Saving Wishes

Saving Wishes

  by G.J. Walker-Smith

  Other Books by G.J. Walker-Smith

  Second Hearts (Book Two, The Wishes Series)

  Sand Jewels (Book 2.5, The Wishes Series)

  Storm Shells (Book Three, The Wishes Series)

  Secret North (Book four, The Wishes Series)

  Silver Dawn (Book 4.5, The Wishes Series)

  Star Promise (Book 5, The Wishes Series)

  © 2013 G.J. Walker-Smith

  Cover by Scarlett Rugers, https://scarlettrugers.com

  Contact the author:

  Facebook

  https://www.gjwalkersmith.com

  [email protected]

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied or reproduced without the written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places or people, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my wonderful husband who has supported and loved me forever. I’d go anywhere with you.

  To the three best sons a mother could spend wishes on. I love you very much.

  Kisses and gratitude to, Sherry. If not for you, I would’ve painted it yellow years ago. Thank you for encouraging me to continue.

  Beaucoup d'amour pour Marie, ma belle amie. The story you told me about meeting your Adam in Bath will stay with me forever. Thank you for inspiring me.

  Special love to my Fairy Godsister, Jane. You told me I was an author. You taught me to believe in myself. You also taught me that it ain’t no party without a bus.

  Table Of Contents

  1. Close Calls

  2. The Beautifuls

  3. Games

  4. Shifting Universes

  5. Flee-itis

  6. Charm

  7. Heavy Head

  8. Penguin King

  9. Secrets And Lies

  10. French Attack

  11. Sparkly Things

  12. Translation

  13. Gift

  14. Jailbreak

  15. Surprise

  16. Confession

  17. White Knight

  18. The Parisienne

  19. Confusion

  20. Weekend

  21. Memory Lane

  22. Conte de Fées

  23. Sunday Surfers

  24. Romance Languages

  25. Compromise

  26. La La Land

  27. Escape

  28. Three Options

  29. Magic

  1. Close Calls

  Alex, my brother, sometimes calls me wicked. Sometimes I am.

  I blame it on the fact that I’ve been bored for the majority of the seventeen years of my life. Growing up in a small town does that to you.

  Pipers Cove sits at the base of sweeping cliffs that take a vicious bite into the southwestern coastline of Tasmania. Next stop south, Antarctica. To an eccentric artist, antique dealer or hermit it would seem like heaven on earth, but I am none of those things, nor have I ever aspired to be. I am the girl who has always been desperate to get the hell out of there.

  Spending another Saturday morning hanging out with my best friend while she worked her shift at my brother’s café was shaping up to be just as boring as it had been the week before. I could feel the wickedness kicking in.

  “We could take the money from the register and make a run for it,” I suggested, pacing the café. “We could be in Melbourne by morning.” I was met with a disapproving glare. I wondered for a moment if she thought I was serious. Perhaps I was.

  Nicole Lawson, my best friend since kindergarten, was my true partner in crime – even if she did draw the line at being my accomplice in a robbery. We were unlikely friends. Straight down the line, black and white with zero tolerance for any shades of grey summed her up perfectly. I felt scattered and indecisive by comparison. My grandiose ideas were fleeting, mainly because of her uncanny knack of talking sense into me. Nicole was the responsible one. She’d held her part-time job in Alex’s café since we were fourteen. It wasn’t always a boring gig, especially in the summer months when the tourist season kicked in.

  Our sleepy little coffee shop was located at the edge of town, opposite a car park with killer views across the Cove. Tourists seeking a great photo opportunity and quality coffee make it a popular place, if only for a few months each year. Alex was very savvy, catering to their every need. Besides decent coffee, he also stocked newspapers, magazines, stationery and other bits and pieces that negated the need for them to shop anywhere else. Retirees in their campervans made up the majority of the visitors, but occasionally we met young, broke backpackers who were living the life I yearned for. Hearing stories of their travels was like a window to the outside world.

  Winter was much slower. Cold June days were downright oppressive.

  I stared across the road through the salt-hazed windows. The car park was practically deserted, and would remain that way for months.

  “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” I asked, sighing heavily.

  “Escaping will have to wait,” replied Nicole, checking her reflection in the back of a spoon and fluffing up her platinum blonde hair. “We have a wedding to go to today, remember?”

