his fucking agent to rub it in. “I just need a few days, okay?” It felt like there was a lot more at stake now than there had been even a few weeks ago when he’d left Australia. “Could you get me that?”
A beat or two of silence followed before Mitch answered. “Okay, sure thing. I can do that.”
“Thank you.” Cole hung up the phone, throwing it down on the grass, annoyed at Mitch and himself and his damn fucking leg.
“Who’s Mitch?”
Cole glanced up to find Finn watching him, the swing circling lazily now as it ran out of steam. “He’s…my agent.”
Finn frowned. “What’s an agent?”
“Someone who helps someone else find a job.”
“You got a job?”
“Yeah.” Absently, Cole gave the swing another push. It lacked enthusiasm, which kinda matched his mood. “I got a job.”
“Playing footy?”
Cole smiled at how foreign the very Australian colloquialism sounded coming out in a squeaky little-boy voice. He didn’t realize he’d said it that often. “Kinda.”
“In Credence?”
“No.” He grimaced. “In Sydney.” A fucking long way away from Credence.
“Do you want his guts for garters?”
Cole blinked and laughed despite his dark mood. The kid picked up everything. “No, why?”
“You sounded mad on the phone.”
Jesus. The kid had ears like a bat. “I think he wants my guts for garters,” Cole said with a rueful smile. “Now, how high this time? Higher than the treetops?”
He gave the swing an almighty push, getting an excited little giggle from Finn. “Higher than the mooooooon,” he said, leaning back and pointing at the white sliver high in the sky, just visible through the leaves and branches of the tree.
Cole laughed. He couldn’t get it that high, but, for Finn, he’d try his damndest.
A few hours later, with Finn finally tucked up in bed, Cole came downstairs to find Jane. She’d been operating an industrial-strength sanding machine most of the day, removing all the old tile crud from the parquetry floor in preparation for its first coat of gloss tomorrow. It was quiet now as he located her standing in the middle of the red sitting room, admiring her handiwork.
The parquetry, with the damaged timber pieces now completely replaced or restored thanks to Jane’s handiwork, had been heavily sanded.
“You did it,” Cole said, sliding his arm around her waist.
She looked up at him and smiled—beamed, actually—and Cole’s heart went thunk. She was radiant in her achievement. “Doesn’t it look amazing?”
Cole looked all around. To an untrained eye, it probably looked dusty and lackluster, dulled by the sanding process, the color differentiation between the three types of wood nonexistent. But Cole knew that would change with the first lick of gloss, that the richness of the wood would come to life, the individual color properties of the timber forming a vibrant red tapestry.
“It really does.”
“I love this bit. Where the wood is taken back to its bare bones, to what it was the day it was laid all those years ago. Knowing I’m seeing it as the person who painstakingly laid each piece saw it.” She shook her head as she also inspected the parquetry. “I wonder if they knew they were creating this thing of beauty that would be cherished and admired long after they were dead. That a woman two centuries later would be keeping their handiwork alive.”
Her voice was wistful, her face earnest. Her passion for what she did, her drive to restore and continue the provenance of a house or a chandelier or a floor, was infectious. She looked at it like it was a precious piece of art and she was its custodian.
“You’re so hot when you talk restoration.”
She laughed, her ponytail brushing her neck as she looked up at him again. “Oh yeah.”
“Not as hot as you were handling that machine before, but yeah.”
She frowned. “The sander?”
“Yep.” Cole nodded. “Your guns were popping.”
She shrugged. “It’s heavy and can get away from you if you don’t keep a firm hold.”
Having some experience with sanders, Cole knew of which she spoke. “Right. That’s what I said. Hot.”
“Oh yeah. With my goggles and my respirator mask. Very hot.” She pulled out her T-shirt and let it go again, a fine cloud of dust puffing into the air. “I have dust in places where dust should not go.”
Cole grinned. “Oh, I can help you with those places.”
He lowered his head, his mouth zeroing in on hers. Unfortunately, his phone had other ideas, cutting through the moment like the final hooter of a rugby match. “Sorry,” he muttered, his mouth lifting