Page 50 of Where the Heart Is

As Adelaide left the lawyer’s office, she intended on heading to the bakery for one of those famous snot-blocks. However, when she glanced across the street and glimpsed Jack through the open doors of the annexe, holding sway in front of a group of men, she hesitated. It was called Men’s Shed for a reason—women weren’t welcome.

But seeing Jack so animated, talking with his hands and throwing his head back and laughing, captivated Adelaide. She’d never seen him like that.

Drawn towards the annexe against her will, she stood near the door, just out of sight, and eavesdropped. She couldn’t quite hear what Jack was talking about, but the regular laughter from the other men warmed her heart.

It looked like the reserved man she’d married had found his tribe.

Unexpected tears burned her eyes, and she knuckled them away. She’d immersed herself in a new life and felt blessed she’d found herself after losing much of her identity after marrying, becoming a mother, and a grandmother. It had been a struggle initially, dealing with the guilt of walking away from Jack, but as the years passed she thought of him less and less, imagining him mired in the drudgery of the farm.

To find him living in her dream house, cooking up a storm, surrounded by friends who obviously cared about him, made her equal parts happy and sad. Happy that he’d been living a better life than the one she’d envisaged for him and sad because the man he was now was the man she’d always wished he could be.

As she turned away, her foot caught on a crack in the pavement and she stumbled, grabbing the door to steady herself. It moved fractionally and creaked, drawing Jack’s attention. Heat flooded her cheeks in embarrassment as he caught sight of her. But rather than his gaze radiating disapproval as she expected, Jack winked, and she raised her hand in a half-hearted wave before scurrying away.

CHAPTER

29

Mila made the chicken curry by rote. Sautéed the onion, garlic, and ginger, threw in the diced thighs, added cumin, coriander, turmeric, and chilli powder, added half a tin of coconut milk, brought the lot to the boil before turning down the stove to simmer. This had been her comfort meal for as long as she could remember, ever since she’d had dinner at her first Indian restaurant as a ten-year-old with her parents in Melbourne.

She’d never forgotten it, as it had been the night her parents had told her and Will they’d be living with their grandparents while Cam and Julie headed overseas to work. Will had asked how long for and when her parents had given a vague answer, Mila had known deep down it could be indefinitely. Will didn’t want to leave Melbourne, but she couldn’t wait to get to the farm where she’d spent all her school holidays. Living with Gran and Gramps would be a dream come true—and it had been. Her folks were rarely home anyway, so she’d practically raised herself.

Thankfully, Will adapted to life in Ashe Ridge quickly. He’d already made friends with Sawyer years earlier during the summer holidays and Mila didn’t know who was more rapt they’d moved, her or Sawyer. He spent more time at Hills Homestead than he did at home and the three of them became a tight unit. She’d never taken their friendship for granted, which made her hand tremble slightly as she diced coriander to garnish the curry when it was done.

Because tonight, she planned on moving out of the friend zone and into the bedroom.

She’d seen the wariness in Sawyer’s eyes when she’d flirted with him earlier today. He’d been conflicted and she understood. But he didn’t live here, and he didn’t know loneliness had plagued her for a long time. Getting physical with her friend would be special and more enjoyable than the meaningless hook-ups she’d had over the years. She worked hard and was shouldering a tonne of stress. Why shouldn’t she have a little well-deserved fun?

A short rap sounded at the back door before Sawyer opened it. ‘Hey. Hope it’s okay I’m early?’

Her pulse raced as she drank in the sight of him in jeans and white T-shirt, casually delectable. ‘You know you’re welcome here any time. Come in.’

He sniffed as he closed the door. ‘Wow, something smells amazing.’ He brandished a six-pack of her favourite beer. ‘These are chilled, but I’ll pop them in the fridge.’

‘Thanks.’

Heat scorched her cheeks as she watched him bend over and slide the beers to the back of the fridge. His butt could tempt a nun. When he straightened, she quickly turned back to the stove, needing a ready excuse for her burning cheeks.

‘Anything I can do?’ He crossed the kitchen to stand behind her, too close.

‘All good. The rice cooker should click off any second and the curry needs to simmer for another fifteen minutes, then we can eat. Hope you like it spicy, because I may have overdone it with the chilli.’

Heck, she was babbling, and he laid a hand on her shoulder before gently spinning her around.

‘I’m just happy to eat a home-cooked meal so anything you dish up will be fine with me,’ he said, his palm branding her through the thin cotton of her top. ‘I don’t cook very often. Seems like too much trouble doing it for one person, so I grab a pre-prepped salad from the supermarket or heat up a frozen meal.’

‘I like to cook. It soothes me.’

Almost as much as his touch, so when he removed his hand from her shoulder she stifled a groan of disappointment.

‘Well, if your curry is as good as that lasagne I had last night, you better be careful, because I might just move in.’

His flippant comment warmed her more than it should. What would it be like to have someone like Sawyer as her partner? Someone to shoulder the burden of running a farm? Someone to offload to at the end of a long day? Someone to hold her in his arms and reassure her that everything would be okay?

She’d never been interested in living with anyone, hadn’t cared enough about anyone to contemplate it, then her friendship with Phil had deepened over the last year and she’d come to depend on their evening chats.

But living with someone like Sawyer … her pulse raced at the thought, because Sawyer was different. Sawyer was the guy who’d stolen her heart as a teen and, by her reaction to him now, still held it in the palm of his hand after all these years.

‘You’d hate living with me,’ she said, picking up the ladle to stir the curry. ‘I like my condiments in orderly rows in the fridge, I like my pantry neat, I snore, and I hog the doona.’

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