  How could I forget? It had been the main topic of conversation around town for weeks. Attending her sister’s wedding was a torturous prospect. Technically I’d be gate crashing. I hadn’t been invited. My role was purely as moral support for my best friend, the chief bridesmaid.

  Nicole’s sister, Joanna, was a poster child for small town folk. Standard procedure for a small town girl is leaving high school and getting a mundane job while waiting for Prince Charming to arrive and sweep her off her feet. Joanna’s prince was a fisherman called Max. Joanna was barely twenty-one. I needed to believe there was more to life than that.

  “All the more reason to make a run for it,” I muttered.

  “Where are you running to this time, Charli?” Alex asked, barging through the back door with an armload of newspapers.

  “Melbourne. The last flight out is at ten.” My brother didn’t look anywhere near as horrified as he should have. “I was going to steal the money from the till to fund it.”

  “Nice plan.”

  “She’s not going to bail today,” Nicole reassured him. “She’s coming to the wedding reception with me.”

  I groaned. “You should be the one going, Alex. You were actually invited.”

  “Can’t. I’m allergic to weddings.”

  Nicole giggled as if he’d told the world’s funniest joke. Her shameless crush on my brother had been obvious for years. The only person who seemed oblivious was Alex, and for that I was grateful. He would never have coped. Nicole’s crush was wrong on a million levels – the first being the fact that my brother was thirty-four.

  The rain belted down solidly for the next half hour. I took my familiar stance near the front window, waiting for a break so I could head home.

  “Just make a run for it,” advised Nicole.

  “With or without the money?” Tired of waiting, I grabbed my raincoat from under the counter and draped it over my head. “I’ll see you later.”

  Leaving her there hardly seemed fair. Alex had given her the day off but she’d turned up anyway, promising her mother she’d be home in plenty of time to get ready for the ceremony at three. I wasn’t sure if it was a ploy to steal a few more pointless hours with Alex or if she was just escaping the mayhem of her house. Her place always seemed to be bursting at the seams with people, and the noise her little brothers made without even trying was deafening. Today would be worse.

  Our house was always quiet.

  I stood at the
edge of the road waiting to cross. The rain stabbed at me, forcing me to pull my coat so far forward I could barely see. After a quick glance left and right, I clumsily ran across, making it just before a black car peeled into the car park. It missed me by inches. What I didn’t escape was a deluge of water as it ploughed through the puddle in front of me.

  Shocked, drenched and seething, I watched as the driver practically leapt out of the car and ran towards me.

  “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there. Are you hurt?” he yelled, compensating for the noise of the rain and the distance between us.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I fumed. “How could you drive that fast in this weather? Of all the stupid things to do!”

  By the time I finished my rant he was in front of me. ”You’re absolutely right,” he agreed. “I have no excuse.”

  His shoulders were hunched forward, in an attempt to keep the rain from his face. The stance wasn’t very successful. His blue shirt was saturated and sticking to his skin. His beautiful black Audi was obviously toasty and warm – he wore no coat. His eyes, expectant and full of concern, nearly pinned me to the ground.

  “You need to learn to slow down,” I added.

  “You’re absolutely right.”

  Agreeing with me made arguing somewhat difficult. So did the smile across his face as he did it.

  “I’m not hurt,” I conceded.

  Water streamed down his dark hair. “I’m glad.”

  He spoke with a strong American accent. I struggled to remember the last American I’d met, but was fairly sure they wouldn’t have been driving anything as sleek as the lethal Audi.

  There wasn’t a reason to keep him standing in the rain. “I have to go.”

  “Here, let me help you to your car.”

  “I think I can find it,” I replied. The only two cars there were his and mine, and there was no chance of confusing the two. My old Toyota hatchback had dents and scratches all over the once white paintwork, but I loved it anyway. It provided a little step towards the freedom I so desperately craved.

  “Okay, then.” He made no effort to race back to the comfort of his car.

  I walked slowly. It was impossible to get any wetter. Perhaps he thought the same, which is why he stood there until I reached my car.

  “My name is Adam,” he called, as I jammed the key into the lock of my car door.

  “Fine.”

  “I am sorry.”

  He was persistent. I tried to think of something smart or witty to say and failed miserably.

  “It’s fine.”

