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How Oliver gotthrough the meeting with Beau and the illustrator, he had no idea. Afterwards, he couldn’t remember much about it. He guessed it was because he’d switched into what he did best: acting. Playing the part. Smooth and svelte, the great pretender.
Elvis Presley had nothing on his moves.
But, now, as the cab wended through the rush-hour Sydney traffic, a dark fatigue rolled over him like smog. All the things heshouldhave said,shouldhave done to stop her leaving, crowding into his head. But instead he’d folded, mute with shock. Or worse, cowardice.
So now what?
He should call Leonie. Demand to know what she’d said. He pulled out his phone and brought up her number, thankful he’d removed her pet name—seeing it on his screen would make him physically sick.
He sighed heavily.
What good would having a screaming match with her do? Felicity was gone and it wouldn’t bring her back. He needed to feel more in control of his faculties to have that conversation.
He flicked to Felicity’s number. His watch said she’d be three hours into her flight by now, speeding out of his life at 988 miles per hour.
He pocketed his phone and lay his head back on the seat, defeated.
When he walked through the foyer fifteen minutes later, Graham’s head poked up from the reception desk. “Good afternoon, Mr Blake.”
He could barely mumble a response.
“Felicity has headed home, I believe.”
Oliver’s fist closed vice-like around the handle of his briefcase. Maybe he wasn’t so fond of Graham after all. “Yes.”
“She—er—left something behind.”
Oliver ground to a halt on the polished floor.
“What?” He turned to see Graham bending down to the shelf under the desk. “She asked if my little girl would like this for dress-ups.” Graham placed a bright pink hat on the desk. “She said it would get squashed on the flight.” He flicked off a speck of imaginary dust from the crown. “I got the impression she was reluctant to part with it.” A casual glance over. “I think you should take it, sir. In case she regrets the decision and wants it back.”
Oliver stood transfixed, images swimming in front of his eyes. Of a pink hat disappearing into a cloudless blue sky. Of being pinned to the sand, unable to chase after it.
As if he was powerless.
As if he had no say.
And that’s when it hit him, square between the eyes.
That was it, wasn’t it? That was what his dream was all about. That she would leave, and he would be unable to follow.
Except… Except.
What if he did? What if he threw caution, literally, to the wind?
If she rejected him, surely he couldn’t feel less alive than he did right now?
Suddenly he was staring down a snow-covered valley, heart pounding, his breath rasping in his throat, and a voice, close to his ear, warm and so full of love. “Don’t let the fear win, my darling. Just go.”
Mum?
Oliver closed his eyes and drew in a deep, steadying breath. His ribs relaxed, his chest expanded and when he opened his eyes again, he knew with absolute certainty.
He loved Felicity Green.
This kooky, wise, beautiful woman with her crazy clothes, her freckled nose and eyes as blue as an outback sky, her uncanny knack of turning his world into magic and rainbows, and heknewhe had to do everything in his power to win her back.
Oliver walked over and took the hat, a smile spreading across his face like the sun rising on a new day.
