Brodie crossed to the sofa. ‘You’ve been at it for more than two hours.’
‘That long?’ She stretched and yawned. ‘I hope you weren’t bored.’
‘I found a few things to do.’
‘Oh?’ She cut off a second yawn, suddenly cautious. There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. ‘What sort of things?’
‘I scouted the neighbourhood for a start. The receptionist recommended the rooftop restaurant for dinner.’
I bet she did, and herself for company. Jessica refrained from comment.
‘But I saw an Italian place around the corner. I haven’t had lasagne in ages.’
‘Me either.’ Jessica realised she was hungry. ‘It’s one of those meals not worth cooking for one person.’
‘You make your own lasagne?’
‘Well, I don’t make the pasta sheets, but otherwise, yeah. I like extra basil in the sauce and I slow-cook the tomatoes.’
Brodie shook his head. ‘You don’t act rich.’
‘I’m more than a stereotype.’ The poor little rich girl. She’d hated, resented and run from her money for so long. It was easier to pretend it didn’t exist, to live a normal life as a fledgling academic. Except it was inescapable. She untied her plait and ran her fingers through her hair, separating the strands. She was tired. ‘Being rich is a hassle. I like cooking my own meals.’
He watched her hand running through her hair.
Belatedly she recalled a magazine article she’d read at her hairdressers. A woman playing with her hair was flirting; hence the fashionable appeal of long hair. She snatched her hand down, letting the last few strands of blonde hair fall in disarray. ‘When do you want to eat?’
The light flooding in the window was golden. Sunset.
‘I’m easy,’ he said.
‘Thirty minutes?’ She needed a shower.
‘Suits me.’
***
The soft shadows of dusk brought out the scents of the plants growing along the harbour-side street; honeysuckle, jasmine and lavender where Jessica’s skirt brushed against a low hedge. Roses nodded over a white painted picket fence.
She had showered and changed from jeans to a maxi dress with a cotton cardigan over the top. She’d re-plaited her hair.
Brodie strolled along in navy chinos. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and looked all the more impressive for his casual elegance. His stainless-steel watch emphasised his masculine style.
The Italian restaurant had warm yellow lighting spilling from the windows and violin music playing, but it wasn’t romantic. The effect was family-friendly and welcoming.
A waiter greeted them. ‘Would you like a table inside or out?’
‘Inside, if you don’t mind?’ Jessica said. Outside, the water glimmered with reflected light.
Brodie nodded.
They got a table at a window. The cars on the road had their headlights on. So many people, busily returning home or venturing out for the night. The headlights were like swarms of fireflies.
‘Thanks.’ Brodie accepted the beer he’d ordered from the waiter.
Jessica smiled her thanks for the lime-spiked soda water.
This wasn’t a date, so there was no pressure to make conversation. Jessica could be as silent as her tiredness dictated. If it had been a date, she thought Brodie would have been okay with the silence anyway. He didn’t need noise and fuss to affirm his identity. He was just quietly, effortlessly, in control.
He put down his bottle of beer. ‘I hired a car.’
‘You…why?’
‘It’s a bit far to walk from the hotel to your stepmother’s. This way we won’t be dependent on taxis.’
‘I’ll reimburse you.’
He shrugged.
‘Brodie.’
‘Relax. I know you’re good for the money.’
The faint teasing reassured her, but she decided against pushing the issue. ‘Thank you. It’s a good idea.’
‘Almost as good as my next one.’
She waited.
‘You need to go shopping, tomorrow.’
She blinked.
‘Your stepmother and brother use their clothes, their appearance, to intimidate. You need to face this weekend
‘That long?’ She stretched and yawned. ‘I hope you weren’t bored.’
‘I found a few things to do.’
‘Oh?’ She cut off a second yawn, suddenly cautious. There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. ‘What sort of things?’
‘I scouted the neighbourhood for a start. The receptionist recommended the rooftop restaurant for dinner.’
I bet she did, and herself for company. Jessica refrained from comment.
‘But I saw an Italian place around the corner. I haven’t had lasagne in ages.’
‘Me either.’ Jessica realised she was hungry. ‘It’s one of those meals not worth cooking for one person.’
‘You make your own lasagne?’
‘Well, I don’t make the pasta sheets, but otherwise, yeah. I like extra basil in the sauce and I slow-cook the tomatoes.’
Brodie shook his head. ‘You don’t act rich.’
‘I’m more than a stereotype.’ The poor little rich girl. She’d hated, resented and run from her money for so long. It was easier to pretend it didn’t exist, to live a normal life as a fledgling academic. Except it was inescapable. She untied her plait and ran her fingers through her hair, separating the strands. She was tired. ‘Being rich is a hassle. I like cooking my own meals.’
He watched her hand running through her hair.
Belatedly she recalled a magazine article she’d read at her hairdressers. A woman playing with her hair was flirting; hence the fashionable appeal of long hair. She snatched her hand down, letting the last few strands of blonde hair fall in disarray. ‘When do you want to eat?’
The light flooding in the window was golden. Sunset.
‘I’m easy,’ he said.
‘Thirty minutes?’ She needed a shower.
‘Suits me.’
***
The soft shadows of dusk brought out the scents of the plants growing along the harbour-side street; honeysuckle, jasmine and lavender where Jessica’s skirt brushed against a low hedge. Roses nodded over a white painted picket fence.
She had showered and changed from jeans to a maxi dress with a cotton cardigan over the top. She’d re-plaited her hair.
Brodie strolled along in navy chinos. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and looked all the more impressive for his casual elegance. His stainless-steel watch emphasised his masculine style.
The Italian restaurant had warm yellow lighting spilling from the windows and violin music playing, but it wasn’t romantic. The effect was family-friendly and welcoming.
A waiter greeted them. ‘Would you like a table inside or out?’
‘Inside, if you don’t mind?’ Jessica said. Outside, the water glimmered with reflected light.
Brodie nodded.
They got a table at a window. The cars on the road had their headlights on. So many people, busily returning home or venturing out for the night. The headlights were like swarms of fireflies.
‘Thanks.’ Brodie accepted the beer he’d ordered from the waiter.
Jessica smiled her thanks for the lime-spiked soda water.
This wasn’t a date, so there was no pressure to make conversation. Jessica could be as silent as her tiredness dictated. If it had been a date, she thought Brodie would have been okay with the silence anyway. He didn’t need noise and fuss to affirm his identity. He was just quietly, effortlessly, in control.
He put down his bottle of beer. ‘I hired a car.’
‘You…why?’
‘It’s a bit far to walk from the hotel to your stepmother’s. This way we won’t be dependent on taxis.’
‘I’ll reimburse you.’
He shrugged.
‘Brodie.’
‘Relax. I know you’re good for the money.’
The faint teasing reassured her, but she decided against pushing the issue. ‘Thank you. It’s a good idea.’
‘Almost as good as my next one.’
She waited.
‘You need to go shopping, tomorrow.’
She blinked.
‘Your stepmother and brother use their clothes, their appearance, to intimidate. You need to face this weekend
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