All They Need

chapter NINE



“THIS IS WHY THEY DON’T have girls on building sites. Grooming breaks.”

Mel rolled her eyes at her brother as she finished pulling her hair into a ponytail. He was standing next to the pile of railway ties she’d had delivered the previous day, a bored look on his face. Behind him, several cubic meters of topsoil formed a mound in the center of her lawn.

“You’re jealous because you cut all your hair off,” Mel said as she tugged her leather work gloves on. Once, a long time ago, her brother had had shoulder-length rock-and-roll hair that had been his pride and joy

“Wouldn’t go back there for quids.” Harry ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “No muss, no fuss this way. You should try it sometime.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna happen. Not.” She already had man-shoulders and man-height. She wasn’t about to compound the issue with man-hair.

She bent her knees and got a grip on the end of the top tie.

“When you’re ready,” she said to her brother. “Take your time.”

Harry gave her a look before getting a grip on the other end. “One, two, three.”



They hoisted the beam, straightening their legs so they were both holding the length at waist height.

“Onto your shoulder,” Harry instructed. “Two, three.”

Mel felt the burn in her arms as she lifted the tie high enough to roll a shoulder under it. The weight settled heavily and she braced the beam with both hands, adjusting her stance to suit.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said.

They walked along the side of the house and into the garden, passing her father and her brother-in-law, Jacob, on their way to collect their next load.

“That’s my girl,” her father said approvingly, slapping Mel on the backside with his work gloves as he passed.

Mel grimaced and concentrated on where she was putting her feet. She would never admit it out loud, but there were times when she really, really wished she was a different kind of woman. The kind who was more than happy to kick back and watch men do the heavy lifting because she couldn’t possibly measure up. The thing was, she could measure up, and she’d never been content to let others do for her. She wasn’t about to start now—especially when the men in her family were giving up their weekend to help her. The least she could do was toil by their sides.

Harry led the way past Tea Cutter Cottage and into the clearing that would soon become her new garden. A dozen railway ties were already lined up to one side and she and Harry added theirs to the stack.

“Couple more trips should do it,” Harry said.

“Yep.”

Mel placed a hand on the small of her back and stretched. Her arms were aching, and her thighs felt a little shaky. And it was barely midday. She was going to be in all kinds of pain by the end of the day.

Harry had already started walking to the front and she trudged after him. They passed her father and Jacob coming the other way, a tie on their shoulders. Mel couldn’t resist mimicking her father’s gesture, slapping his butt with her gloves.

“That’s my daddy,” she said.

He barked out a laugh. “You’ll keep.”

Mel was still smirking when she rounded the house, only to stop short when she realized Harry was talking to somebody, and that somebody was Flynn.

An absurd rush of pleasure hit her as he turned to face her.

“Hey,” she said, grinning like an idiot. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you this weekend.”

“Like I was saying, she was right behind me,” Harry said dryly.

“Hey,” Flynn said. “Sorry to barge in. I forgot about your working bee.”

He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes and she realized he was upset. Deeply so.

Then she remembered he’d had his meeting with his parents today. The one where they discussed his father’s future care.

She glanced at her brother. “I’m going to grab a glass of water. I’ll be out in a tick.”

She didn’t wait for Harry to respond, simply caught Flynn’s eye and gestured with her head for him to follow her into the house.

The moment they were safely inside and out of her brother’s hearing, she turned to face him.

“What happened? Did your father have a bad day?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened. I just—” He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t even really know why I’m here. I got in the car and the next thing I knew I was turning off the freeway.” He turned away from her, almost as though he was about to leave.

Mel caught his forearm. “Flynn.”

He stilled, then some of the starch went out of his spine. His blue eyes were dark with pain as they met hers. “I don’t know if I can handle this, Mel.”

Her grip tightened on his arm. “You can. You will.”

He shook his head again.

“You’ll do it, Flynn. Moment by moment. That’s how you get through the bad stuff. One day, one moment at a time.”

He started to say something, then he stopped and lifted his free hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Fighting tears, if she had any guess.

She acted completely on instinct, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him. He was unresponsive for a long beat, as though she’d taken him by surprise, then his arms went around her in turn.

