Cocky Notes - Leesa Bow Page 0,14

step, I feel the burn of his eyes on my skin. Skin because I’m wearing a backless halter top with my maxi skirt. And no bra, as there is a pathetic piece of in-built elastic and material designed to support women who wear this top, as long as they’re three cup sizes smaller than me. I stop before the door and turn, giving Reef the full-front experience without eye contact. “Is Oliver out back?” I ask Ava with the innocence of an eight-year-old.

“Yep. Having a lunch break.” She smiles and keeps tapping on her iPad, taking orders from a group of young mothers with babes in their arms.

I turn and head through the door, pulling my scarf around my neck, so it sits over my chest. No one else needs to see the show.

“Dom,” I purr. “Any chance I can take some of your low-fat panna cotta home for my dad?”

“Si.” He smiles at me and points his Crocodile Dundee knife toward the large fridges. “Plenty in there. You tell Oliver.”

“I’ll pay Oliver.” I head into Oliver’s office to ensure he knows I’m not stealing.

After taking a container for Dad, I head out the back to my car, wishing I could have gone through the front and see if there was a note for me.

Turning out onto the street, I see Reef and his friends piling into two black cars parked beside each other. One an Audi sedan, the other a BMW SUV. I glance their way a second too long, and it only takes the extra second for our eyes to lock.

“Stupid.” I thump the steering wheel as I accelerate to get further away. He probably thinks I’m stalking him.

“Don’t play games,” my father used to say. Dad didn’t need to clarify he meant emotional behaviour like teasing. He didn’t raise me to be like my mother.

What’s wrong with me? I head home to reveal the pool’s fees and classes on offer to Dad and work out a plan to pay for the extra classes because it’s time I focused more on him and less on me.

My behaviour only causes trouble. Or worse, old memories to surface. Staying home to care for Dad makes us both happy.

“Are you going out?” Dad asks after dinner.

“Nope.”

“It’s Friday night. When I was your age, Friday nights rocked. Saturdays were never as exciting.” He raises his can of beer and salutes me.

“I think Saturdays are more fun. And now I’m working most weekends, I’m too tired to bother.”

“You’re still young. You need to go out and meet different people.”

“Is it how you met, Mum? I’d prefer not to repeat your mistakes.”

“Macy.” His tone has my attention. Before I apologise, he adds, “She wasn’t a mistake. We had you, and you’re the best thing that happened to me.”

“No, I wasn’t.” I push up to open a bottle of cheap champagne, deciding I need a drink. I pop the cork and savour the sound. It triggers memories of good times with Georgia. “If you didn’t have me, you could have pursued any job, travelled the world with Mum like she wanted. Instead, you had to keep trucking to support me, and it meant she was lonely, which is why she cheated and—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Miss.”

I cease pouring bubbles into my glass. Shit. My eyes meet his. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Never be sorry. We decide our own journeys. Your mother chose hers. I don’t regret my life for one day.”

“Never?” I sit beside him.

“Not a day,” he repeats.

“C’mon,” I say in a softer tone. “I watched you suffer the days after the accident and the pain of Mum leaving.”

“I don’t regret what happened because everything happens for a reason. Maybe it was to bring her more happiness. If so, then I’m happy for her. All I’ve ever wanted is for people to smile. I got you, so in my eyes, I’m in a better place than her.”

I reach over and squeeze his hand. “I think I’m the lucky one.” Still, I can’t help feeling bitter toward my mother.

I hate admitting I’m more like her than Dad. I try to be like Dad. It takes more strength than I think I have. That’s why I avoid relationships—to ensure I don’t end up like her. As for kids, in my teens I barred myself from having them because I never want to worry about being responsible for breaking their young hearts.

Early Sunday morning the city streets are bare. Revellers from the night before stroll by before