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“Melbourne.”
“And what will you be doing in Melbourne?”
Grin widening, he rubbed his hands together. “Hopefully, winning a bet.”
Chapter Twelve
Jane tapped her foot impatiently. The early morning drizzle made for a miserable winter’s day as they waited for Mr Bridges, the food truck outfitter, to arrive and open his shop.
“It’s nearly spring,” she grumbled to Rafe, standing beside her with his hands shoved in his pockets, “Why the hell is it so cold?”
The big man shrugged. “It’s Melbourne,” he said, frowning down at her. “Are you warm enough?”
“Not really.” Shivering, she tugged her coat tighter around herself. It didn’t help.
“Here.” Rafe pulled her close against his body, instructed her to slip her arms under his jacket and around his waist then wrapped his coat around her back, cocooning her in warmth. Snuggling closer, she made a sound of contentment. Rafe chuckled and rested his cheek against the top of her head, rubbed his big hands up and down her back. “Better?”
Jane smiled. “Much,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Good.”
They didn’t talk much after that, just held each other as they tried to stay warm and dry under the inadequate overhang outside the warehouse style workshop.
The previous day when Rafe had said they were flying to Melbourne, she’d thought he’d been joking. But an hour later Wolf and Abby were driving them to the Sunshine Coast Airport, and a few hours after that they were checking into the QT, one of the swankiest hotels in town, smack dab in the middle of the highly coveted theatre district.
Last minute business-class plane tickets and a room in a five star hotel.
It would have cost him a small fortune.
On the flight, Rafe had filled her in about what they were doing, said he’d spoken to Mr Bridges and explained the situation, but unfortunately the lease was airtight and legally binding. Then he’d offered to pay out the lease and she’d almost thrown up on him.
Thankfully she could still blame the nausea on the baby and not have to admit to the stomach churning anxiety eating away at her from the inside out.
And the cause of her anxiety?
Rafe’s overwhelming generosity.
She’d started a running tally of everything Rafe had done for her and calculated it would take her approximately the rest of her life to pay him back, which, considering he still wanted to marry her, she guessed he was okay with.
Especially since he’d popped the question twice since leaving Melville’s Cross. Once on the plane when he’d leaned in and whispered in her ear, bit her earlobe and made her blush three shades of red when the flight attendant caught Rafe with his hand on Jane’s boob, and then again at dinner.
She’d been impressed he’d worded it as a question both times, that he’d seemingly progressed from his simple demand of “marry me”.
At dinner, he’d even looked like he was going to get down on one knee, until she’d threatened to cut him if he did. The last thing she wanted to do was say “yes” simply because they were in the middle of a busy restaurant and she was embarrassed. And she knew instinctively she would have said “yes” because the only thing more mortifying would have been publically shaming Rafe by saying “no”.
She cared for him too deeply to ever do that.
After dinner they’d gone for a stroll and stopped by a little gelato place she’d discovered years ago. She was happy to find it was right where she’d left it. Although, for an ice cream joint she’d felt ridiculously underdressed—and more than a little travel-worn—in the same blue jeans and T-shirt she’d worn all day.
The fact she’d added her favourite leather jacket and a cute pair of boots for their dinner date hadn’t relieved her feeling of inadequacy, considering they’d been surrounded by theatre goers dressed to the nines in designer outfits.
Jane had never really cared about clothes before—a fashion mogul she was not—but standing in a gelato shop surrounded by such wealth only further illustrated the great divide between what she’d had a week ago, and what she had at that moment.
A week ago she’d been a financially independent business owner. Now she felt like a mooch veering dangerously close into gold-digger territory, and the acid burn of failure was beginning to eat a hole in her stomach.
But what was she supposed to do? Say “No thanks, Rafe, I’d much rather drown in sea of debt than suck it up and accept your help”.
She had her pride but she wasn’t completely stupid. Besides, even if she refused, the stubborn man would probably just do it anyway.