Her breasts were pressed to his chest and every breath she took was filled with the smell of his aftershave but there was nothing sexual about their embrace. She was offering him a little comfort, and he was accepting it. It was as small and simple as that.

After a few seconds his arms loosened and she took a step backward. Flynn didn’t quite meet her eyes and she reached out and gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder.

“Don’t,” she said. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. You guys have been dealt a shitty hand.”

He shrugged a shoulder, still not meeting her gaze.



She imitated him, one eyebrow cocked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Finally he looked at her. “There are plenty of people worse off. People in the same situation with money problems and other things going on. In a lot of respects we’re bloody lucky.”

“So? Is that supposed to make it easier to watch your father disappear before your very eyes?”

“No.” He said it heavily, resignedly.

She led him into the living room and waved him into the nearest armchair.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I told you, nothing. It was just a lot harder than I thought it would be. And I thought it would be pretty damned hard.”

He sat on the edge of the chair, his elbows braced on his knees. Mel sank onto the arm of the opposite chair.

“How was it harder?”

He shrugged impatiently, as though he was irritated by her questions and her pushing, but after a moment he started talking. “It was okay until we started talking about late stage. I don’t know how much you know about Alzheimer’s…”

“Not a lot. I know there are seven stages.” She’d done a few internet searches since he’d told her about his father’s condition.

“Then you know more than a lot of people. Late stage is also called stage seven. By then, the patient can’t speak, can’t walk, can’t sit up or even hold their head up unassisted. Facial expressions disappear, except for grimaces. They need help going to the bathroom, getting clean, eating—” His voice quavered and he pressed the bridge of his nose again.

After a long moment he dropped his hand and started talking again. “Late-stage patients need twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week care, but right from the start Mom has been determined to take care of Dad at home. The way she sees it, the house can be fitted with everything they’ll need, and we can hire agency nurses and caregivers to support Mom. It’s completely doable, and it’s what she wants.”

Mel had a feeling she knew where this was going. “What about your father?”

“He wants to go into a home. He’s even picked one out. He doesn’t want to be a burden. Doesn’t want my mother’s final memories of him being changing his adult diaper or wiping spit off his chin.”

“What did your mother say to that?”

“Honestly? I’ve never seen her so angry. She told him that it was her marriage, too, and that this was happening to both of them. And that she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she let someone else care for him. She said that she didn’t care about shit or spit, she cared about him, and she was going to be there with him to the bloody end because she loved him.” Flynn’s eyes were shiny with tears as they met hers. “That’s almost a direct quote, by the way.”

She could see the pride in his gaze, along with the pain. “She sounds pretty cool, your Mom.”

“She’s awesome.”

“So, who won?”

His smile was grim. “No one. Dad got upset. He said that if this was the last chance he had to make decisions, the least we could do was respect them. Mom told him that just because he was sick didn’t mean he got to rule the world. We finally agreed to have a timeout so they could both consider each other’s point of view.”



“What do you think will happen?”

“Mom will win. I think in his heart my father wants her to. The thing is, he loves her too much to want to be a burden.”

Mel blinked away the sudden warmth of tears. It was all too, too sad. When her vision was clear again, she saw Flynn was watching her, a frown on his face.

“I should go. You’re busy. I didn’t meant to show up out of nowhere like this.”

She’d seen him backtrack like this before and understood that he was embarrassed about needing to talk about his feelings. Instinct had bought him here, but pride was about to drive him away.

Men. Sometimes they really drove her crazy.

“Are we friends or not?” she demanded.

He looked arrested.

“Because friends don’t make a run for it when there’s a working bee in process,” she continued.

She tossed him her work gloves. He caught them before they slid down his belly to the ground.

“And friends offer each other a shoulder when it’s needed and don’t make a federal case out of it.”

He eyed her for a moment. She would have given a lot to know what was going on behind his eyes. His mouth turned up at the corners and he nodded slowly. “Okay. Point taken.”

“Good.”

He glanced down at the gloves. “You know, I was jealous when you told me you were having a working bee this weekend.”

“Jealous? Of hauling heavy-ass lumps of wood around and wheelbarrows full of soil?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“You’re a very strange man, Flynn Randall.” She pushed herself to her feet. “But you should know that I am not above exploiting that.”

“Exploit away.”

She started for the door. “You are so going to regret those words tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.”