  The car door squeaked as I wrenched it open.

  “You never told me your name.”

  “You never asked me,” I replied, thrilled that my sense of wit was improving.

  2. The Beautifuls

  Our gravel driveway turned into a treacherous maze of potholes every time it rained. Thankfully, the house was in better shape than the driveway. The small weatherboard cottage stood at the back of the elevated five-acre property, offering glimpses of the Cove from the front rooms. Truthfully, I liked the view more than the cottage.

  Touching only one of the three steps on my way up to the veranda, I headed to my room.

  It was the smallest of the three bedrooms, and that explained the constant clutter. I never spent much time in there, probably because I’d never needed to. Alex and I lived alone, which meant I pretty much had peace and privacy no matter what room I was in.

  Prepping for a wedding that I had no interest in attending wasn’t thrilling, and the outfit I’d chosen reflected my lack of enthusiasm. I stared into the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. The long black skirt and white blouse were reminiscent of something a waitress at a cheap restaurant would wear. I considered changing, and was still raking through the tragic selection in my wardrobe when I heard Nicole’s car.

  I met her at the door.

  “I have so much to tell you!” She battled to contain herself as she bolted up the front steps, making no concession for the long length of the pretty bridesmaid’s dress she was wearing. Nicole got excited over anything she considered newsworthy. It was one of the things I liked most about her. I was wickedly hoping to hear that the wedding had been called off. Drama like that didn’t come around often.

  I ushered her inside and followed her down the hallway to my room.

  “Well? Tell me,” I demanded, closing the bedroom door like we needed the privacy.

  Nicole sat on the edge of my bed, sighing like she needed more time to piece it all together.

  “Just after you left the shop, a guy came in. He had the cutest accent, American I think. He was gorgeous, not like anyone around here… unless you count Al–”

  My hands flew over my ears. “Don’t say Alex.”

  “Alex is hot. Ask anyone.”

  “Get back to your mystery man,” I ordered, trying to scrub her last comment from my memory.

  Nicole wagged her finger at me. “Don’t play innocent. I know you saw him.”

  “I ran into him in the car park,” I admitted, impressed by my private joke.

  “He came in wanting directions.” She grinned smugly. “I was only too happy to help.”

  “I’ll bet you were,” I replied dryly.

  “He asked about you, too.”

  My smirk died immediately. I sat on the bed, inexplicably winding a lock of hair around my fingers. “What did he ask?” Even to my own ears I sounded desperate for information.

  “He said he’d just met a girl in the car park and wondered if I knew her. I asked him what she looked like.” Nicole spoke slowly, drawing out the tale. My glare prompted her along. “He said she was pretty, blonde and about so high,” she said, indicating my height with her hand. According to her re-enactment, I was three feet tall.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I asked him if she was mouthy, unpredictable and wearing a blue raincoat.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. Except for the height estimation, her description of me was pretty fair.

  “So where did he want directions to?”

  “Spinnaker Road.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess he’s visiting someone in town.”

  “Well, I’m sure he was grateful.”

  Giving him directions was a service to the community. If Adam had been left to find it himself, every pedestrian in town would’ve been in mortal danger.

  “I didn’t give him directions to Spinnaker Road. There are eleven streets in this town, for crying out loud. He would’ve found it eventually. I gave him directions to my house.”

  “Slick, Nicole.”

  “I thought so. I told him if he wanted to see you again, you’d be at the reception this afternoon.”

  I took a moment to process this. Maybe he thought he’d hurt me. I could think of no other reason why he’d ask about me. I could think of even fewer reasons why a stranger would show up at a wedding reception.

  “He won’t show,” I declared.

  “We’ll see.” Smoothing down the front of her dress with both hands, she began studying her reflection in the mirror. Her grape coloured satin dress gathered under her bust, and a long skirt skimmed her body. Nicole’s hair colour changed from one day to the next and I wasn’t sure that I liked the current platinum blonde look, but it looked pretty coiffed in an elegant bun. I suddenly felt bad for not putting more effort into my outfit.

  “I should change,” I muttered.

  She abandoned the mirror and, enthusiastically threw open the wardrobe, a woman on a mission.

  “How about this?”

