Daphne Clair - Summer Seduction

‘It’s an intriguing pattern.’

Blythe shifted closer to see, her shoulder brushing against his. ‘It must have taken ages,’ she murmured. ‘And think what a crick in the neck he’d have had!’

Jas’s laughter stirred her hair, and she turned to smile at him.

His face was only inches from hers, the laughter in his eyes making them softer, darker, and his mouth curved, creasing his cheeks. For once he looked relaxed and happy, but almost immediately his head went back, his eyes leaving hers and returning to the book in his hands.

He closed it with a snap, and replaced it carefully on the table. Then he stood up. ‘Time I left,’ he said, although it was still quite early. ‘Many thanks for the dinner and coffee. Can I help with the dishes?’ He glanced down at the dressing on his hand. ‘I could dry.’

Blythe shook her head. ‘There’s not much. Don’t worry about it.’ If he wanted to go she wasn’t going to make excuses to hold him. She followed him to the door, and watched him descend the steps to the road, and then he lifted a hand and walked away.

* * *

Blythe couldn’t have said Jas was an intrusive neighbour. In turn she tried to respect his preference for privacy. Sometimes over the next few weeks they found themselves on the beach together and ended up strolling side by side. He watched her pick hare’s-tails and dry grasses and gather up the spiny heads of spinifex blowing along the sand, and helped her sift through the sea-wrack left by the tide, hunting for its hidden treasures. Occasionally he arrived at her door with a piece of driftwood or a bit of sea-worn glass that he thought she might like for her notions.

She had less time for them now. The bigger sunflowers in the open ground were ready for picking, and she had to watch for the right moment, just before the flowers burst from their buds, to harvest them and get them to her markets in Auckland.

One overcast and rain-misted day, Jas knocked on her door.

He held a bundle of envelopes and a large parcel. The clouds had parted on a sliver of blue behind him, but his hair was hazed with tiny droplets of moisture. ‘Your mail,’ he said. ‘Doug said you might want the parcel.’

‘Oh, thanks!’ A paintbrush in one hand, Blythe took the envelopes from him and stepped back. ‘That’ll be some craft books I ordered. Come in.’

She thought he was going to refuse, but he looked at the paintbrush she held and stepped inside.

‘Where do you want this?’

‘On the table,’ she said, hastily clearing a space among paints and flowerpots.

He put down the carton and straightened, glancing at the pots she’d decorated with brightly hued patterns—dots, stripes and wavy lines, even bows.

‘What do you think?’ she asked him.

‘Very colourful.’

‘I thought plain green pots were a bit boring. The next batch of dwarfs I’m going to slip into these. D’you think they’ll sell?’

‘I’m not qualified to say.’

‘Well, put it this way—would you buy one? With a sunflower in it?’

He picked up one of the pots by the rim, away from the wet paint. She had painted a bright yellow floppy bow on it, with red polka dots. ‘I might have…once. Yes.’ His voice had deepened, and the skin over his cheekbones seemed to tauten as he swallowed. ‘I’m sure they’ll sell.’

Blythe put her paintbrush down, reaching across beside him to place it in a jar of water, giving him a little time.

When he replaced the pot and lifted his head she looked at him searchingly but his face gave nothing away.

Then he smiled, a tiny movement of his firm lips. ‘You’ve got a bit of paint on your cheek.’

‘Damn, where?’ She picked up a paint-stained cloth.

Jas took it from her and gently rubbed at her skin.

Their eyes met and she gazed at him curiously, seeing her own trustingly upturned face reflected in the dark centres as he looked back at her. His hand had stilled and she was conscious of his thumb resting against her cheekbone.

His eyelids lowered, his narrowed gaze lingering on the soft, involuntary parting of her lips before he stepped back. ‘There.’ He put the cloth down.

Blythe stood for a moment, savouring a strange, bubbling delight. ‘Stay for coffee?’

‘You’re working.’

He hadn’t turned her down flat. ‘Time I took a break.’ She moved to put on the kettle. ‘Want a biscuit?’

‘Have you made some?’

‘I’m afraid these are out of a packet.’ She shook out a circle of ginger biscuits onto a plate.

He watched while she prepared the two coffees and added sugar into his, a splash of milk to her own. She had the feeling he was keeping his mind off something.

‘The sun’s come out!’ she said, turning to the sliding glass doors. ‘We could sit on the deck.’

Jas followed her gaze, then looked back at her. ‘So it has.’

‘Can you put a couple of folding chairs out for us? They’re hidden behind the curtain.’

Jas set up the canvas chairs and took his cup from her, and she placed the biscuits on the low wooden table, still damp from the rain.

The sea was deep blue, stippled with white; a few clouds hung raggedly above it. The wet leaves of the nearby trees were glossily shining in the sun.

Blythe breathed in the metallic after-rain smell, stole a look at Jas’s hard profile, then sipped at her coffee, cradling the cup in both hands. ‘I’m investigating other uses for sunflowers and lavender. Did you know you can make paper from sunflower stalks and dyes from the petals?’

‘Are you planning on making paper?’

‘Maybe. What do you think of handmade swing tags with my name on, attached to every pot or notion?’

‘Sounds good. What do you call yourself?’

‘Just B. Summerfield.’

‘Shouldn’t you use a catchy trade name like…Blythe Blooms or…Summers Fields?’

‘You could be right,’ Blythe said. ‘It didn’t seem to matter when my main business was selling dried flowers to florists. But since the notions took off, and now the potted sunflowers…Blythe Blooms.’ She gave him a delighted look. ‘I like it. I wonder if I should advertise for mail orders and sell direct to the public?’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ll have fun trying it out, anyway.’

‘I’ve no doubt you will.’

Blythe bit her lip. She’d been sounding as if life were a game.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jas asked.

‘You think I’m a lightweight person, don’t you? With no…depth.’

Jas’s brows lifted. ‘I think you’re a lucky person,’ he said slowly, ‘who’s been loved and cherished all her life. Also a hardworking one, and probably too kind-hearted for your own good.’

It wasn’t an unflattering assessment, but it didn’t contradict her original assertion, either. ‘Weren’t you ever loved and cherished?’

Jas didn’t react for a moment. ‘You’re getting into deep waters. I wouldn’t advise you to go any further.’

Blythe flushed. ‘I had no right to say that. But you started it…’

‘You asked.’

So she had. ‘I’m sorry.’

He seemed to be thinking, staring at the limitless view before them. ‘I appreciate your concern, Blythe,’ he said at last. ‘Only I can’t…satisfy your need to nurture. Keep that for your plants.’

HE WAS letting her down lightly. But at the same time leaving her in no doubt that he didn’t want her prying into his life.

With a small flash of temper, she said, ‘You needn’t patronise me!’

‘I wasn’t. Not intentionally.’ He glanced at the cup in his hand. ‘Have I outstayed my welcome?’

‘No, of course not. Finish your coffee.’ She pushed the plate of gingernuts towards him.