‘Where I found it last night.’
Of course he had. She shook her head at him. ‘Not the cleverest place to…’ she flicked her forefingers in the air ‘…hide it, I know, but it’s there for when I forget to take my key ring with me.’
Last night. When he’d driven her back from Nelson. After he’d sat with her, held her hand figuratively while she’d freaked out big time. A girl could get used to that if she wasn’t careful. Last night—when she’d kissed him. Swallow. Maybe having Grady in her house again so soon after that faux pas was a mistake. Because those memories she refused to admit to were getting harder to deny by the minute.
But pork and fried rice sounded so much tastier than those two-minute noodles sitting in her cupboard. How pathetic was that? Unfair on Grady, too. Hey, he was a big boy. In more ways than one. He’d cope. He wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t want to do this. One thing about Grady—he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to.
Shuffling over to the driver’s side, she reached to pull the door closed that Grady had left open. ‘See you in a while.’ She crashed the gearstick into place and jerked her foot off the accelerator, sending the four-wheel drive bunny-hopping out of the car park.
‘Excellent, Sasha. Now you’re a ballet dancer on wheels.’ In the rear-view mirror she saw Grady standing, hands on hips, shaking his head. ‘So you don’t like dancers. What do you like these days, Grady O’Neil? Who are the women you’ve dated since I last saw you? Beautiful ones, I’ll bet. Exciting and fun, or serious and safe?’
Her good mood evaporated. She hated the thought of those other women with Grady. Even though she’d had other men, and had loved one a lot. Grady had been hers. But not any more.
*
‘Hey, Dad, how was your trip?’ Sasha wrapped her arms around her father and hugged tight. One of the good things about returning home was Dad hugs. They’d been a part of her life from as far back as she could remember.
‘A darned sight less drama-ridden than things back here.’ He squeezed her and stepped back, his eyes dropping to her protruding tummy. ‘How is my granddaughter today?’
Sasha grabbed his hand and placed it where Flipper was kicking up a storm. ‘She’s been making up for lost time all day.’ Watching Dad’s eyes mist over as he felt the movement, her throat clogged with emotion. ‘Melanie’s doing fine, Dad. Everything’s on target.’ She winced as another kick caught at her. ‘Right on target. I think I’ve got a women’s soccer rep in there.’
‘Melanie?’ Dad whispered as he raised his eyes to meet her gaze. ‘You’re naming her after your grandmother? My mother?’ he emphasised.
‘Yes. Melanie Wilson the second. I’m giving her a lot to live up to, I know, but I’m sure she’ll manage.’
Mum handed Dad a box of tissues and shunted him aside. ‘My turn.’ Her arms wrapped around Sasha’s neck and she planted a soppy kiss on her cheek. ‘That baby gave us a huge scare yesterday. When Grady phoned I had a wee cry.’
Grady. The name dropped between them. Mum would have a thousand questions. Dad might, too. They’d both liked Grady and had been hurt when he’d dumped her.
Sasha unwound Mum’s arms, noting the slight tremors, and tried hard not to show any tears. No way did Mum want any sympathy, went nuts if anyone said anything about her illness. Which left Grady to talk about, and she so did not want to go there. ‘Sorry I didn’t phone. I was almost incoherent with panic.’ She met Dad’s gaze. Saw the empathy there for her predicament. ‘So much for being the cool, calm nurse.’
‘Yesterday you were a mother, not a nurse,’ Mum told her. ‘Are you staying for dinner?’
‘Not tonight, sorry. It’s been a long day and I really want to get home.’ That wasn’t a fib.
‘What are you cooking?’ Dad asked, his shrewd eyes watching her every movement.
‘Sweet and sour pork with fried rice.’ That wasn’t quite a fib either.
‘Where did you find Chinese food? Has a new place opened in the week I’ve been away?’ He turned to Mum, who shook her head, turned back. ‘Sasha?’
‘Grady’s cooking. He insisted and I didn’t have the energy to keep saying no.’ Neither was that a fib.
‘Good for him.’ Mum grinned.
‘Are you seeing Grady again?’ Dad asked, a load of caution lacing his voice.
‘No, Dad, I’m not. He’s been doing some hours for the medical centre so there’s no avoiding him. Then, Grady being Grady, he insisted on driving me over to Nelson last night.’
