were all being on their best behaviour.

She was surprisingly competitive, and Lachlan went head to head with her sometimes as they disagreed on an answer.

‘Marie Antoinette married Louis in May 1770,’ she insisted after he’d said it was 1771. She was right.

‘There are twenty hexagons on a soccer ball,’ Lachlan intoned. ‘Not twelve. You’re thinking of the pentagons. There are twelve of them.’ He was right.

And back and forth they went until Lachlan was buzzing with a vibe made up purely of Rowena overriding him then strenuously and meticulously laying out her case for why she was right and he was wrong. She was passionate and sure of herself, and that was pretty damn sexy.

A few times, it felt as though they were the only two playing the game.

Also, the way she kept fiddling with her right earring was really bloody distracting. He wasn’t sure if it was a nervous gesture or if it helped her concentrate, but the leaf swung back and forth under her ministration, drawing his gaze with each movement.

Swing. Swing. Swing.

But mostly they laughed. Nathan was a real clown, deliberately throwing in the wackiest answers, and Lachlan enjoyed the banter of a team who clearly worked closely together in situations that must be quite difficult at times. The fact they chose to socialise outside of work said a lot.

Before he knew it, they’d reached the last round. He’d almost finished his second light beer and Rowena had barely touched her second wine. And their team was trailing the leader by two points.

‘We can take them,’ Brooke declared.

‘Absolutely.’ Rowena nodded enthusiastically.

‘This round is called local legends,’ Ruth announced.

Rowena blanched. ‘What?’ She glanced at him like somehow it was his fault. ‘That’s not fair. How am I or anyone else from out of town supposed to know any of these?’

‘Relax,’ Brooke assured her, glancing around the table. ‘We’ve got this.’

Rowena looked like she was about to object then sighed, clearly resigned to letting the locals take the wheel.

‘Question one,’ Ruth announced into the mic. ‘What year did the Acacia Junction drive-in close down?’

A barrage of whispered debate erupted around Rowena, who raised an eyebrow at him. ‘There’s a drive-in?’

Lachlan grinned. ‘There was. It’s derelict now since it closed in’—he lowered his voice and leaned in, looking at Brooke—‘two thousand and six.’

‘No.’ Mervyn, who was the groundsman at the hospital, shook his head vigorously. ‘It was two thousand and seven.’

‘It was oh-six,’ Lachlan insisted. ‘I remember because I was on leave for a few weeks and I went there the night my divorce came through and saw Casino Royale, and it closed three days later.’

There was more whispered debate, but Rowena seemed more interested in him as she eyed him speculatively, her fingers at her earring again.

Swing. Swing. Swing.

‘You’re divorced?’

He nodded, debating whether to elaborate or not. A lot of women found him being married twice a giant red flag, which, to be fair, he totally got. But it took two people to break a marriage—it hadn’t been all on him.

Either time.

‘Twice,’ he said because he was too old to play games. ‘Drive-in night was my first divorce.’

Yes, feeling this attraction to a woman who was going to leave town at the end of the year was the height of stupidity, but she’d never be able to say he hadn’t been upfront.