  The sage green dress she was waving at me still had the tags on it. We’d picked it up in Hobart months earlier. The sales assistant claimed it was vintage. The fifty dollar price tag made me doubt her, but I didn’t care. It was a cute summer dress – summer being the operative word. I had no idea how I was supposed to pull it off in the middle of June. It was also cut a little too low f
or me, which explained why it had a permanent home in the back of my wardrobe.

  “It’s a bit revealing, don’t you think?”

  “No. It’s impressive.” She carefully slipped it off the hanger and launched it at me, not so carefully. I dragged my shirt over my head, dropped my skirt to the floor and manoeuvred my way into the dress. I tore off the tags and stood in front of the mirror, fussing with the neckline while Nicole fussed with my hair.

  Being the daughter of hairdresser meant she was supposed to possess natural talent when it came to styling hair. She didn’t. Five minutes of pulling and twisting resulted in nothing more cutting edge than the blonde ponytail I’d started with. Reaching for the brush on my dresser, I dragged out the elastic and tried neatening it up.

  “Okay. You’re done,” she announced after a few seconds. Patience had never been her strong suit. “You’ve got a party to crash.”

  The rain had dulled to a drizzle by the time we arrived at the Lawsons’ house. The line of cars stretching down the street convinced me that Nicole wasn’t exaggerating when she’d told me everyone in town (except Alex and his wedding allergies) would be there.

  Being such a small town, there were no reception centres or fancy golf clubs to accommodate large parties. Christenings, weddings, wakes and everything in between were held at the host’s house. Joanna Lawson’s wedding reception was supposed to be a quaint garden party in her family’s yard, but the rain had put a dampener on things, so to speak. The lawn was scattered with vacant white plastic tables and chairs, and sodden pink decorations hung limply from the row of lemon trees near the fence. I felt bad for the bride. It looked like a disaster zone.

  The house didn’t seem to have fared much better. It was overloaded with guests and there was nothing quaint about it. I could hear the music thumping from the car. Staying put seemed much more favourable than going inside.

  Nicole unbuckled her seatbelt. “Are we going to sit here all day?” She angled the rear vision mirror in her direction, checking her reflection while she waited for my reply.

  “Could we?”

  Nicole threw open the car door and stepped out on to the lawn, surprisingly gracefully considering the ridiculously high heels she was wearing.

  “Get out,” she ordered.

  My exit wasn’t as polished and I nearly stumbled on the verge. We hadn’t even made it to the front steps before her mother bombarded us.

  “Nicole! Where have you been?” she barked. “We’ve been waiting to take photos. Carol Lawson’s hands were planted firmly on her chubby hips. Her skin-tight mauve dress clung to every pudgy curve on her body. The silver belt around her waist was pulled in two notches too tight. I wondered if she could breathe but the way she was ranting at Nicole confirmed that she could. “This is your sister’s day. Remember that.” She pointed her finger as if she was hexing us.

  “How could I forget?” asked Nicole.

  “And you, Charlotte.” She said my name as if it was a swear word.

  “Yes, Mrs Lawson?” I spoke sweetly. The last thing I wanted to experience was the wrath of Carol. I’d been there before and it wasn’t pretty.

  “Make sure you’re on your best behaviour,” she warned.

  Charlotte Blake, chief troublemaker. I wasn’t hearing it for the first time. At least I knew where I stood with Carol. She always let me know exactly how she felt. She was one of the most genuine people I knew on the inside, and yet every part of her appearance was fake – gaudy bleached hair, long acrylic nails and a fake tan in a strange shade of orange. The woman was a walking contradiction.

  I crossed my heart. “Best behaviour. I promise.”

  I doubt she believed me, but she let us on to the porch anyway.

  The music was so loud that I could feel it pulsing through my feet as I walked inside. Nicole shrugged off her coat and tried to hang it on the crowded wooden hatstand in the hallway. Already overloaded, the extra weight was too much and sent it toppling towards her.

  Moving quickly, she caught it.

  “Hang your coat before it falls again,” she yelled, fighting to be heard over the music, still holding the stand upright. One more coat would have signalled the end.

  Someone turned the music down and I was relieved not to have to scream my reply.

  “I’ll keep my coat on.” I didn’t want to take it off. The neckline on my dress felt positively obscene at that point.

  “Last chance,” she warned, preparing to let go.

  I shook my head. “I’m good.”

