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Bridie stood at Caleb’s front door and handed over the newspaper. The traipse through the frosty grass had left her feet numb. She tucked her arms inside her pink puffer jacket and wriggled her toes in her boots but never took her eyes off him. He read with his head bowed.
He took so long she stomped her feet as the chill set into her bones.
‘Sorry, come in out of the cold,’ he said and moved aside.
Caleb once again looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Bridie swallowed. He wore a white stretch t-shirt with denim wash jeans and bare feet but still hadn’t commented on the paper.
The thrill of turning up with the paper was disappearing fast. She’d stayed up late to finish that piece for the early edition instead of focusing on her own neglected manuscript.
Renowned chef leaves the bright lights of Sydney to care for his orphaned niece and pitch in to assist a local community.
It was front page; she and Geoff had argued about that. The boating and caravan show was a good sponsor for the local rag, but in the end she’d won.
It had taken hours to trawl the internet and gather the information she needed. It hadn’t been a chore. She’d devoured every morsel about the life of Caleb Stirling; the bits that were open for public fodder anyway; then she’d agonized over each word, description, sentence.
‘You wrote this?’ Finally, he spoke!
‘Yes.’
‘It makes me sound so good.’
All her defences tumbled down. ‘Caleb, that’s because you are. Can’t you see? Sybella adores you and the community is all aflutter about the hot chef in the school kitchen producing the best food they’ve had for years.’
‘Do you think I’m hot?’
Heat rose up her neck and her cheeks burned; she wasn’t cold anymore. Caleb grinned and she couldn’t form a reply. He returned to the paper anyway.
‘Do you think it’ll work? People will trust me?’ His voice always sounded like he’d had a rough night, either that or smoked a packet of cigarettes. Today it tremored with hope.
‘People already do, but for those few who mightn’t, their doubts will disappear. They’ll see you for the man you are. For the man that made a mistake and paid a huge price. For the man that is trying to redeem himself and get on with life. Who has chosen to come to our small town and care for his niece, the only relative she has and not only that, pitched in and helped where needed. What’s not to love?’ Her voice caught on those last words.
Of course, she didn’t express her greatest fear: that he was the same as her father. She hoped he wasn’t.
Their gazes locked, his intense and searching, trying to read her eyes, test her sincerity. She licked her lips, her breath not quite reaching her lungs. His gaze was tender, soft and caressed her skin. The pit of her stomach tingled.
He couldn’t be a drunk, could he?
‘Uncle Caleb.’ The shout came from within the house.
‘Have a cuppa,’ he said but his throat didn’t quite work and he had to clear his voice first.
She shook her head. Bridie needed to get the hell out of there and get a grip. ‘Heaps to do. Remember there’s a committee meeting tonight. Have you done the menu?’
‘Argh, no, another one? You sure do meet a lot. I’ll skip this one…’
‘No way,’ she said with a smirk. ‘It’s getting to the pointy end, and we need details.’
He shook his head.
‘I’ll do you a deal. Come to the meeting and afterwards we’ll go to the local French place in the next town. You can get ideas.’
Quick as a whip he replied, ‘I don’t need ideas.’ Another pause before their eyes connected again. ‘But to say thank you for helping me when you don’t have to,’ he held up the paper, ‘I’ll attend the meeting and have dinner with you.’
Her heart was galloping out of her chest. Shit. Had she just asked Caleb out and he’d said yes? Nerves were already dancing in her tummy.
‘See you tonight,’ she said and broke their gaze.
‘The town still can’t get enough of this guy,’ Maggie whispered, standing beside her in the hall.