She led him to the lawn, where the remaining railway ties were stacked. There was no sign of her brother and she moved to the far end of the next tie in the pile.

“Let’s do this, then. On the count of three,” she said, bracing her legs and getting a grip on the end.

Flynn held up a hand, eyebrows raised. “Whoa there. You’re not lifting this thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too heavy for you.”

She grinned at him. “It isn’t, you know.” She patted her right shoulder with her left hand. “You think these babies are just for show?”

“Mel. These things have to weigh at least a hundred pounds.”

“Flynn, I’ve already carried half a dozen of these today. I think I can handle another one.”

He continued to stare at her. She put her hands on her hips and raised both eyebrows, waiting.

Finally he shrugged. “Okay. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but okay.”

Mel rolled her eyes. “Thank you. Now that I have your permission, can we get on with it?”

“As soon as you put these on.”

Her gloves hit her in the chest. Her reflexes weren’t as fast as his and they slid to the ground before she could react. She started to object but he shook his head.

“I’m not using your gloves while you go without. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ve got some old gardening gear in the trunk.”

He crossed the lawn to where he’d parked the Aston Martin in the street. Half a minute later he returned minus his leather jacket with a pair of dirt-stained gardening gloves on his hands.

“Okay, bossy pants. Show me what you’ve got,” he said.

She huffed out a laugh. “Bossy pants?”

“You heard me.”

She gave him a look that promised payback, then bent her legs and got a grip on the tie. On three they lifted, then she counted off again before they hefted the beam to their shoulders.

“All good your end?” she asked.

“I should be asking you that.”

“Get over it, Randall. It’s called girl power.”

They headed toward the clearing.

“You’ve really done this six times already today?” he asked.

“At least.”

“Remind me never to arm wrestle with you.”

She was still smiling when they rounded the last corner to find the men of her family lounging like lizards on the stacked ties. En masse, they made quite the picture: Harry, close-shaved head and bulging arms covered in inky black tribal tattoos, his ears shiny with piercings; her father, equally muscular in a white wife-beater tank top with his dark horseshoe mustache; Jacob, dressed in an old Metallica T-shirt, his hair spiked into a David Beckham faux-hawk, a hand-rolled cigarette dangling from his lips.

They looked exactly like what they were—three working-class men enjoying a laugh in between bouts of hard labour—and she couldn’t help but notice the assessing glances they threw Flynn’s way.

The men in her family had never rated Owen. They had never said anything to her directly, but she’d sensed the tension whenever they were in the same room as her ex-husband, which, fortunately, hadn’t been very often, particularly toward the end. She didn’t blame them, since Owen had always either been falsely hearty or smugly patronizing in most of his interactions with them. He’d never tried to simply engage with them person-to-person—probably because he’d not-so-secretly believed he was better than them and that her family was a waste of his valuable time.

Now, she watched as her father, brother and brother-in-law took in Flynn’s leather boots and designer jeans and cashmere sweater and felt herself prickle defensively on his behalf.

“You owe me fifty bucks,” Harry said to Jacob as they moved to one side to make way for the tie she and Flynn carried.

Mel threw her brother a sharp look, ready to step in if it looked as though he and her brother-in-law were making a joke at Flynn’s expense.

Her brother shrugged a big shoulder. “I bet Jacob you’d rope your mate into helping out.”

“For your information, Flynn volunteered,” she said as she and Flynn set down their tie.

Flynn immediately nodded toward her father. “Good to see you again, Mike.”

“You, too. Don’t suppose you’ve met my son, Harry?” her father said, jerking a thumb toward her brother. “And the idiot with the nicotine addiction is Jacob, my son-in-law.”

“So, how’d Mel talk you into helping out? Bribery? Threats?” Harry wanted to know as he and Flynn shook hands.

Flynn shot Mel an amused look. “Like Mel said, I volunteered.”

“You poor sucker.” Harry slung his arm around Mel’s neck and pulled her into a loose headlock.

“Do you mind?” Mel said. She tried to wriggle free, but Harry simply ignored her.

“You should know she’s been luring guys to their deaths for years now, making them do stuff they don’t want to do. My sister, the siren of Frankston.”