  Nicole released her grip, and we watched as the mound of coats began to fall.

  Adam was walking out of the lounge room just as it fell. He stumbled as the pile of coats blindsided him.

  “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry!” gasped Nicole, reaching for the hatstand with both hands.

  Adam slung the armful of coats he’d managed to catch back on the stand. “No harm done,” he replied.

  He looked different – calmer maybe. His hair, no longer soaked by the rain, was a lighter shade of brown than I remembered, but his eyes remained dangerously bright.

  Nicole extended her hand. “I’m glad you came. It’s Adam, right?” she asked, sounding falsely unsure.

  I looked to the floor to hide my smirk. Her play at innocence was ridiculous.

  Adam shook her hand. “That’s right. Thank you for the invitation. It’s shaping up to be quite a party.” Noticing my expression, he laughed. “Aren’t you having fun?”

  I didn’t want to answer, and received a reprieve when Carol bustled through the door.

  “The photographer’s still waiting, Nicole. Get outside, now!” Her mother brushed past her, shoving into the lounge room to round up other wayward members of the bridal party.

  I could tell that Nicole was mortified. The colour of her cheeks now matched her lipstick. She excused herself from the conversation and for a split second, I considered reaching out and dragging her back.

  My eyes darted in every direction but Adam’s. He said nothing until I turned and walked out the same door I’d come in only a few minutes earlier.

  “Are you leaving so soon?” he asked, following me out.

  The rain had stopped but the cold air felt thick. A few small groups were gathered along the veranda, chatting, laughing and sipping drinks from dodgy plastic cups. I was glad that we weren’t the only ones out there.

  He put his hands in his pockets. “I hope you decide to stay, just a little longer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know anyone else here.”

  “You don’t know me either.”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true. We met earlier today. That has to count for something.”

  “You nearly mashed me with your car.” I grinned. “I’m not sure it counts for anything.”

  “Maybe we could start again.” He held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Adam.”

  “Charli,” I replied, ignoring the warmth that tingled up my arm as I took his hand.

  “Short for Charlotte?”

  “Only when I’m in trouble.”

  “I imagine that’s quite often.”

  I pulled my hand away, embarrassed that he’d drawn that conclusion so quickly. “Why would you think that?”

  Adam leaned forward, reducing the gap between us to inches. “I just think you show a little spark.”

  I looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you always this forward?”

  He grinned. “I’m from New York. We have a reputation for being pushy.”

  “So why are you here?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see Australia.”

  His generic answer held no conviction. I knew there was more to it.

  “People who want to see Australia usually visit the Sydney Harbour Bridge or the Great Barrier Reef. The south coast of Tasmania will shoot any dreams you had of a sunny Australian holiday down in flames.”

  “I like it so far,” he said, smiling.
I concentrated on not reading too far between the lines. “Besides, I have family here.”

  I was pretty confident that I knew everyone in town. Possibilities ran through my head.

  “Who?”

  “My cousin. Gabrielle Décarie.” I gritted my teeth and forced a smile, but my strain must have been obvious. “Do you know her?”

  I did know her. Mademoiselle Décarie taught French at high school. I detested French, and I was quite sure she detested me because of it.

  Getting away with anything underhanded at school was tricky. There was no such thing as scheduled parent and teacher meetings. All discussions involving late assignments, poor grades and ditched classes were held across the counter of our café. Poor Alex cringed whenever a teacher walked through the door. Gabrielle Décarie was no exception to the rule, and it didn’t help that Alex was a bumbling fool in her presence. She was an exquisitely beautiful woman with coppery hair and porcelain skin. It was easy to see how he’d fallen under her invisible spell.

  “Mademoiselle Décarie is my French teacher. She’s also French. You’re American. How does that work?” I wickedly wanted to hear that she wasn’t French at all and the accent was a sham.

  Adam took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms. “My father is French. We moved to the states when I was a child. Gabrielle is always telling me how nice it is here. I thought I’d check it out for myself.”

  It was a long way to come for a big fat nothing.

  “So how long are you in town for, Adam Décarie?” The exaggerated spin I put on his surname sounded ridiculous. I made a mental note never to attempt it again.

  “I don’t have to be home for a couple of months.”

  “Running a girl down with your car is the most excitement you can hope for here. You’ll be clawing the walls in a week, desperate to get out of town,” I teased.

