Authors: Anya Forest
Christie shivered, recognising Blake’s uncompromising attitude.
The nurse rang him at 3a.m. so he got straight in the car and drove here. And I didn’t trust him.
Panic flashed through her briefly before she brought herself back under control. “Today didn’t go very well,” she started. “Isla’s fine —”
“So both of you are then?” Blake joked, unable to stop himself as he sensed she was already calmer, more relaxed.
Christie gave him a reluctant smile. “I didn’t sleep last night because… Anyway, everything seemed to go wrong. And then that woman, she really got to me. And that birth registration form.” Christie stopped, gave an embarrassed laugh. “It just all hit home. I’ll have to leave half of it blank, because Paul isn’t interested in Isla at all. And I’d need his signature if I put him as the father. Then I topped that off and had that nightmare again.”
Blake watched her as she explained further, talking to him matter-of-factly. He realised that the troubled look had gone from her face, that her eyes were clear, the familiar bright shade of blue. “In other words, the day from hell,” he said, deadpan. Christie nodded, already regaining perspective.
How can he sit there, say almost nothing and make me feel so much better,
she thought, amazed.
“Has Paul been in touch again?” Blake asked, the knowledge of Paul’s previous call in his eyes.
Christie shook her head definitely. “No, and I haven’t had that nightmare for months, not since—” she faltered, remembering the night in Dunedin, “—for months,” she repeated, looking at Isla. “And the nurse heard, must have called you.”
Blake continued to watch Christie, thinking over her comments, wondering about what she had said.
It’s not surprising she’s still having that nightmare,
he rationalised. But primal jealousy played at the edges of his mind even as he tried to ignore the fact it was the nurse that called him, not Christie. And she had always told him about the nightmare, always been honest with him. He remembered the dream she had had in Dunedin; clearly he had nothing to worry about
. Then,
he thought bleakly.
Now she’s talking to me, but as a friend.
“Anyway, I’ve got to feed Isla,” Christie said, unnerved by Blake’s silence even as he assisted her, getting out of his chair to pick up Isla, settling a blanket around them both after Christie had mixed the bottle of formula.
I can’t do this
, Christie thought desperately, growing more and more conscious of Blake watching them both.
Everything he does is so genuine, practical. So fraternal.
“Thanks for coming in, Blake,” she said. “But—”
“You’re fine,” he said. “Am I right?”
Christie nodded, her mouth curving into a smile, not referring to the confidences she had mentioned.
It’s like a dream,
Christie thought.
Like we both just talked to each other normally. And now…
“I’m staying here.” Blake’s voice was uncompromising.
Christie’s eyes widened with shock. “That’s not necessary,” she said firmly, knowing she could not cope with any further fraternal comments or actions when she had hoped for so much more. “Thanks anyway.”
His dark eyes met her wide blue gaze, his expression implacable. “No arguments,” he said.
Feeling increasingly uneasy at his absolute tone, the force of his words, Christie sought to explain. “I’ve just had one bad day, Blake. And it was my birthday too…I just…” She shrugged in what she hoped was a casual manner. “I don’t need you overreacting, leaving directives with the nurses, rushing in here over—” she faltered slightly, “—one bad dream.”
Blake tensed, realising once again Christie was shutting him out. Hurt and frustration filled him.
Blood from a stone.
The memory of Mason Bay rose up to choke him as he remembered Christie’s behaviour then, the same lack of trust, the mixed messages.
And yet…
Emotion coursed through him as he replayed the way Christie’s mother had mentioned
Christie’s birthday, clearly assuming he would know, that Christie would have said something.
As anyone would, except Christie, with her secretiveness and private nature.
Blake shook his head slightly, speaking rashly, too late remembering Christie’s earlier distress, whatever front she tried to display.
“Yes, it was your birthday. According to your mother. Did you not think to tell me yourself?” Christie met his gaze, defiant now, terrified he would decipher her true feelings.
“Yes, Blake, I did. And then I thought you might think I was one of those gold diggers you guard against, that I wanted a gift.”
Blake looked at her, genuinely stunned. “Gold digger?” he echoed the term.
“You said that was why you didn’t tell me about the winery...You asked why it mattered…and you’ve already bought so much for Isla.” Christie gestured towards the tins of formula on the cabinet. “And I can’t really reciprocate. That’s why I want to help you with the house…” Her voice trailed off at the look on his face.
Blake laughed harshly. “Yeah, sure, Christie. You’re the most financially independent woman I know. Hardly a gold digger. And if I did buy you a gift you wouldn’t accept it anyway. You don’t trust me and you won’t include me in your life. That’s the real reason.”
“I do trust you, Blake,” Christie said simply, pausing as a half remembered memory tugged at her mind.
I was speaking to the doctor during labour, wanting to tell the doctor something…I just can’t remember much,
she thought, sick at heart.
“And that’s why you went through my phone,” he said, his voice cold.
Christie took a deep breath, anger filling her. “Blake, I made a terrible mistake. Please try to understand, don’t judge me just—”
“It’s not just that, Christie, it’s all the—”
Christie interrupted, anger taking over, embarrassed at what she had confided earlier. “So I have to tell you everything, do I? When I’m feeling miserable, instantly share all my medical—”
“I was worried about you,” he cut in. “If you’re having a bad day why don’t you just say so, talk to me. Tell me about that birth registration form or whatever it is that’s worrying you.” Christie flushed at Blake’s comment even as his words echoed in her mind, crystallising her earlier thoughts. Her eyes snapped as she watched him, his face set, angry. Sudden knowledge filled her.