Mel gasped with only partly feigned indignation. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb. Remember Peter O’Donnell?” Harry addressed his comments to Flynn. “Idiot went on the Forty Hour Famine with her and passed out during a footy match he was so hungry. Then there was Simon what’s-his-name. He painted her name along the side of his car when she broke up with him. Oh, God, and that one who kept playing his guitar outside her bedroom window…” Harry made a pained strangling sound.

“They were all years go,” Mel explained for Flynn’s benefit. Although, by the looks of things, he was clearly enjoying the Porter family cabaret act. “Plus, I didn’t ask them to do any of those things. Anyway—” she jammed her elbow into her brother’s ribs, but Harry only tightened his grip on her neck “—you’re the one who’s the biggest man-slut this side of the equator, so you can hardly talk.”

“Yeah, except you don’t see me roping any of my girlfriends in as free labor.”

“Flynn’s not my boyfriend, and I didn’t rope anybody into anything. Unlike you, you big petrol-head, Flynn happens to enjoy gardening.”

She elbowed him again, harder this time, and took advantage of his instinctive flinch to slip out from under his arm. Feeling more than a little hot and flustered thanks to her brother’s manhandling, she straightened her top and adjusted her ponytail before glancing at Flynn to see how he was handling it all.

Now that the floor show was over, he was talking quietly with her father about his car, one hand tucked into his back pocket, his posture relaxed.

The last of her protectiveness slipped away as she watched her father laugh at something Flynn was saying. It had only been five minutes, but already the Porter men liked Flynn about five-hundred times more than they’d ever liked Owen.

She frowned. The odds were good that Flynn wasn’t going to be spending a lot of time with her family, so working up a sweat over whether they liked him or not was a waste of time—and yet she wanted them to like him, very badly, because she liked him and she wanted other people to see the same good qualities in him that she did.

She turned away, fussing with her work gloves, swiping at the small splinters and other debris on her T-shirt and jeans, thrown and more than a little overwhelmed by her own feelings. This…thing with Flynn was getting out of hand, taking on a life of its own. She’d resisted it every step of the way, yet somehow he was still standing here in her yard, talking and laughing with her family.

She slapped her gloved hands together loudly, a physical expression of her inner frustration and confusion. Four sets of eyes turned to her expectantly and she realized she’d inadvertently drawn everyone’s attention. “Who wants to go grab another tie with me?”

She marched toward the house before anyone could respond and, more importantly, before she could do or say anything too stupid.



TWO HOURS LATER, Flynn released the trigger on the circular saw.

He pushed the safety glasses high on his forehead and brushed wood splinters off his forearms as he inspected the cut he’d made.

“All done?” Mel asked from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder. “All done. Last piece, too. Now we just have to fill these suckers with topsoil.”

“He says as though it’s going to be a walk in the park getting all that dirt from one end of the property to the other.”

She moved off to talk to her brother-in-law and Flynn’s gaze drifted over her body. It was a warm day for winter and she’d long since stripped down to a bright blue tank top and a pair of faded jeans. The stretch knit fabric hugged her breasts and belly, flaring out over her hips. With her cheeks shiny from exertion and a handful of loose curls forming a fuzzy nimbus around her face, she looked like an advertisement for the great outdoors. Full of life and sexy as hell.

His gaze gravitated to the thin strip of bright orange satin visible on her left shoulder. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed Mel’s bra strap today—it had been playing peek-a-boo with him on and off all afternoon—and it definitely wasn’t the first time he’d gotten a little lost inside his own head as he imagined her generous curves cupped in tangerine lace and silk.



He suspected he should probably be trying to rein in his schoolboy fantasies, but sometime during the past few days he’d decided to accept the inevitable where Mel was concerned. He was falling for her—hard. He’d tried in the past to make himself fall for women and failed, and he figured it was probably just as futile to try to stop himself from falling, too.

So here he was. Falling.

Where he was going to land was anybody’s guess because Mel was still a closed book to him. Sometimes he was sure they were on the same page. Others he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. To say it was driving him crazy was something of an understatement.

“How you going with that last piece?” Harry called.

Flynn jerked his attention to the here and now. “Ten seconds.” He pulled on his gloves before lifting the shortened tie from the twin sawhorses and carrying it to where Harry and Mike were using a plumb bob and spirit level to line up the final wall of the last garden bed. They worked together to ensure it was in line and level, fixing it in place with big coach bolts that had been weather-treated to resist corrosion.

