Storm Shells (The Wishes Series #3) (22 page)

“I think about it a lot,” I said randomly. “Charli, I mean.”

Ryan grimaced. “Why would you even go there?”

I absently twisted my wedding ring off my finger and spun it on the counter. “What if we made a mistake?”

It was unfair to imply that both of us had got it wrong. Charlotte had done her very best to change my mind a hundred times. I was to blame for the loss, not her.

He groaned as if I’d said something ridiculous. “You can’t go back. You’re going to have to find a way of getting past this.”

I slipped the ring back on my finger. “I hate myself, Ryan,” I admitted. “So freaking much.”

My brother set the knife on the counter, staring at me for an uncomfortably long time. “I know.”

I don’t cry. I’m not a crier, but at that point total despair consumed me. My chest constantly ached and I could barely think straight. It was an incredible release to actually let my guard down, hang my head and fall apart. “I’ve lost everything.”

Ryan walked around the counter. “I’m not going to tell you that it’s going to get easier,” he said, kneading the nape of my neck, “but eventually, you’ll get better at dealing with it.”

I wanted nothing more than to believe him, but at that moment, recovery seemed impossible. The only thing worse than the damage I’d done to myself was the thought of what I’d done to Charli.

It was a pain I deserved to suffer for the rest of my existence.

February 24

Charli

Inviting Gabrielle to accompany me to the doctor’s office that morning was purely tactical. Alex had begged me to cut her some slack. If it made living with her more bearable, I was happy to help him out. “She’s just trying to find her place, Charli,” he told me. “She’s not sure where she fits in with all of this.”

I really couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t entirely sure where she fit in either. The step-grandmother of my kid was also her first cousin once removed.

Visits to the doctor were a necessary evil. Being poked and prodded was invasive and sometimes cringeworthy. Having Gabrielle there didn’t help.

“Your body is on loan, Charli,” she told me over and over. “Do the best for your baby.”

“I am,” I replied.

“You eat cereal for dinner!”

Usually I’d bite back, but pregnancy had gifted me a skill that had eluded me my whole life. I was a lot more even-tempered and level-headed these days.

Gabrielle declined my offer to come inside when she dropped me back at the cottage. When I heard a knock at the door just a few minutes later, I thought she’d changed her mind. I quickly gave the dining table a wipe over with my sleeve and made my way to the door.

It wasn’t the Parisienne. It was Flynn Davis.

“Hello, Charli,” he said meekly. “How are you?”

I knew the upcoming conversation by heart.

“Fine, thanks. How are you?”

“Good. I’m good. Do you like fish, Charli?”

I was impressed. He’d changed his game plan. He’d never used the fish angle to ask me out on a date before.

“Yes, I love fish. It’s brain food,” I replied.

“I just picked up some beautiful salmon from my Grandpa this morning. There’s far too much for one person. I thought maybe we could split it.”

I have no explanation for the next words out of my mouth. “How about you come for dinner and let me cook it for you?” I offered.

He nearly fell over. “I’d really like that. Does tonight suit you?”

“Ah, sure,” I stammered, a little off-guard. “Tonight will be fine.”

I wanted to set ground rules. I wanted to him to be clear that I was offering him dinner and nothing more, but there was no kind way of putting it into words.

When Alex turned up later that afternoon, I considered sending him next door to play the heavy-handed father. If anyone could let Flynn know exactly where he stood, it was Alex. But of course I didn’t. True to form, I didn’t mention it.

* * *

Flynn arrived right on time, with a plate of fresh salmon in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He made me laugh by thrusting both at me as soon as I opened the door, which did nothing to quell his skittishness.

“Smooth, Flynn,” he muttered, chastising himself.

“Come in, please.” I held the door open with my foot.

“I hope the wine’s okay,” he said, following me through to the kitchen. “Jasmine assured me that this is the best pinot noir they’ve produced in years.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely.” I pretended to study the label. “I’m not much of a wine buff, though.”

“Oh. You don’t like wine?”

I shook my head falsely. Ordinarily, I had no problem with wine. The prospect of foetal alcohol syndrome was the problem.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I should’ve brought something different.”

I found Flynn’s tendency to apologise for every little thing annoying. His impeccably neat, perfectly pressed clothes also grated. It was most unfair. Flynn had never been anything but super nice to me. Perhaps that was the problem.

I grabbed a corkscrew and handed it to him. “I’ll let you do the honours. If I do it, you’ll spend the evening picking bits of cork out of your glass.”

“It seems a shame to open it if I’m the only one drinking.”

“I’m sure Jasmine can get her hands on more.”

“You don’t like her much, do you?” he asked.

“We have a long and colourful history,” I replied, more than willing to leave it at that. “How do you feel about her marrying your brother?”

Flynn shrugged. “He loves her. They’re similar creatures, a good match.”

My giggle sounded positively wicked. “How very diplomatic of you.”

He pulled the cork and I slid a glass along the counter.

I was glad Flynn had brought wine. After a few glasses he loosened up, which made conversation easier. I kept the focus on him, unwilling to let him know too much about me. Keeping my distance was important. I’d spent weeks keeping him at bay. The last thing I wanted was to appear interested in anything more than a casual dinner.

I managed to do Norm’s salmon justice by poaching it to perfection, and the company was surprisingly good. Hosting dinner parties had never been my forte but I pulled it off.

Partying into the night had never been my forte either, especially lately. By ten o’clock, feeling absolutely shattered, I was ushering Flynn and a plate over leftover fish out the door.

* * *

Clearing the air with Nicole was good for my soul, and my social life. When she called me the next morning to suggest hanging out for the day, I jumped at the chance. I was bustling around, still getting ready when she arrived.

