bring me another. I started on my second glass as a tall and slender blonde approached the bar. She wore a camisole and denim shorts. Her white-blonde hair was cut in a short wind-ruffled style. Sexy hair, I thought, taking another sip. She had a lovely neckline. Lovely shoulders. Lovely big blue eyes. Elegance and athleticism.
“Hello, Marty,” she said. “This must be Ellie?”
Marty.
He cleared his throat. “Willow, hi. Yeah, this is Ellie. Willow is a”—he turned to the woman—“what do you call it again?”
Willow laughed. “Wellness coach.” She proffered her hand. “Willow Larsen.” Her Australian accent was flat and thick, but not unattractive.
“And there I thought you were a fortune-teller,” Rabz said as she set a glass of wine in front of Willow. “Or a diet coach. Or some kind of medium.”
Willow laughed again and took the wine. She had a nice laugh. “A major building block of wellness is nutrition, so yeah, you could say I dabble in diet along with the occult.” She glanced at me. “I read tarot cards. Tea leaves. Auras, too.” She brought her glass to her mouth, sipped. “Coffee grinds at a push.”
Dana’s words crawled through my mind.
“Your aura is weird after you’ve been with him. Dark. Wrong. Something is badly off . . .”
I considered asking Willow what she felt about our auras right now, but I knew it was the wine tempting me. I refrained.
“I have an online business,” Willow explained to me. “But I also offer consults at my home. My background is psychotherapy—I’m a trained therapist at the root of it all.” She glanced at Rabz. “So yeah, Rabz, no worries. Most people have trouble describing what I do. I just refer to myself as a holistic healer.” She took another sip of her wine while standing at the bar. “Nice to finally meet you, Ellie,” she said. “We wondered if Martin had made you up.” She threw him a grin but he didn’t return a smile. She hesitated, holding his gaze. “Well . . . my friend Gregg is waiting.” She gestured toward a booth where a good-looking man with sun-bleached brown hair sat. “Join us later if you like?”
“Thanks,” I said. “We might take you up on that.”
“And if you ever want a reading, El, I’m the second house up on the Jarra headlands. The one with all the glass. Stop by. Even if it’s just for a cup of tea. Or glass of wine. Or if you just want the lowdown on this place, because believe me, there’s plenty of it.” Her gaze ticked to Martin.
“Thanks. I will.” And I meant it.
“She seems nice,” I said to Martin as she left us.
But Martin was focused on Rabz, who was setting two plates in front of us, each with a steaming meat pie, hot chips, and tiny peas. She poured Martin another beer and I realized I’d finished my wine. How many had I had? Two? Three? Rabz nodded to my glass and I said yes.
Martin tucked into his food, clearly ravenous. I picked at mine. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me.
“Martin?”
His gaze met mine. I felt undercurrents. Was he judging me for my drinking? Or was it the greenies upsetting him?
“You haven’t said a word to me since she brought the food—” I reached for my fresh glass but my motor skills were off and I bumped it with the back of my hand. It toppled over. Shock crashed through me as wine splashed over the counter. I lurched up and lunged for the glass to stop it from rolling off and onto the floor, knocking over my barstool in the process. It toppled back onto the floor with a violent smash.
People stopped talking, turned.
“Jesus, Ellie!” Martin grabbed a napkin and tried to sop up the spill. Rabz hurried over with a dishcloth, calling for the young server to help.
“I . . . I’m so sorry, I—” I was shaken. Sounds around me turned into a droning noise. Everything seemed unsteady.
Martin’s eyes turned thunderous. He righted the stool angrily while I braced against the bar for balance. The whole pub was swaying.
“Please don’t worry,” Rabz said quickly, lightly, trying to defuse things. “Happens all the time.” She motioned to the server to bring me another drink.
“Yeah,” snapped Martin. “I’m sure it happens all the time—people get drunk all the time. And she doesn’t need another.”
“I’d like another,” I replied, determined to save face, to prove it was an accident. “I was just clumsy.” But