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“You’ve got—” I pointed to her hair where yellow pompoms from a wattle tree had become stuck.
“Ugh, what have I done?”
“Here, I can—”
I gently teased out the wattle blossom from her curls, letting her coiled hair slip through my fingers and spring back.
A heady scent wafted up around me. She was wearing perfume too. Had I ever noticed that she wore perfume? Did she usually, or was this the first time?
It was all I could do not to spear my fingers into her curls and bury my nose in her neck just under her ear and take in the scent of her.
Woah.
I stepped away, holding out the errant wattle like a shield between us.
“Thank you,” she said in a low voice. “Must have brushed against a tree near the gate. Did I get any on my dress?” She half turned and dusted the woollen fabric over her bottom and thighs, bending over slightly.
“No,” I gritted out, scrunching the wattle into my fist. “Nothing.”
Rosie turned back and smiled, looking at me curiously. “I’ve got chestnuts. From down south.” She held up the bag.
“You do.”
“Amanda’s leaving in two weeks for London. Can you believe it?”
“Yeah.” I regained the power of speech at the mention of my sister. “Look out London; the Ballydoon Tornado is coming.”
Rosie laughed. “I wish I’d remembered that nickname. I would’ve got her a tee shirt as a going away present with that printed on the front.”
She had a dimple in one cheek and not the other. Had I ever known that before?
“I should get the chestnuts to the kitchen.”
“Yeah,” I grunted.
“You okay? I know birthdays are hard.”
“I’m okay, really.” I cleared my throat. “Everyone is here. Even Stacey. She’s well enough to join us tonight. I’m feeling really good.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.” Rosie rested her hand on my arm and squeezed; my chest ached at her touch.
That had never happened before.
I stood aside, waving for her to pass. Rosie did, and that was a mistake. I couldn’t stop watching the sway of her hips, the shape of her legs in that dress. Her hair bouncing with each step.
Fuck. My heart thudded. Just … wow.
My world had tilted on its axis.
* * *
Rosie
Tom was acting weird. He might have said he was feeling good, but he kept looking at me as if something was wrong. Maybe my lipstick was smeared? Not like I wear it often.
Grapevines and wombats don’t care if you wear make-up or not. I scrutinised my reflection in the mirror on the sideboard. “Do I look like a clown with my hair out tonight?” I grumbled.
“No way.”