“Hello,” she called, through the mesh of the screen door.

“Hey.”

She walked in, carrying a massive floral arrangement. “I’ve brought you a present.”

“Flowers?” Coming from her, I thought it was bizarre.

She walked over to the table and set the flowers down. “Relax, they’re not from me. They were on the doorstep. Maybe they’re from Adam.” Adam would never send me flowers. He knew better. I began fossicking through the bunch looking for a card. “It’s here,” said Nicole, plucking it out of the centre.

“They’re from Flynn.” I tossed the card on the table.

Nicole lurched forward and picked it up, taking it upon herself to read it out loud. “Because I woke up thinking of you,” she read, making me cringe. “Wow. That’s a bit full on, isn’t it?”

I wholeheartedly agreed. I thought I’d set very clear boundaries where Flynn was concerned. “What do I do about this?”

“Just talk to him. Tell him you’re not interested.”

“I thought I’d already done that,” I mumbled.

Getting out of the house for the day took on a new urgency. I didn’t want to be there in case Flynn came knocking. I put on my black oversized bump-hiding jacket and headed for the door.

Nicole called me back. “Don’t you want to see the present I brought you?” She was waving a tote bag I hadn’t noticed before.

“What is it?”

She upended a pile of clothes onto the couch. “I thought you might be able to get some use out of these, unless you prefer looking like a frumpy emo kid.”

I took no offence because she’d described my current wardrobe to a T. I was alternating between black and grey hoodies that I’d swiped from Alex, both at least five sizes too big.

She held up a purple hoodie. “I know it’s not exactly stylish, but it’s an improvement – a little bit girly and only a size or two too big.”

Grateful, I swapped jackets immediately. “What do you think?” I asked, zipping it all the way up and settling both hands in the front pocket.

A tiny smile crossed her lips as she looked me up and down. “I think you’ve got no reason to be hiding anything in the first place. You’re having a baby, Charli, not harbouring a criminal.”

It was a secret I just wasn’t ready to let go of yet, and Nicole knew me well enough to know why. I felt the need to explain anyway. “I don’t want people talking about me. I don’t want to be that stupid girl who’s come back to town knocked up and alone.”

“I came back here with a nastier tale of woe than you did. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. If anyone should be living the life of a recluse, it’s me.”

I couldn’t refute what she’d said. Nor could I defend her. Nicole had done some truly wicked things in the past.

“They can only hear about it once, Charli. People can only be appalled and disgusted once and then they have to get over it. If they can’t, it becomes their problem.”

* * *

We weren’t looking for trouble, but choosing Jasmine’s salon for a manicure instead of Carol Lawson’s made it inevitable. Carol would flip out if she knew we were fraternising with the enemy.

It was a complex, covert operation. We parked much further up the street than we needed to and walked down to the salon. We didn’t want Nicole’s mother to see us from her shop, just twenty metres further down the road.

Neither of us even wanted a manicure. We were just being nosy.

Nicole set the scene as we walked down the street. “She has massive pictures of herself all over the place.”

“What did she call her salon?” I quizzed.

Nicole grabbed my hand, pulling to me an abrupt halt. “See for yourself,” she said, pointing to the shop window beside me.

I read out loud. “The Best Salon In The Cove.”

It was too stupid for words. If I hadn’t seen the pink sign with silver lettering for myself, I’d never have believed it. I was too stunned to even laugh, which was probably a good thing because Jasmine came barrelling out of the shop to greet us.

“Hello, girls!” she squealed. “What can I do for you today?”

I couldn’t answer. I was too focused on her outfit. The tight dress with the zipper at the front looked like a nurse’s uniform – except it was hot pink. She was now Sparkly-nurse-tramp Barbie.

“How about a manicure?” asked Nicole. “Do you have time?”

Jasmine pretended to think about it. “Come inside. I’ll check the appointment book.” Foolishly, we did as she asked.

The inside of Jasmine’s salon proved something I’d known for a long time: money can’t buy style. It was plain to see that a small fortune had been spent making The Best Salon In The Cove look the tackiest. Lime green walls, purple vinyl chairs and plenty of chrome and glass dominated the small space. Four blue monochromatic pictures hung on the walls, all of the owner. There was something quite disturbing about seeing Jasmine’s face staring at me from every direction.

“You’re in luck.” Jasmine flicked through the appointment book too quickly to convince anyone that she was actually checking it. “I can fit you in now. Come and sit at the nail station.”

We did as we were told, taking seats at the small glass-topped nail desk at the back of the shop. Jasmine produced a small bowl, squirted it full of clear liquid and plunged my hands into it.

“Where are your pretty rings?” she asked, tapping my bare finger.

Jasmine Tate was a bowerbird, attracted to glittery objects. She hadn’t noticed the baby in my belly but had immediately noticed my missing bling.

“I’m not wearing them,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Aww,” she crowed. “Bad memories?”

Nicole wiggled her fingers. “We’re here for a manicure, Jasmine.”

“Yes, and I’m very honoured,” announced the chief Beautiful. She ferociously took to Nicole’s left hand with a file, as if trying to saw her fingers off. “It’s nice to know who my true friends are.”

“Oh, has something happened?” Nicole’s concern sounded very convincing. “You seem a little upset.”

Jasmine stopped filing. “You’re not going to believe it.”

“Try us,” I urged, making Nicole hide a smile.

“Pensioner Penny turned me down,” hissed Jasmine, beyond incredulous. “Can you believe it?”

We shook our heads, tutting in outrage.

“I told her she had a chance to be part of the society wedding of the century. All she had to do in return was commit to a four-month fitness regime and undergo a series of skin treatments. I even offered her discount on the treatments!”