“My birthday.” Christie emphasised the words. “Isla’s birth registration form,” she continued. “What about your own? Were you ever going to tell me?” She saw his face bleach white, the agony real in his eyes. Too late, Christie realised it was the wrong time to confront Blake, was hardly a subject to raise in anger. Shocked at herself, Christie swiftly tried to make amends, apologising, emphasising it was none of her business.
Blake stood up, glancing down at Isla. “Yes, I was,” he said, his voice broken. “That morning at my cottage. But you wouldn’t listen.” He didn’t look at Christie again as he walked out.
Chapter Seventeen
Christie held Isla, unable to believe how time had flown. Already, Isla was almost three months old, had grown so much. Her tiny hand gripped Christie’s finger, holding on with surprising strength as her bright blue eyes met Christie’s, her gaze wavering slightly as she tried to focus on Christie’s face. Christie carefully placed Isla in the car seat, buckling her in securely, smoothing her other hand over Isla’s head before closing the door.
Christie’s parents had returned to Australia to continue their travels several weeks ago and Christie was slowly adjusting to caring for Isla and the contracting work, which was gradually increasing in volume. Now she was looking forward to the lunch she had been invited to by Vanessa, one of Lisa’s friends. Christie had accepted immediately, wanting to meet more people, writing down the details of the small winery she had not heard of before.
At least it’s not Blake’s winery.
She had tried to ignore the small voice inside her continuing to remind her about Blake, Blake who had not contacted her since walking out of the hospital room that final time.
I want to meet people,
Christie recited to herself.
I can’t turn invitations down just because Blake might be there. I’ll just have to deal with it if he is. It’s been almost three months after all.
She shook her head as she thought back to his abrupt arrival at the hospital after her nightmare. And then, nothing. Regret and uncertainty coursed through Christie as she again tried to rationalise what had occurred.
I couldn’t cope with friendship,
she thought now as she walked into the winery with Isla.
Not the way I still feel about him. And that was all he was offering. Or a fling. He’s never said anything about a real relationship. And he thinks I don’t trust him, wouldn’t listen to me. If only…
Christie’s internal musing continued as she walked over to a large table, seeing she was one of the last to arrive. Vanessa called out to her, clearly pleased to see her, exclaiming over Isla, introducing her to others around the table. Christie smiled across the table at Lisa who grinned back at her, commenting on Isla.
Christie was immediately swept up in conversation with the couple next to her, relaxing, enjoying being out socially. There were a couple of extra chairs at the other end of the table but
really,
Christie thought,
what are the chances.
She started talking to James, Vanessa’s twin brother on the other side of her, realising he was an architect. Christie’s eyes sparkled as she became increasingly animated, her natural confidence surfacing as they discussed design.
Laughing, Christie followed James’ recommendation on the wine she should order, joking with him as he ordered a glass for each of them.
“Sorry to get here so late, Vanessa, James.” Blake’s voice cut across her laughter; Christie stared, frozen, as Blake gave Vanessa a social kiss on the cheek, shook James’ hand. Seeing Blake again, his magnetic presence, his dark eyes, made Christie feel faint with physical shock. Desire resurfaced, started to climb her spine, bringing a flush to her face as she desperately tried to compose herself. Leaning down, she checked on Isla, trying to buy more time, painfully conscious of Blake generally greeting the table, the scrape of chairs as he courteously pulled out a chair for his companion before seating himself.
Christie straightened up in her chair, barely managing to join in the conversation around her. James obviously wanted to continue discussing design; Christie could barely focus on his well-informed comments as she gradually brought herself under control. She glanced at Blake out of the corner of her eye; noticed he was ordering wine for himself and for his companion, a stunning blonde. Jealousy ripped through Christie, followed by regret.
This was going to happen sooner or later,
she thought to herself.
I’ve got to make the best of it.
She leaned over to check on Isla again, adjusting her blanket as an excuse to give her more time to pull herself together.
I want to meet more people,
she thought.
That’s why I’m here.
Knowing she could not reasonably spend any more time checking on Isla, Christie straightened up again, calling on all of her strength.
“Is Isla okay?” She closed her eyes briefly as she heard Blake’s question, the hint of amusement in his voice.
He knows,
she thought bleakly.
“Yes, she’s fine. Thank you,” she said, her eyes snapping, contradicting her overly polite tone.
“She’s fine, is she?” Blake repeated, clearly referring to her previous assurances at the hospital. Christie nodded automatically, noticing Blake’s companion watching her. Blake said nothing further; Christie fixed a polite expression on her face, turning back to talk to James.
Over lunch, Christie talked to James in detail, realising how much she had missed her career, telling him about the contracting. Others at the table asked questions about Isla; one friend of Lisa’s even asked to hold her, as did Lisa. Christie answered their questions, pleased to be making friends, be in a group of people. She could hear Blake talking to others around him at the table, heard the laughter from Vanessa and her friends as he made a quick joke about something she had commented on.
Intensely aware of Blake, Christie was still determined to get through the lunch, not lose her composure. She could not stand to look at his companion, wondering who she was, torturing herself with regrets each time she glanced down to check on Isla.
Shortly after the meal had been cleared, Christie could stand it no longer but knew she could hardly leave the winery abruptly without seeming rude. Quietly getting Lisa’s attention, gesturing to Isla, Christie left the table, heading across the restaurant, wanting to give the impression she was in search of the restroom. She walked down the corridor, saw a door leading outside. Suddenly desperate to be outside in the fresh air, Christie pushed it open, retreating after only a couple of minutes as the icy air swirled around her.
I’ll stay longer,
she told herself.
I’ll order a coffee, talk to James and be polite.
She had found the people seated around her to be friendly, easy to talk to, did not want to sabotage one of the first invitations she had received to go out socially since Isla’s birth.