wasn’t seeing this. The shoddy apartment block would’ve already given him reason to wonder why a nurse on a reasonable wage would choose to live here. But it was ordinary, wouldn’t attract attention.
She kept the apartment simply furnished with the bare basics in an attempt to make the rooms feel larger. The polished wood furniture came from her grandmother’s cottage after Gran died. The furniture had lain in storage until Molly had moved to Adelaide and set up house on her own. The only good thing about Gran’s passing was that she didn’t get to hear she had been right about Paul. She would’ve gone after him with her sewing scissors.
No one came to the apartment. Lizzie, her best friend back in Perth, kept saying she’d visit but never managed to make it happen with her job taking her offshore for weeks at a time. Molly missed her more than anyone from her previous life. They’d done so much together, shared a lot of laughs and tears, always been there for one another. But, more important, Lizzie had believed her right from the beginning when she’d said Paul hit her, and she hated him almost as much as Molly did.
Paul Bollard. Nathan Lupton. They were nothing alike. One evil. The other caring. Both could be charming, strong, over-confident. That spooked her. Paul had wooed her as though she had been a princess, at first making her feel like one. Nathan confused her, sometimes making her cross and occasionally, especially this morning, all soft on the inside.
She huffed the air out of her lungs. Nathan wasn’t wooing her and, by the expressions that crossed his face at times, had no intention of doing so. Fine. With a hideous marriage behind her, the wedding ring long gone in the bin, as of this week she was single and wanting to trust and love again, but she was very, very cautious.
Going out to breakfast had been the best thing to happen to her in a long while. She worked with a great bunch, and from now on she’d attend every get-together anyone proposed. She’d also get involved with more than the charity shop. Fake it till she made it. This latest and final version of herself would not be the socialite of the past, or the cowering abused woman. Married two years, separated for two, now alone. If nothing else, she’d become more caring and understanding of other people. Mrs Molly Bollard was gone for ever.
In the kitchenette she filled the kettle for a cup of tea. Sleep would be elusive while her mind was going over the morning. Pride lifted her chest. She’d managed to fit in with her workmates to the point she’d relaxed enough to forget everything that had brought her to that point. So much so, she’d even managed to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. Now, there was a step in the right direction, and she mustn’t stop at that. There was a city out there to get to know, and if she was careful not to keep her distrust to the fore, she didn’t have to carry on being alone, could make friends in all facets of her life.
Did Nathan go to the meals every time the staff got together? She chuckled. He wouldn’t do the shopping expeditions. She mightn’t be fully ready for a partner or even a lover, but spending time over a meal with a man who laughed, grumped, looked out for others, could not be time wasted.
The doorbell chimed. Molly spun around. No one visited her. Bang went her heart. Crunch went her stomach.
Knock, knock. ‘Molly, it’s Nathan. I’ve got your phone.’
Relief prodded her towards the door. How had he managed to get inside and up to her floor without knowing the apartment number? Peering through the peephole, she got a grainy view of the man who’d driven her home.
‘Molly?’ That familiar irritation was back.
She opened the door. ‘Sorry to be a pain. It must’ve fallen out of my bag with my hairbrush.’
Nathan was watching her with that intensity that was more familiar than his smiles. ‘You had a call. That’s how I found it.’
‘A call?’ she asked. ‘Who from?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t look. Figured you’d be cross if I did.’
‘You bet,’ Molly admitted sheepishly as she checked out the caller ID. An unknown number. Her smile snapped off.
‘Problem?’
‘What?’ She shook her head and glanced up at Nathan to soak up the warmth in his gaze. ‘No. Wrong number probably.’ As far as she knew, Paul only had access to the prison phone and that number was definitely in her contacts file so she could ignore it if he tried to get in touch. Anyway, he’d stopped calling her after his guilty verdict. Though who knew what receiving the divorce notice might’ve done to his narcissistic brain. He hated losing control over her more than anything.
The kettle whistled. Molly glanced toward the kitchenette. ‘Thanks for this.’
Nathan stepped through the door. ‘You into minimalist?’
Closing her eyes, she counted to four. Nathan should have left, not come inside. Yet it didn’t feel wrong. More like it was okay for this man to be inside her home; as if she wanted him here. Which was so far out of left field she had to stop and look at him again. All she saw was the good-looking man who’d brought her home gazing around her apartment as if it was a normal thing to do. It probably was, for most people. That had to be in his favour. She was not thinking about the pool of heat in her stomach. Not, not, not. ‘I’m making tea. Do you want one?’ Ah, okay, maybe that heat was getting the upper hand.
He hesitated, his gaze still cruising her living room.
He was going to say no. She got in first. ‘It’s okay. You’ve got things to do before picking up Cole.’ She wanted to feel relieved, but it was disappointment settling over her.
‘Thought you’d never ask.’ His gaze had landed back on her. His hands were in his pockets, his stance relaxed, yet there was something uncertain about him, like he didn’t know if he was welcome. Nothing to make her afraid, more the opposite. If such a strong, confident man could feel unsure then he was more real, human—flawed in a good way. ‘White with one.’
Her disappointment was gone in a flash. Replaced by a sudden longing for another chance at love. Truly? Yes, truly. Still had to go slowly, though. Turning her back on him before she fell completely under his spell and screwed up big-time, she said, ‘Would you mind shutting the door? I don’t like leaving it open. Never know who might wander in.’
‘No problem.’ A moment later, ‘In case you’re wondering, it was the old lady three doors down who told me which door to knock on after I described you.’
‘I guess that goes with the territory.’ She’d have to talk to Mrs Porter about telling strangers which apartment was hers. Except Nathan stood in the middle of her tiny one-bed home, waiting for a mug of tea. Not a stranger. ‘Take a pew.’ She nodded at the pair of wooden chairs at her tiny, gleaming wooden dining table. Her mouth dried as he sat and stretched those endless legs half across the kitchenette.
‘Not a lot of space for a party, is there?’ He smiled.
She could get to like those smiles far too much. They warmed her in places that had been cold for a long time, places she’d held in lockdown for fear of making another hideous mistake. Reaching for the two mugs on the tiny shelf above the bench, she answered, ‘As partying wasn’t on my agenda when I needed a roof over my head, I’m not complaining. This suits me fine in that respect.’
He looked around again. ‘You’re not happy with your neighbour telling people where you live.’
‘I’m a bit circumspect about giving out personal info to any old body.’ Shut up. Too much information. She was not telling Nathan why she felt that way. Anyway, she needed to move on from all that. Paul was locked up. No one else wanted to hurt her.
Nathan was watching her, apparently casually, yet she’d swear he wasn’t missing a thing going on in her head. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t want just anyone turning up unannounced.’
She needed to be on guard around him. Always. ‘Exactly.’ Glancing around the room that had gone from tiny to minuscule the moment he’d entered, a flicker of yearning rose. Everything about her lifestyle since moving