“Excuse me, fearless leader,” Harry said to Mel once they’d finished. “When might your faithful servants expect to be fed?”

“Mom said she’d make sandwiches. I’ll call and let her know we’re ready to eat.” Mel pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed.

Flynn admired the length of her athletic legs as she propped her butt against one of the completed walls while she waited for her call to connect.

“The eagle has landed, Mom,” she said into the phone.

She listened for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. As always, the rich, full sound made Flynn smile in response. Mel shot a mischievous look at her brother. “Mom says you’re more of a vulture than an eagle, Harry.”

“Tell Mom she’s a riot. And if I’m a vulture, she’s a turkey.”

Mel dutifully relayed his message to their mother. She was grinning fit to bust when she hung up. Flynn had a sudden image of her as a kid, mischievous and full of beans, more than ready to give as good as she got.

It struck him suddenly that this was the first time that he’d seen Mel truly carefree, her habitual wariness completely absent. Clearly, she felt safe with her family.

And, perhaps, with him?

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Mom said she’s going to accidentally drop all the cheese-and-pickle sandwiches on the floor as payback,” Mel said as she pocketed her phone.

“Are we talking Mom’s floor? Because everyone knows you could perform surgery on Mom’s floor. Your floor, on the other hand…”

They continued to bicker cheerfully, Jacob and Mike throwing their two cents in when the mood struck them. Flynn watched from the sidelines, enjoying the interplay and this rare insight into Mel with her guard down.

“What’s this I hear about me being a turkey? Harold Neville Porter, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

A slim woman of average height entered the clearing bearing a tray piled high with sandwiches. He guessed she must be in her early fifties, although she was dressed like a much younger woman. Her sweater was red and tight, the V-neck cut low, and her jeans fitted snugly from thigh to ankle. Her hair was a color somewhere between caramel and blond, and she was wearing the kind of makeup his own mother usually reserved for big occasions. Large gold hoops dangled from her ears, while a series of chunky metal bracelets clanked at her wrist.

“Easy with the Neville, Mom,” Harry said with a grimace.

“Easy with the ugly poultry references, Harold,” she said.

“You started it with the vulture thing,” Harry said.

“Now, now, children. Let’s not argue when there are sandwiches to be eaten,” Jacob said, stepping up to take the tray from Mel’s mother’s hands.

“Thank you, Jacob,” Mel’s mother said pointedly. Then she glanced past his shoulder and caught sight of Flynn, her brown eyes suddenly bright with curiousity. “Hello. I don’t think I know you.”

“This is Flynn, Mom. Flynn, this is my mother, Valerie.”

“Nice to meet you, Valerie.”

“Please, call me Val.” She smiled, her gaze sweeping his body in a disconcertingly thorough survey.

Out of the corner of his eye, Flynn saw Mel frown.

“Did you bring anything to drink, Mom?” Harry asked.

“The cooler’s in the back of the car.”

Harry sighed and headed for the path.

“Can you grab some serviettes from the kitchen?” Mel called after him. “Second drawer down to the left of the dishwasher.”

“Sure. Anything else you need while I’m at it? Shoes shined, your taxes done?”



Mel didn’t respond, which struck Flynn as being a missed opportunity. He glanced over and caught Val giving Mel a big thumbs-up, accompanied by what he could only describe as a salacious wink and a gesture in his direction. Unaware that she was being observed, Mel frowned and shook her head, a signal that Flynn guessed was meant to inform her mother that she was barking up the wrong tree. Val’s mouth turned down at the corners and she mouthed the words Why not? at Mel. At which point Mel caught his eye.

He offered her his best innocent smile and watched as a tide of pink washed up her face. She turned away and started fussing pointlessly with the garden tools. He decided to take it as a hopeful sign.

A few minutes later Harry returned with a cooler full of canned drinks. Val placed both the cooler and the tray of sandwiches together on the grass and Mike, Harry and Jacob dropped to the ground and dove in. Flynn loitered, waiting until Mel sat before oh, so casually taking the spot beside her, feeling about as suave and sophisticated as a fourteen-year-old with his first crush, and probably just as obvious.

