Page 62 of Coming Home to Wishington Bay
‘Isn’t that a bit judgy?’
‘Is it?’ He frowned. ‘It’s not meant to be. Maybe I didn’t explain it right. I’m not a fan of the pressure there seems to be to have things tweaked and twiddled nowadays. Is that better?’
‘Yes. Not judgy now. And kind of nice. I’d agree, actually. Less pressure on everyone generally would be nice.’
‘True.’
‘Also, are tweaked and twiddled proper medical terms?’
‘They are,’ he replied, his face straight.
‘I see. What’s the address on your diploma again? “School Of Life. Address: The Internet”?’
Oh God, there was that laugh again. I really needed to shut this door or I was going to do something I might not regret.
‘You should get some sleep. I need to let Bryan out for a tinkle anyway.’
I sniggered.
‘What?’
‘Tinkle.’
‘What are you? Five?’ he asked as he made that delicious deep rumbling noise again.
Oh my God! Please stop it. You sound waaaay too good.
‘It’s rude to ask a lady her age, although as my boyfriend, I should really be upset that you don’t know. Pretty sure I get at least a bouquet for that, possibly even chocolates. Besides, it’s not the word itself. It’s you saying it. This “I Big Macho Man” saying “tinkle”.’
‘I’ve never made claims to be macho.’
I rolled my head on my shoulders. ‘Oh please! Have you looked in a mirror? Also, you’re Australian. Australian men are known the world over for being macho. Or at least trying to be.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yep.’
‘Known a lot of Australian blokes, have you?’
‘A few. London pubs and bars are pretty much entirely staffed by Aussies. It always surprises me there are actually any people even left in Australia. I mean, I’m assuming there are.’
‘Yeah, there’s a few.’
‘Well, that’s good. Now, go and let that poor pooch out. He’s probably crossing all four of his legs by now.’
‘Night, Holly.’ I could hear the smile in his voice as he bent and kissed my cheek. ‘And thanks again.’
And then he was gone, long-legged strides taking him out of sight within moments, leaving me in the dim light of the porch with just the memory of the brief touch of his lips on my skin.
Chapter 12
Sitting bolt upright in the bed, I heard it again. A banging coming from downstairs. There was a moment’s pause and then it started again. What the hell? I grabbed my dressing gown, squinted at the light streaming through the landing as I opened the bedroom door and half ran downstairs, mostly in an effort to make the noise stop. There was already plenty of that going on inside my head this morning.
I followed the incessant banging to the kitchen door and opened it to find Carrie standing there, a wide smile on her face. I was not smiling. For a mad moment I’d found myself hoping that the visitor might be Gabe. But then I was sort of glad it wasn’t as he wasn’t family, and I wouldn’t be able to be as blunt as I was now.
‘Carrie?! What the fuck?’
‘Morning to you too, sunshine. Shall I put the kettle on? How many am I making for?’