‘Thank goodness he did.’ Mum seemed determined to make the whole Grady thing a rosy picture. Did she want a father for Flipper? Did that make her prepared to welcome Grady into the family so easily?
‘Look…’ Sasha drew a shaky breath. ‘Grady’s back here to prepare his house for sale and then he’s heading off again. We are not getting back together. Not now, not ever. It would never work.’
Dad laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Trying too hard to convince us? Or to convince yourself, love?’
The trouble with her father was that he knew her too well, had always been able to read her like a book, because they were so similar in character. Reaching up on her toes, she placed a kiss on his cheek. ‘I’ll be over to help with the avocados after work tomorrow. I’m sure they need thinning.’
‘No need. We’ve got it covered.’ Dad went to the front door with her, held it open as she stepped out into the cold night.
She noted the clear sky and the condensation in the air in front of her mouth. ‘Could be a frost tonight.’
‘Tread carefully, Sasha.’
As she slid back into her vehicle she knew Dad wasn’t talking about the slippery steps or path.
She waved as she drove out onto the road home. And dinner with Grady. ‘I’m trying really hard, Dad, believe me. But nothing seems to be going according to plan right now.’
*
The delicious aroma of fried rice teased Sasha’s nostrils as she let herself into her cottage. She could so easily get used to this. Squeezing into the kitchen, she told Grady, ‘That smells divine.’
He turned from the bench where he was stirring soy sauce and crushed garlic together. ‘Better than your box of noodles?’
I shouldn’t have agreed to this. The tiny kitchen couldn’t hold both of them without them rubbing against each other. Crossing to the alcove that served as her dining room, she stopped. The table was set, waiting for her. ‘Oh. Right.’ Now what? She turned back to the kitchen. ‘Do you want a beer or something?’
Grady lifted an open bottle from the bench. ‘Sorted, thanks.’
Okay. Um, guess there wasn’t anything to do except wait for that food that looked so good in the deep pan he was using as a wok. ‘I’ll go and change out of my work clothes, then.’ She shot past him, ignoring the raised eyebrows and quirky smile on his gorgeous face. Gorgeous face?
Yeah, Dad, as you can see, I’m trying really hard to keep my distance.
‘Don’t be long.
I’m almost ready.’ Grady’s voice followed her down to her bedroom. So ordinary, normal. Grady in the kitchen, preparing dinner, while she’d been visiting her parents. Now they’d sit down together and eat, talk about their day. Like a couple. A couple with their first baby on the way.
Yeah, Dad, I’m trying really hard.
Grady would be a super father. The kind any kid would want to rush home to at the end of school and tell him about all the things she’d done during the day. Did her baby need a father? Right from the day she popped out?
Flipper had needed one yesterday. As she’d needed Grady. Hard to imagine how she’d have coped without him being there for her.
‘I’d have done what I always do—sucked it up and got on with it. Having Grady hanging around made it easier to give in to the fear and panic gripping me.’
She sank onto the edge of her bed, stared around the room she’d made cosy with the quilts she’d inherited from her grandmother. They were works of art, full of vibrant colours and intriguing patterns. Apart from the terracotta and cream-coloured log-cabin quilt on her bed there were three others in greens, blues and more terracotta lying on the chair in the corner and over the wooden clothes rack in the opposite corner. All made by her grandmother.
Closing her eyes, she could picture Grandma hand-piecing together intricate shapes of fabric, slowly, painstakingly, creating another magical quilt. Grandma. Sasha’s hands went to her tummy. Melanie.
What are you going to be like, baby girl? Sweet and kind, like your great-grandma? Tough and determined, like your grandma? Daredevil and wild, like your mum and grandfather?
Please, not like Dad and me. I don’t think I could bear to have to sit at home, waiting for you to return from some dangerous escapade.
This whole motherhood thing was huge. Terrifying. Exciting. Massive. Was she up to it? Too late. It had been too late since she’d gone to Fiji for a week with greaseball Freddy. Her hands gripped the quilt on either side of her butt. He might’ve turned out to be a waste of space but he had given her Flipper, and no matter what the future brought she’d be grateful for that. She might have to work hard at being the best mother but nothing would get in the way of her trying.