‘Tel me the first word that comes to your mind when I say “fishing”?’
She wanted Alex to relax this evening. She wanted him to have fun. And then she wanted to talk.
‘Rocks,’ he returned.
She had an immediate image of his legs dangling over her rock on the breakwater earlier. Strong thighs and—
‘Mountains,’ she returned.
‘Himalayas.’
Good, no sexy images accompanied that word.
She turned the fish. And in the same spirit… ‘Yaks.’
‘Yaks?’
Laughter burst out of him and Kit refused to question the way her shoulders lightened. ‘Yeah, you know, big wool y animals with horns.’ At least she thought they had horns.
‘I know what a yak is.’ His grin when it came was sudden and blinding. ‘But in four steps we’ve jumped from fishing to yaks?’
Kit had to grin back. She physical y couldn’t help it. Besides, grinning wasn’t against the rules. ‘I’m trying to keep baby brain at bay. Caro has warned me that as soon as the baby is born, my brain wil turn to mush. I thought word association games and turn to mush. I thought word association games and the daily crossword might help counter its onset.’
‘Right, smart move. Okay, here’s one—picnic.’
‘Ants.’
They both promptly stared down at the ground.
‘No ants,’ Kit final y said. ‘C’mon, let’s get this picnic on the road. The fish is nearly done.’
Ten minutes later they were settled in the chairs, plates balanced on knees, eating fish, potatoes, barbecued corncobs drenched in butter and salad.
‘Heck, Kit, for someone who won’t cook you’ve done a damn fine job.’
Kit licked butter from her fingers. ‘I have, haven’t I?’ But when she realized Alex fol owed the way her tongue caught the trickle of butter from the back of her hand, saw the way his eyes darkened, her stomach clenched. She grabbed a serviette and wiped her fingers instead. She left the rest of her corn untouched on her plate. Alex wrenched his gaze back to his plate.
The memory of their kiss burned between them.
That kiss, what did it mean? Alex hadn’t planned on fatherhood, but it had found him anyway. He hadn’t planned on any kind of romantic relationship either, but…
She refused to finish that thought.
She shifted on her chair. Could she blame pregnancy hormones for the way her heart crashed about in her chest whenever she locked eyes with Alex?
Her lips twisted as she speared a slice of cucumber. Not a chance. That was due to hormones she’d had long before she’d ever fal en pregnant.
‘The fishing this afternoon, Kit, it was fun.’
‘Yeah.’ She smiled. ‘I have so many great memories of sitting on my rock—fishing, dreaming, hanging out there with my friends or my mum and grandma. It reminds me of summer holidays and endless afternoons and laughter and al good things.’
He stopped eating to stare at her. ‘I’m honoured you shared it with me.’
Regardless of what happened, she knew this afternoon would always be precious to her. And what she’d just said to Alex, al of that was true. ‘Do you have a place like my rock?’
He cut into a potato, but he didn’t eat it. ‘No,’ he final y said.
His face didn’t shutter closed. She took that as a good sign. ‘What did you like doing with your parents when you were young?’ She swal owed as a different question occurred to her. ‘Are your parents stil alive?’
‘They died when I was twelve. Car accident.’
There was no mistaking the closing up of his face now. Her heart burned. Her fingers shook and she had to lay her cutlery down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘That must’ve been awful.’
‘Not your fault, Kit.’
His words, his half-shrug…the fact he ate a piece of fish—fish she’d cooked for him—gave her the courage to continue. ‘Who did you live with afterwards?’
‘My grandfather. He was as rich as Croesus and as bitter as battery acid.’
Uttered in a flat tone—fact with no emotion. Kit abandoned the rest of her food. ‘That’s when you moved to Vaucluse?’
He nodded.
The exclusive address hadn’t shielded him from life’s harsher realities. She could sense that much.
‘He’d disowned my mother when she married my father. Apparently a motor mechanic wasn’t good enough for the daughter of one of Australia’s leading politicians.’
She shuddered. Alex’s grandfather sounded control ing and vengeful. It wasn’t the kind of home she’d ever want her child being sent to. ‘If he disowned your mother, why did he take you in?’
‘The papers got hold of the story, and to him appearances were everything.’ His lips twisted into the mockery of a smile that made a chil creep up her arms. ‘He had to at least be seen doing the right thing.’ He threw off his smile with a shrug. ‘I’d have been better off in a foster home.’
This was the man who’d raised Alex throughout his teenage years? More pieces of the puzzle fel into place. Kit wasn’t prepared for the surge of anger that shot through her on Alex’s behalf, though. The people who should’ve looked out for him, loved him
—his grandfather, his ex-wife—they’d betrayed him utterly.
She didn’t blame him for guarding his heart.
Her chest ached; her eyes ached. Did he have to keep guarding it against their baby, though?
‘I left when I was sixteen. I found work as a builder’s labourer.’
builder’s labourer.’
And he’d built an empire on his own. But that empire of his, it wouldn’t have made up for al he’d lost when his parents died. With an effort, she swal owed back the lump in her throat. She was glad he’d given her a glimpse into his past, but she wanted tonight to be about happy memories. ‘When they were alive, what did you like to do with your mum and dad?’
Enough light filtered into her garden for her to see that her question stumped him. She had a feeling that Alex had shut himself off from his past to protect himself from al the bad memories, but in the process he’d shut out al the good memories too.
‘I…’
She could see that he struggled. ‘Did your dad like to kick a bal around the garden with you? Did your mum make the best birthday cakes?’
One corner of his mouth kicked up. ‘Mum couldn’t bake to save her life.’ He sat higher in his chair and grinned. It made him look younger, wiped al the cares from his face for a moment. It stole her breath.
‘We used to play this strange cricket game with a tennis racquet and a bal .’
‘We used to play that game on the beach!’ She clapped her hands, absurdly pleased at this point of connection. ‘We cal ed it French cricket. Though I don’t know how French it was.’
‘On the weekends Dad would tinker with the car and he’d let me help. He taught me al the names of the tools.’
She could imagine a younger version of Alex—
dark-haired and scrawny—handing his father tools, studying engine components in that serious, steady way of his. If they had a son, would he look like Alex?
Share his mannerisms?
‘Mum’s favourite song was by the Bay City Rol ers and she’d sing it al the time. Sometimes Dad and I would join in and…’ he stil ed with his fork halfway to his mouth ‘…we’d end up on the ground laughing.
Mum would tickle me.’ His grin suddenly widened.
‘And Dad would always say that we were in for an early night.’ He glanced at Kit, his eyes dancing. ‘I now know what that was al about.’