“So what do you do, Flynn?” a voice asked from his other side and he realized Mel’s mother had nabbed the spot next to him.

“I work in property development.”

“Help yourself to a sandwich before my son hoovers them all up,” Val said. “The Porter family motto is He Who Hesitates is Lost. You’ll starve if you hang back.”

She waited until he had his mouth full before hitting him with her next question. “I believe I’ve heard Mel mention that you bought Summerlea recently. That’s a big project to take on.”

Flynn swallowed before responding. “I figure if I take it bit by bit, I’ll eventually get things under control. And if that turns out to be completely delusional, I can always call in the pros.”

“So you like a bit of handyman work, do you?” Val asked.

“I’m more of a gardener, to be honest. But I’d like to think I’m not completely useless with a power drill.”

“You should talk to Harry. He does some handyman work on the side.”

“Mom.” Mel’s voice held a not-so-subtle warning.

“Thanks, I will,” he said, shooting Mel a look to let her know he didn’t mind her mother’s suggestion. He was new to the area, and he’d much prefer to have someone he knew working with him than a random tradesperson he’d plucked from the phone book or the classifieds.

“And are you married, Flynn?” Val asked, nibbling delicately on the crust of a chicken salad sandwich.

Mel choked and he glanced at her in enquiry.

“Need me to Heimlich you again?” he asked.

“No,” she said, her eyes watering.

He grabbed a can of Coke from the cooler. Pulling the tab, he passed it to her. When he returned his attention to Val, her expression indicated she was still waiting for his answer.

“I’m not married,” he said.

“Ah. Divorced, then?”

Mel sighed loudly. “Mom. I swear—”

“How else am I supposed to get to know people if I don’t ask questions?”

“I don’t know—maybe you could wait until it comes up in conversation?” Mel suggested.

“As if Flynn’s going to talk about his divorce with a total stranger.”



“Thank you for making my point for me,” Mel said.

She successfully changed the subject after that, and once the sandwiches had been polished off Val went home. After twenty more minutes of lounging in the warm winter sunlight, they roused themselves and started the first of many trips transferring the topsoil from the front lawn to the garden beds.

By five o’clock Flynn was sweaty, sore and covered with grit. It had been a while since he’d worked with his body and hands for a full day and he had a new respect for Mel after watching her toil alongside the men without once letting up. As the time edged toward five-thirty he began to wonder when, exactly, the apparently indefatigable Porters were going to call it quits. He heaved a silent sigh of relief when her father dug his shovel into the garden bed with an air of finality.

“Right, that’s it. It’s getting dark and cold and I need food,” Mike said.

No one was about to argue. Between the five of them they returned Mel’s tools to the shed, then Mel ushered them all into her kitchen and distributed beers. Harry sat back in his chair and made an appreciative sound as he swallowed his first mouthful. Flynn had to agree that an ice cold beer had never tasted quite so good before, probably because he knew he’d bloody well earned it.

“Okay, dinner is on me. Fish and chips. Who wants what?” Mel asked.

She had a notepad in hand and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. He watched in amusement as she proceeded to decipher the barrage of requests from her family before finally fixing her gaze on him.

“What’s the burger situation like?” he asked.



“Good fish-and-chip-shop standard, verging on very good at times.”

“Hook me up with one of those, then, thanks. And a couple of dim sims.”

“Fried or steamed?”

“Fried. Of course.”

“I knew you were all right,” Harry said as he downed the last of his beer.

Mel made a couple of phone calls, and twenty minutes and a round of beers later their food arrived, delivered by Val, and a woman who looked so much like her that she could only be Mel’s sister, Justine, and two little boys.

Introductions were performed over the rustle of fish and chips being unwrapped and the booty portioned out. Flynn learned that the taller, skinnier boy was Eddy and the younger, wide-eyed boy was Rex, and that Mel’s sister was not going to be as easily won over as her mother, if her coolly assessing glance was anything to go by.

There was much laughter as they ate, most of it in response to the constant one-upmanship Harry and Mel seemed to thrive on. Flynn guessed that Justine was naturally the quieter of the three siblings, but after a while she loosened up and started to toss the occasional comment into the mix. Val and Mike played umpire, laughing readily when they inevitably became the butt of the joke, while Jacob kept up a sly, clever commentary that was so dry Flynn sometimes almost missed the laugh.