  “Have you always lived here?” he asked.

  “Always.”

  I wanted to tell him that Nicole and I planned to leave as soon as we were done with school. I wasn’t one of those boring small town girls, and it pained me to think that Adam might think I was. I shouldn’t have cared what he thought. I didn’t know this boy from, well, Adam.

  Turning my back to him, I leaned on the lattice railing, looking into the garden, enjoying the cool air on my face. He moved beside me, resting his elbows on the railing.

  “You could be my tour guide,” he suggested.

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Do you have a spare five minutes?” That’s all it would take. There were only so many views of the ocean or ancient trees I could show him before he’d lose interest.

  “Like I said, I have a couple of months. Would you show me around?”

  “Why do I get the impression you’re not going to take no for an answer?”

  “Because I’m a pushy American with plenty of time on his hands. So what do you say?”

  I opened my mouth to refuse when two of my least favourite people, Jasmine and Lily Tate, tottered along the veranda, making a beeline straight for us. I’d been avoiding them since kindergarten and had become quite good at it, but now I was caught.

  Both sisters were almost pretty. Lily was seventeen and possessed the knack of dressing like a cheap stripper. She also had the misfortune of being as dumb as a box of rocks. Jasmine, more intelligent and twice as catty, managed to tone it down a little bit but her pushed-up boobs still spilled over everything she wore. Her signature heavy makeup made her look much older than her nineteen years. Generally speaking, they were an all round hot mess.

  “Charli!” Lily screeched, running at me in her red stilettos. She threw her arms around me, trapping my hands tightly at my sides. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your new friend?” she purred, her eyes firmly fixed on Adam. Jasmine stood so close to him that he was jammed against the railing.

  “This is Adam Décarie,” I said.

  “Who are you here with? I haven’t seen you around here before. I never forget a face, especially one like yours,” Jasmine gushed, squeezing against him. She linked her arm through his, staking her territory.

  Adam looked at me, silently pleading for rescue. I gave it my best shot.

  “Adam’s French, Jasmine. His English is not very good,” I improvised.

  Jasmine dropped her bottom lip and patted his arm. It was as if I’d just told them he was suffering from a terminal illness.

  “Are you enjoying your holiday?” asked Lily. She spoke slowly and loudly, managing to make “holiday” a four-syllable word.

  I smirked, doing all I could not to laugh. “He’s French, not deaf.”

  Adam covered his mouth with the hand Jasmine was not squeezing the life out of and coughed. I wasn’t sure if he was covering a laugh or if being choked by their perfume.

  “Are you staying with Miss Décarie?” asked Jasmine, still talking as if he was mentally impaired.

  “Yes he is,” I answered for him.

  Lily leaned forward, glancing at her sister. Their prey remained firmly sandwiched between them. “We could show him around, like, a tour de Pipers,” she suggested. Her French accent was worse than mine, something I didn’t think was possible.

  “Fantastic,” I encouraged.

  “Can you tell him we’ll pick him up from Miss Décarie’s at ten?” Jasmine asked, momentarily turning her attention to me. Perhaps she didn’t know that I’d ditched every second French class for the past two years.

  “Adam.” I spoke slowly and waved my arms. “You have a date tomorrow, at ten.” I held ten fingers in the air for effect.

  Lily clapped as if I’d conquered the language barrier.

  “Fabulous! Well, we’ll see you tomorrow,” said Jasmine, poking her bright pink fingernail into his chest with every word spoken.

  “Très bien,” replied Adam, muttering his first words since the ambush.

  “What did he say?” quizzed Jasmine.

  “He said he’s looking forward to it.” I smirked.

  As soon as their date was set, the sisters released their grip. Adam sidled next to me, perhaps hopeful that I would protect him.

  Lily pulled at the hem of her stretchy skirt, which was riding up. Jasmine flicked her hair off her shoulder. Adam coughed again. Definitely the perfume. The girls walked away, their clicking heels acting as a warning system for the next man they set their sights on.

  Adam waited until they were out of earshot. “You realise what this means, don’t you, Charlotte?” he murmured.

  “It means you have a hot date with the Beautifuls tomorrow,” I replied, ignoring the fact that he’d just called me by my horrid full name.

  “The Beautifuls? Is that what you call them?”

