had been critical of Emma. In turn, Emma’s sister Alana had been hard on Darcy for “treating Emma so badly.”
“Come on, tell an old married man the juicy stuff. Blond or brunette? Tall or short?”
“Redhead, slender but curvy.”
“Like Emma.” Riley shook his head. “Jeez, mate, you’re supposed to be getting over the woman, not banging her body double.”
Darcy rubbed his cloth in circles, the wood getting shinier and shinier. “So what do you think of Geelong’s chances to make the final this year?”
“Huh? You don’t watch football anymore—” Riley’s jaw dropped. “No way. Don’t tell me, she was Emma.”
“She happened to be on the cruise, too,” Darcy explained defensively. “We started dancing and, well...one thing led to another.”
“You two and your Latin dancing.” Riley stabbed a finger at him. “You are not getting back with that woman. I like Emma a lot and I know she went through hell after Holly died but she also made you miserable. She’s not right for you.”
Darcy disagreed. Sure, he and Emma were different in a lot of respects and they had their problems. But way down deep past the superficial stuff he still thought they were soul mates. It was just that some tragedies were so terrible they tore even soul mates apart.
“We’re not getting back together. It was a one-off.”
“Good,” Riley said fervently. “But man, couldn’t you have found another woman among the hundreds on board to sleep with?”
He hadn’t wanted any other woman. Right up to the point where she’d accused him of being responsible for Holly’s death. Then, oh, boy, he’d wished he’d chosen any other woman but her. “In hindsight, it was probably a mistake. But aside from an awkward moment when we woke up—” to put it mildly “—there was no harm done. Can we let it go now?”
“Sure.” Riley slid off his stool. “I’d better go find Paula. Give me a packet of nuts. You know, you should offer hot food. I bet you would do a roaring business.”
“You’re only the five-hundredth person to tell me that.” Before Holly died he’d been talking to a catering company about supplying light gourmet snacks that could be easily heated in the pub’s small kitchen. After the funeral that idea had been quietly swept under the carpet. No particular reason, he simply hadn’t gotten around to it again.
Riley headed off to find Paula. Darcy moved along the bar, checking if anyone needed a new drink. A cheer went up at the other end of the bar from a group of guys watching the football game. He turned away. He had to have it on because his customers expected it, but Riley was right, he didn’t watch the game anymore. Like alcohol, he didn’t have the stomach for it.
The door opened and a tall stranger with a shaved head entered. His solidly muscled torso was encased in a tight black polo shirt and a toothpick rolled around his mouth. He paused in the doorway, taking a few minutes to survey the room. Then he made his way to the bar. Even there, he didn’t speak but studied the mugs on the high shelf and the yellowing postcards tacked to a pillar.
“What can I get you?” Darcy asked.
“A glass of ’98 T’Gallant Reserve pinot noir.” He said it with an almost insolent grin, as if deliberately asking for what he knew Darcy couldn’t provide and relishing Darcy’s discomfort.
Darcy flushed. Not much usually bothered him but this guy made his hackles rise. “Sorry, mate, we don’t serve specialty wines. The house pinot is a 2010 Paringa Estate. Not a bad drop.”
“I’ll have a Stella Artois in that case.” He slid onto a stool. “Name’s Wayne Overton.” He reached across the bar and pumped Darcy’s hand with a grip so firm it bordered on crushing. He glanced around the pub. “You the owner?” Darcy nodded. “You’ve got a good business here. I always like to meet the competition.”
Darcy handed him a stemmed glass with the Stella Artois emblem. “I beg your pardon?”
Wayne’s grin made the toothpick stick up at a cocky angle. “I bought the old hair salon across the street. I’m going to turn it into a wine bar.”
“Is that right?” Darcy took his money and put it in the cash register. “Well, we’re a friendly bunch around here. It’s a small town but big enough for both of us.”
“That’s the spirit. Keep each other on our toes, eh?” Wayne glanced around again, his gaze lighting on Tony and his bricklayer mates. “We