It was a noisy, informal, relaxed meal, a far cry from the dinners he usually shared with his parents. He knew from comments his mother had made from time to time that they’d never intended for him to be an only child, but luck had not been on their side. Sitting around Mel’s crowded kitchen table, he couldn’t help thinking that there was a lot to be said for a large family.

For starters, he’d have someone to talk to about his parents without having to worry that he was boring or overburdening them. Someone who was as invested as he was, someone he could trust implicitly.

The thought killed some of his buzz and he sat back and slid his half-finished beer onto the table. His thoughts circled to this morning’s meeting and suddenly the room seemed too crowded, too noisy, too filled with stories and memories that he didn’t understand or share.

A warm hand landed on his knee and he glanced up to find Mel leaning toward him.

“I meant to ask, are you staying at the house? Because you’re welcome to one of the cottages tonight.”

Her gaze was steady, and he could feel the warmth from her hand clear through to his bones.

“I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest. I guess I’ll stay at Summerlea. Don’t really fancy the drive to Melbourne tonight.”

“Stay here. You’ll have a proper bed and central heating. The last thing you want to do is have to build a fire and crawl into your sleeping bag after the day we’ve had.”

“Sleeping bag? Who’s sleeping in a sleeping bag?” Val asked.

Mel’s gaze was apologetic as it met his and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I haven’t got any furniture yet,” Flynn explained. “I’ve been camping out in the living room until I get something sorted.”

“Then Mel’s right. You should stay here.” Val said it as though it was set in stone, a high priestess handing down an edict.

“That’s it, Mom’s spoken. No turning back now,” Justine said with mock solemnity.

Flynn decided to let it ride for the moment. In truth, he quite enjoyed camping out at Summerlea. It gave the endeavor a boy’s-own-adventure feel that helped distract him from the enormity of the job he’d undertaken and offered him a very delineated break from his life in the city.

It wasn’t long before it became clear that the youngest members of the family were heading toward cranky territory.

“Bedtime for you, my little friends,” Justine announced to her squabbling boys. “Time for us to go.”

It quickly became a mass exodus. Flynn shook hands with all the men and kissed Mel’s sister and her mother goodbye, then he was alone in the kitchen, surrounded by silence as Mel walked her family to their cars.

He glanced at the mess they’d made and began clearing the table, stacking plates and screwing the paper from the fish and chips into a tight ball. The dishwasher was full of clean dishes, so he left the stacked plates and glasses on the draining board and wiped the table.

He paused to check out the series of photographs stuck to the fridge door—a picture of Rex and Eddy, another of Val and Mike, a couple of postcards from various places in Europe. Just visible behind one of them was a shot of Mel in a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a tank top. Her hair was a wild spill around her shoulders, her face creased with laughter. Harry stood next to her sporting rock-god long hair, one arm looped around her shoulders.

Flynn’s gaze traveled over Mel’s long, muscular legs before finding her face. She had such a great smile. Like her laughter, it held nothing back, shouting to the world that she was open and accessible. Although the latter was probably more an illusion these days than reality. At thirty-one, Mel was far more battle-hardened than the girl in the photograph.

He heard the door open and close. He turned away from the fridge as Mel appeared. Her gaze swept the table and counter, and she gave him a grateful smile.

“Thanks for clearing the table.”

“Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for working like a dog for me all day.”

“Thanks for letting me barge into your family working bee.”

She laughed. “I’m all out of thanks. Would you like a coffee instead?”

“Thanks.”

She laughed quietly at his little joke as she took the jar of beans from the pantry.

“So, are you going to give in to the lure of civilization and stay in one of my cottages or are you going to go back to your man cave?” She glanced at him in order to gauge his reaction.

“I think I’m going to suck it up and brave the sleeping bag.”

“Then there’s no help for you.” She gestured dramatically with her free hand. “I officially give up.”

“Do you?”

He hadn’t meant it to sound like a challenge, but that was the way it came out.

The coffee canister hit the counter with a loud thunk. The instinct to make a joke so they could move past the moment was strong. Almost undeniable.

He didn’t want to push her.



And yet, he did, too. He was falling. It would be nice to have some idea where he might land.

So he waited.