  “That’s what we’ve always called them.”

  You have a strange perception of beauty, Charli.”

  I felt the need to clarify. “They think they’re gorgeous and that’s the point. The Beautifuls – it’s just who they are.”

  “So if they’re beautiful, what does that make you?”

  I wasn’t expecting the question. Adam waited, not watching me.

  “Big trouble,” I announced, flashing my wickedest grin.

  The corner of his mouth lifted just enough to reveal the dimple on his right cheek. “Really?”

  “Huge trouble,” I warned, throwing back my head and drawing out the words.

  “I’ll consider myself warned,” he chuckled. “Right, what time am I picking you up tomorrow?”

  “You have plans,” I reminded him.

  He shuddered. “I’m not planning on being anywhere near Gabrielle's house when those girls show up. You got me into this—so you have to save me from them.”

  Earlier that morning I’d been desperate for an escape. And I wasn’t too dumb to realise that Adam might have been it.

  “Trouble, remember?” I pointed at myself.

  “Do you need me to sign a disclaimer or something? I’ll do it, you know.”

&nb
sp; I blushed. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Great. It’s a date then.”

  3. Games

  The first thing I did when I woke was check my phone for messages, certain that Adam would have hunted down my number and called to cancel, but there were no I-just-realised-you’re-a-nutcase texts waiting for me. I pulled the covers back up to my chin. The morning was cold but the sun glaring through the window made me hopeful that the rain would stay away.

  I contemplated getting up and cleaning my room to pass some time. The floor was scattered with the rejected outfits from the day before, including the obscenely low-cut dress that I swore would never see the light of day again. I opted for breakfast instead.

  Alex was already up, reading yesterday’s newspaper while he ate. I sat down and he slid a box of cereal and a carton of milk towards me.

  “I thought you were never going to get out of bed.”

  The blistering look I gave him was wasted. “It’s seven o’clock.” I huffed.

  “I know. The day is practically over.”

  He was serious. Alex’s day started at the crack of dawn, because he was a slave to the sea. Surfing was his bliss, and rain, hail or shine, his morning started at the beach as if he had no choice in life. I wasn’t quite as dedicated, but couldn’t deny my affinity to the ocean either. The difference was, I wouldn’t curl up and die if I missed a morning or two in the water.

  “What were the waves like this morning?”

  “A bunch of chop, actually.”

  “I didn’t miss much then,” I replied smugly.

  “You got lucky, that’s all. How would you feel if you’d slept through the best waves in the southern hemisphere this morning? You would have spent the rest of your youth hearing nothing but the legend of how I mastered the waves of the century…while you slept in.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Get over yourself, Alex.”

  He laughed, eyeing me like he was waiting for some big news.

  “What?”

  “How was the wedding?”

  “It wasn’t a wedding. It was a reception, and it was pretty sucky.” Carol had kept Nicole shackled to a giant plate of microwaved canapés for the best part of the afternoon. She dutifully offered them around the room for hours before escaping to drive me home.

  Adam left much earlier than I did. I declined his offer to drive me home. The last thing I needed was a lecture from Alex about accepting lifts from strangers.

  “Where were you anyway? When I got home, you were nowhere to be seen.”

  “Out and about,” he said vaguely. “When I got home, you were asleep. It must have been some party, Charli.”

  “Everyone was there. The whole town was there,” I said, drawing out my words as if I was explaining some big tragedy.

  Alex leaned back, snickering at my drama. “Same old, same old then, huh?”

  “Not quite. I did meet someone new. Adam Décarie, Gabrielle’s cousin.” I saw a flicker in his eyes at the mention of her name. “Mademoiselle Décarie,” I purred in my useless French accent.

  Alex began thumbing through the newspaper, too quickly to be reading it. Finally he gathered the paper together and thumped it on the table.

  “What are you doing today?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Because I always ask. It gives me false hope that I’m actually managing to keep tabs on you.”

  “I’m taking Adam on a tour of Pipers Cove,” I replied casually. It was no big deal and I hoped he agreed.

  My relationship with Alex was complicated. We’d been on our own for so long that I couldn’t remember a time when things were different. He was only twenty when he took me on, at a time when he should have been setting out to conquer the world, just as I ached to do. A certain amount of guilt came with that knowledge.