at the dining table. Her pen scratched diligently across the pages of the notebook she always carried with her, jotting notes as she slowly worked her way through the scrapbook.
Page five: the early years. 1 x photo of Mr. and Mrs. Walters dated 1985. Pregnant with baby #1. Decorations: photocopy of ultrasound photo (is this the real ultrasound? To be confirmed.)
Page eleven: the early years continued… Blue ribbon, picture of Mrs. Walters in the hospital bed with Baby #2 and a blue teddy bear.
Page twenty-two: all the babies. Picture of baby #5 sleeping in bassinet. Letter from Mrs. Walters to her pen pal in England talking about the pregnancy.
It would take a lot of effort to get the scrapbook recreated, but Cora vowed to stay up all night, every night until it was done. She would not let Liv down.
Trent strode out into the living area and headed toward her. He’d put a T-shirt on now, thank God. It was impossible to concentrate on anything at all with those muscles staring her in the face. But frankly, the T-shirt wasn’t much better. It was fitted and showed off his broad, work-honed shoulders and trim waist to perfection. He’d also changed into a pair of fresh jeans, and his unruly blond hair had dried into wavy perfection.
All the stories about Australia are true. The men are hotter Down Under!
“How’s the damage?” he asked, nodding at the scrapbook.
“Thorough.” She sighed. “It sucked the water up like a sponge. But thankfully most of the images are clear enough that I’ve made a list of everything Liv included. Hopefully, we can get all the pictures copied again. I’m assuming the originals are with your parents?”
Trent nodded. “I’ll make sure they’re out of the house so we can get the copies in secret.”
“It looks like Liv put a lot of love and care into this.” Cora touched her fingertip to a picture of Trent’s mother smiling as her hands cradled a large baby bump. “You have a beautiful family.”
“They’re not bad,” he said with a cavalier wink. Now that he wasn’t trying to figure out why there was a stranger in the house, he seemed to have relaxed.
“How’s the bathroom?” she asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.
“It’ll be okay. The crew’s working on the carpet now, but I think we got to it quick enough that we don’t have to worry about any permanent damage. And Liv was planning on ripping up the carpet to put down some hardwood, anyway.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Uh, about before. Sorry if I was a bit harsh.”
“I don’t blame you. You came home to a stranger and a flood.” Cora mustered a smile, still feeling so mortified about the whole damn thing. “And I’m glad you did, because I had no idea what to do. I probably would have sat there with my hands over the pipe until I drowned.”
“I’m glad that didn’t happen.”
Was it her imagination, or was there an appreciative gleam in his eye? Definitely not. The only reason he was being nice was because of her relationship with Liv. He was probably teasing her.
“I’m not sure I could have handled the disposal of a body as well as the flood damage,” he added with a smirk.
Okay, yeah. He was definitely teasing her.
“Ha-ha,” she drawled.
“The blokes are going to do their thing for a bit longer, and apparently I’m not required. Do you want to grab a drink at the pub? Maybe get some food?” Her eyes must have lit up so much that he laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“My body doesn’t even know what time zone I’m in anymore,” she admitted, abandoning her duties and grabbing her handbag. Then she remembered that she hadn’t showered since leaving her house almost twenty-four hours ago. After the “incident,” she’d changed into a bikini and thrown a loose dress over the top, wanting to be comfortable in the muggy heat inside the non-air-conditioned house. “I should get changed.”
“No need. The pub is casual,” he said. “You’ll fit right in. I figure we can stop by and use the beach showers on the way back, freshen up a bit.”
She almost sighed in ecstasy at the thought of it. The quick swipe at her armpits with a facial wipe had done only so much to stem the scent of international travel. “You’re speaking my language.”
“I haven’t even mentioned the possibility of ice cream yet.” He laughed, and the sound ran like liquid