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“I’ll walk you home,” he repeated, his gaze as uncompromising as his voice.
My, but he could be masterful when he wanted to be. Holly wondered if he was just as masterful in bed. Not that she’d find out. Richard had said tonight was just dinner and he struck Holly as a man of his word. Darn it. Despite never having been a one-night-stand kind of girl, there were always exceptions to the rule, and, for Richard Crawford, Holly might have made an exception.
The Crawford house was on top of a hill, about half a kilometre from Strathfield railway station. Holly’s shop was in a small block of three not far from the station, a reasonably good position for passing trade. There was a café, a hairdresser and her flower shop, right on the corner, all ancient brick buildings with awnings over the pavements and a second floor upstairs.
“Where does your stepmother live?” Richard asked as they walked down the hill together.
“About a kilometre away,” she replied. “On the other side of the railway.”
“So how long have you lived in the flat over the shop?”
“I moved in not long after Dad died.”
“And why was that? Couldn’t stand the wicked witches any longer?”
She smiled. That was what Sara had called them. “Partly,” she agreed. “But I also felt closer to Dad there.”
“Understandable,” Richard sympathised.
“I dare say Connie will sell Dad’s house too, if and when the business sells. She’s always wanted to live on the North Shore.”
“So how much would the business be worth?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I was too angry to ask Connie what price she’d put on it. But over a million at least. It’s a freehold property.”
“That’s a lot of money to give up without a fight, Holly.”
“Yes, I know that. But it isn’t the money so much as the business itself. Dad loved it. And I love it. I love working with flowers, you see. It makes me feel good. Flowers make people happy.”
“I still think you should take your stepmother to court. The shop should be yours. It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not always fair, Richard. Surely you must appreciate that,” she added, then wished she hadn’t. A sidewards glance saw that the muscles in his face and neck had tightened.
“You’re right,” he bit out. “It isn’t always fair, but you can’t allow the injustices of life to beat you down. You have to fight back.”
“I am fighting back,” she countered, stung that he might think her weak. “In my own way.”
He smiled over at her. “A quiet achiever,” he said. “Yes, I can see you are that, Holly. I apologise. I have no right to criticise. Or force my opinion down your throat. What’s your second name, by the way?”
“Greenaway.”
“An apt name, for a florist.”
“You’re not the first person to say that.”
“Sorry again. Is it a sore point?”
“No. Not really. But Dave used to tease me about it.”
“The dastardly Dave. God help me from ever being like him.”
“You’re not. Don’t worry.”
They walked on, Holly increasing the pace a little.
“I haven’t walked down this road in years,” Richard said as they finally reached the front of A Flower A Day, the large FOR SALE sign even more glaring from the outside. “I used to catch the train to and from high school so I came past here every day. I actually bought some flowers in here for Mum one year when I was about seventeen. Did your dad own it back then?”
“I’m not sure,” Holly said as she retrieved the key from where she always hid it behind a drainpipe. “How long ago was that?”
“Twenty-one years.”
“I think so. He bought it when he was about thirty. Look, I’d better get myself inside if you want me to be ready in time. I’m a female, you know.”
“I did notice that,” he said, and suddenly his grey eyes weren’t cold at all. They travelled slowly over her body, telling her in no uncertain terms that he did find her attractive. Very attractive.
But as quickly as his gaze had heated up, it cooled, making her wonder if that imagination of hers had been playing tricks on her again.
“You’d better give me your phone number, in case I’m delayed for any reason,” he went on. “I’m not dressed for dinner. I’ll have to dash home and change.”
Holly almost panicked at this point. Not dressed for dinner? He looked fine to her. What was he going to change into, a dinner suit? She didn’t have a lot of seriously dressy clothes in her wardrobe. None, actually, now that she came to think of it.
