Christy McKellen - Mills & Boon Showcase

Her voice was forcedly cheerful but there was a catch to it that tore at Ben.

‘But you don’t want to hear about that.’

Anger against this unknown man who had hurt Sandy fuelled him. ‘You’re damn right I don’t. It’s crap. That jerk was just saying that to make himself feel better about betraying you.’

She pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I tell myself that too. It made me self-conscious around people for a while—you know...the noisy show-off thing. I couldn’t help wondering if people were willing me to shut up but were too polite to say so. But...but I’ve put it behind me.’

With his index finger he tilted her face upwards. ‘Sandy. Look at me. I would never, ever think you were an embarrassing show-off. I never have and I never will. Okay? You’re friendly and warm and you put people at ease. That’s a gift.’

‘Nice of you to say so. Kind words are always welcome.’ Her voice made light of what she said.

‘And I would never give a damn about a toilet roll.’

Her mouth twitched. ‘It sounds so dumb when you say it out loud. A toilet roll.’ The twitch led to a smile and then to full-blown giggles. ‘What a stupid thing for a relationship to founder over.’

‘And what a moron he was to let it.’

Ben found himself laughing with her. It felt good. Again, like oil on those rusty, seized emotions he had thought would never be kick-started into life again.

‘I was just using the toilet roll as an example of how little things about a person can get annoying to someone else,’ she said. Her laughter died away. ‘After a few days of my company you might be glad to see the end of me.’

‘And vice-versa?’ The way he’d cut himself off from relationships, she was more likely to get the worst end of the bargain. He was out of the habit of being a boyfriend.

She nodded. ‘Then we could both move on, free of...free of this thing that won’t let go of us. With...with the past washed clean.’

‘Maybe,’ he conceded.

She wanted to rekindle old embers to see if they burned again or fizzled away into lifeless ash. But what if they raged away like a bush fire out of control and he was the one left scorched and lifeless? Again.

She took hold of his arm. Her voice was underscored with urgency. ‘Ben, we should grab this second chance. Otherwise we might regret it for the rest of our lives. Like I regret that I didn’t trust in what we had. I should have come back to you to Dolphin Bay. I was eighteen years old, for heaven’s sake, not eight. What could my parents have done about it?’

‘I came looking for you in Sydney.’ He hadn’t meant to let that out. Had never intended to tell her.

Her brows rose. ‘When?’

‘A few months after you left.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘You wouldn’t. My mates were playing football at Chatswood, on the north shore. I had my dad’s car to drive down with them.’ He’d been up from university for the Easter break. ‘After the game I found your place.’

‘The house in Killara?’

He nodded. It had been a big house in a posh northern suburb, designed to show off her father’s social status. ‘I parked outside, hoping I’d see you. Not sure what I’d do if I did.’

‘Why didn’t you come in?’

‘I was nineteen. You hadn’t written. Or phoned. For all I knew you’d forgotten all about me. And I knew your father wouldn’t welcome me.’

‘Was I there? I can’t believe while you were outside I might have been in my room. Probably sobbing into my diary about how much I was missing you.’

‘Your hat was hanging on the veranda. I could see it from outside. That funny, stripy bucket hat you used to wear.’

She screwed up her face. ‘I remember... I lost that hat.’

‘No, you didn’t. I took it. I jumped over the fence and snatched it.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You’re kidding me? My old hat? Do...do you still have it?’

‘Once I was back in the car my mates grabbed it from me. When we crossed the Sydney Harbour Bridge they threw it out of the window.’

‘Hey! That hat cost a whole lot of hard-earned babysitting money.’

She pretended outrage, but he could tell she was shaken by his story.

‘I didn’t steal it to see it squashed by a truck. I wanted to punch my mates out. But they told me to stop bothering with a girl who didn’t want me when there were plenty who did.’

Sandy didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she sighed. ‘Oh, Ben, if only...’ She shook her head. ‘I won’t say it. You’re right. No point.’

‘That’s when I gave up on you.’

He’d said enough. He could never admit that for years afterwards when he’d driven over that spot on the bridge he’d looked out for her hat.

‘And there were other girls?’ She put her hand up in her halt sign. ‘No. Don’t tell me about them. I couldn’t bear it.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I used to imagine all those blonde surfer chicks. Glad the city interloper was gone. Able to have their surf god all to themselves again.’

He stared at her incredulously. ‘Did you just call me a surf god?’

Colour stained her cheeks. ‘Hey, I’m in advertising. I get creative with copy.’ But when she looked up at him her eyes were huge and sincere. ‘I adored you, Ben. You must know that.’ Her voice caught in her throat.

Ben shifted from foot to foot in the sand. ‘I... Uh... Same here.’ He’d planned his life around her.

‘Let’s spend these four days together,’ she urged. ‘Forget all that’s happened to us since we last saw each other. Just go back to how we were. Sandy and Ben. Teenagers again. Carefree. Enjoying each other’s company. Recapturing what we had.’

‘You mean a fling?’

‘A four-day fling? No strings? Why not? I’m prepared to risk it if you are.’

Risk. Was he ready to risk the safe life he’d so carefully constructed around himself in Dolphin Bay? He’d done so well in business by taking risks. But taking this risk—even for four days—could have far greater complications than monetary loss.

‘Sandy. I hear what you’re saying. But I need time.’

‘Ben, we don’t have time. We—’

Hobo skidded at their feet, the driftwood in his mouth, wet and eager and demanding attention.

Sandy glared at the animal. ‘You have a great sense of timing, dog.’

‘Yeah, he’s known for it.’ Ben reached down for the driftwood and tossed it just a short distance away. ‘I’ve got to get him back. Dogs are only allowed unleashed on the beach before seven a.m.’

‘And you can’t be seen to be breaking the rules, can you?’

Was she taunting him?

No. The expression in her eyes was wistful, and he realised how she’d put herself on the line for him. For them. Or the possibility of them.

He turned to her. ‘I’ll consider what you said, Sandy.’

Her tone was again forcedly cheerful. ‘Okay, Mr President.’

He grinned. ‘I prefer surf god.’

‘I’m going to regret telling you I called you that, aren’t I? Okay, surf god. But don’t take too long. These four days will be gone before we know it and then I’m out of here. Let’s not waste them.’ She turned to face the water. ‘Are the mantas still in residence?’

‘Yes. More likely their descendants, still scaring the hell out of tourists.’

He remembered how she’d started off being terrified of the big black rays. But by the end of that summer she’d been snorkelling around them. She had overcome her fears. Could he be as brave?

She reached up and hugged him. Briefly, he held her bare warmth to him before she pushed him away.

‘Go,’ she said, her voice not quite steady. ‘Me? I’m having my first swim at Big Ray Beach for twelve years. I can’t wait to get into the surf.’