The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,87
Melbourne.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to think about it for a moment? Maybe phone a friend?”
“No.”
His mouth curled into a wide, unashamed grin. “Well, then.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
They locked eyes, both of them smiling. He abandoned the eggs and moved around the counter to kiss her. She rubbed her cheek against his and looped her arms around his neck.
Suddenly she felt crazy to have ever doubted him, to have doubted them. So what if it had been only a few weeks? So what if his life was in upheaval?
What was happening between them felt right.
“Why do you always smell so good?” she asked.
“Why do you always feel so good?”
They kissed until her stomach rumbled again.
“Yes, ma’am. Coming straight up,” Oliver said.
He made them both creamy scrambled eggs with toast and they ate on the couch. An old Cary Grant movie was on and they watched it and talked about their favorite movies and books. After a while she was struggling to stay awake and Oliver insisted she go to bed.
“Only if you come with me,” she said.
He did, and she made him roll away from her so she could spoon herself to his back.
When she woke again it was morning and she could hear the shower running in the en suite. She lay still, mentally shaking off the last of the pain medication. Then she joined Oliver in the shower and managed to convince him that yesterday’s migraine had not incapacitated her one iota.
They had a late breakfast and lounged around reading the paper and sharing the crossword puzzle. Oliver went next door to grab his guitar after lunch, and she looked through the De Garis files on her computer while he strummed away.
As days went, she figured they didn’t get any better. They decided by mutual consent that some fresh air and exercise might be beneficial to all, and they set off for the beach at a slow pace. Mackenzie stood on the windswept sand and let the cold air cleanse her, breathing in big mouthfuls of the stuff.
“Good?” Oliver asked, glancing at her.
“Perfect.”
He’d forgotten his scarf again and she gave him half of hers as they walked along the wet sand. This time, she knew she wasn’t imagining the sense of connection between them.
“I was thinking we should do something special for dinner. Maybe go out, if you’re up to it,” Oliver suggested.
“I’m up to it. There’s a place in Red Hill that does great French. La Petanque. I’ll give them a call when we get back and see if we can get a booking.”
The sky started to cloud over after half an hour so they whistled the dogs to heel and started back.
“I bought some Italian hot chocolate at the shop the other day,” Oliver said as they made their way up the sand to the bush track. “Want me to bring it over to you and we can see if it’s as thick and creamy as the packet promises?”
“Be still, my heart. You officially secured your status as the perfect man.”
“And all it took was a packet of hot chocolate?”
“Plus a night of Florence Nightingale duties.”
“Chocolate and spooning. You’re easily bought.”
She used the scarf to reel him closer and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “You have no idea.”
They reached the single-file section of the track and Mackenzie fell behind to allow him to take the lead.
“You need to make your elephant sound again,” she told him.
“You know it’s a mating call, right?”
“I had my fingers crossed.”
He laughed, then made her laugh with a series of ridiculous animal sounds, none of them remotely elephantine. She had tears in her eyes by the time they emerged at the end of their street.
“Did you win the lottery while we were at the beach and not tell me?” Oliver said.
She followed his gaze to the bright red Ferrari parked in front of her house. Her steps slowed.
“Someone you know?” Oliver asked.
“Yes. Patrick. My ex-husband.”
It took her less than a second to get past her surprise.
There was only one reason that Patrick would come calling out of the blue like this: he wanted something.
Tightening her grip on Smitty’s lead, she went to see what it was.
* * *
IT TOOK OLIVER a moment to catch up with Mackenzie. He’d known she’d been married before, but she hadn’t mentioned that her ex-husband had the kind of money that allowed him to drive around in a car worth a quarter of a million dollars.
Oliver wasn’t really a car guy—if he had a choice, he’d