took a moment to let that one sink in. It left a really nice, warm glow where it landed; her hand clutched the fabric of her old black T-shirt against the spot. ‘And I guess dinner would be one way of making up for the astrology jibe.’
‘I admit, it was hardly gracious.’
‘It was hardly original, either.’
He laughed again, the sound sliding through the phone and down her back like warm honey.
The distant tones of a warning bell rang in the back of her mind, but she was confident enough of him and of herself to say, ‘So, yes. To dinner. Sounds fun.’
He gave her the time, and address of the place that made the exotic grilled-cheese, and they said their goodbyes.
When Rosie hung up the phone she realised her knees were wobbling like mad. She slumped down upon the metal step, hugged her arms around herself and looked up.
The clouds had moved on, the colour of the sky had deepened, and several stars had shown themselves. When she hadn’t been paying attention, the world beneath her feet had turned.
The world turned some more until night had well and truly fallen upon Brisbane. The bark and bite of peak-hour traffic had subsided to a low growl, and Rosie pulled her caramel velvet jacket tighter around herself to fend off the night chill as she walked briskly down the city footpath. Late for her date.
A minute later the maitre d’ at the Red Fox bar and grill pointed the way through the bustling bar crowd towards a table along the far wall.
A dive, Cameron had promised. The place was anything but. It was bright, shiny, cool, filled with men with more product in their hair than she had in her bathroom, and women wearing so much bling around their necks she wasn’t sure how they kept upright. While she’d been in so many seedy places in her time she could practically write a guide, Cameron it seemed was still very much a Kelly.
She ruffled her hair, wished she’d washed it or put it up, or had a haircut in the past six months, and excused herself as she nudged a group of hot young things out of her way.
Her hand was still delved deep into her hair when she saw him sitting at the head of a loud, rowdy table peopled by ex St Grellans students.
Kids who’d been given sportscars for their sixteenth birthday while she’d taken on an after school job cleaning dishes at a diner. Kids who’d skipped class to shop but had still magically got into universities she’d worked her butt off to attend. Kids who hadn’t given her the time of day when, having been accepted to St Grellans, she’d so hoped she’d finally found a place where she might shine.
Suddenly she couldn’t for the life of her remember what it had been about Cameron Kelly that had made her convince herself dinner was a good idea. To put on lip gloss. To walk through a cloud of perfume. To wear her nice underwear.
She took a step backwards and landed upon soft flesh. A woman squealed. She turned to apologise, then glanced back at the table where several pairs of eyes were zeroed in on her chest. She wasn’t sure if they were collectively less impressed by her lack of top heaviness or the rainbow-coloured peace symbol splashed across her black T-shirt.
But it wasn’t so much their eyes she was concerned about as Cameron’s. And she remembered why she’d said yes. He was standing, his eyes locked onto hers with a kind of unambiguous focus that was almost enough to send her hurtling towards him like an object falling from the sky.
But not quite.
He was beautiful. He was irreverent. He made her knees wobble in an entirely pleasant way. But she had no intention of going to a place where she had to perform cartwheels to feel remarkable. No man on the planet was worth that.
She offered him a shrug by way of apology then backed into the crowd.
Cameron’s backside hovered several inches off his chair as he watched Rosalind disappear into the crowd.
His chair rocked, screeched, and he had to reach out to catch it lest it crash to the ground. His old schoolmate in the chair next to him raised an eyebrow in question.
Cameron shook his head as he brought the chair back upright, and then made a beeline for the front door.
He hit the pavement, looked right then left, and then saw her. In amongst the night owls in their barely-there attire, she stood out like a rare bird, striding down the city street in skinny jeans, flat shoes, a soft jacket nipped at her waist, a multi-coloured scarf dangling to her knees, her long, wavy hair swinging halfway down her back, everything about her loose and carefree. Unpretentious.
And, just as before, having her within reach he felt as though for now the weight of the world could be someone else’s problem.
He took off after her at a jog. ‘Rosalind!’
When she didn’t turn, he grabbed her elbow.
She stopped. Turned. A stubborn gleam lit her eyes before she glanced pointedly at where he still held her arm. But if he was the kind of guy who got scared off by a little defiance he wouldn’t be where he was today.
‘What’s with the hasty exit?’
Her chin tilted skyward. ‘Would you believe, I suddenly realised I wasn’t hungry after all?’
‘Not even if you donged me on the head and hypnotised me before saying so.’
She kept backing away. He kept following, the sounds of the bar fading behind him.
It occurred to him that he didn’t usually have to work this hard to get a woman to eat with him. In fact, he’d never had to work all that hard to get a woman to do anything with him. For a simple distraction, Rosalind was fast proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.
But he was born of stubborn Irish stock; he couldn’t leave well enough alone. The effort of the chase only made her vanilla scent seem that much more intoxicating, her soft skin that much more tempting, the need to have her with him tonight that much more critical.
‘Rosalind,’ he warned.
‘Can’t a girl change her mind?’ she asked.
‘Not without an explanation, she can’t.’
The stubborn gleam faltered. She glanced down the block at the façade of the bar and bit her bottom lip.
When her teeth slipped away he found himself staring at the moistened spot, transfixed. And imagined pulling her into his arms and leaning her up against the building wall, and kissing her until the dark clouds hovering on the edge of his mind vanished.
He dragged his gaze to her eyes to discover she was still watching the bar, which was probably a good thing, considering his pupils were likely the size of saucers.
As casually as possible, he let her arm go and took a step back. ‘So what gives?’
Her chest rose and fell. ‘When you invited me to dinner, I thought you meant just the two of us. If I’d known it was to be a class reunion I might have pretended to be washing my hair.’
He followed her line of sight to find one of the guys chatting to a girl lined up outside the bar, but he knew the cheeky bugger was there to give word back to the group. His world was excessively intimate. Everybody assumed a right to know everybody else’s business.
Which is why this girl, this outsider, with her refreshing candour and her easygoing, cool spirit was just what he needed.
When he turned back, Rosalind’s arms were crossed across her chest and her hip was cocked. Her patience was running thin.
He reached out and cradled her upper arms; the velvet was freezing cold. On impulse he ran his hands down her arms to warm her up.
And at his touch her eyes finally skittered from the bar and back to him. Mercurial grey. Luminous in the lamplight. And completely unguarded. He saw her restlessness, her disharmony, and the fact that she was searching for an excuse to be with him