Three other mummies, obviously in awe of Seb’s property, had asked for her business card. Not having one, she’d hastily scribbled her contact details on a serviette.
Professional, she was not.
But the cake had been perfect, and the mini-quadbikes and paintball shooting had been fun. She’d had her own gun and was supposed to be treated like Switzerland—but all that meant was that the rug-rats had had a common enemy and had shot at her whenever the opportunity arose. She had a bright purple paint mark on her neck and her T-shirt, jeans and legs were multi-coloured blotches.
Looking towards the paddock, she noticed that the haybales and used car tyres that had formed the track for the mini-quadbikes, as well as Seb’s white fence poles, were splattered as well. Nothing that a hosepipe or a good thunderstorm couldn’t fix... Rowan looked up at the sky and cursed the lack of clouds. She was exhausted already, and she had the kitchen to clean up. She didn’t feel like hosing down the poles as well.
Crab-fishing in the stream at the bottom of the property had been another highlight of the day. It had been a bit of a problem finding enough branches to make adequate poles, and she had sacrificed a nice piece of fillet steak she’d found in the fridge to use as bait, but they had pulled up a lot of the unwelcome creatures that populated the small stream.
None of the kids had got hurt, lost or even cried. They’d had enough sugar to put them on a high for days, had a whole lot of fun, and if their parents had to throw away their mud-and paint-stained designer clothes Rowan was pretty sure they could afford to buy more. She had some cash in her pocket and she felt a sense of accomplishment that was different from buying and selling.
It was being around innocence, having fun doing the simple things she’d done with Callie, feeding off the kids’ joyous energy. She’d run, skipped, hopped, climbed and crawled, and she’d frequently thought that she couldn’t believe she was getting paid to have this much fun.
Kids. Not having had much to do with them, she would never have believed that she would enjoy them so much.
Rowan grimaced as she sank onto the bottom of the four steps that led to the wide veranda. She rubbed her lower back—she’d tumbled backwards off a stack of haybales and was now paying the price—and rested her aching head against the stone wall. She’d had minimal sleep over the past few days—sleeping with Seb and bartending had both translated into very late nights—and she’d been up with the sparrows this morning to get everything done before the kids arrived.
She shouldn’t have stopped, shouldn’t have sat down. Now that she knew how tired she was she didn’t think she could find the energy to get up, never mind clear up the mess that the kids had made and the disaster area that was the kitchen. She’d just sit here for a minute with her eyes closed and try to recharge her batteries...
When Seb shook her awake the sun was dipping behind the mountains and she felt slightly chilly. She yawned as she glanced up at him, still dressed in his exercise gear, although he’d pulled on a hooded sweatshirt. Seb held out his hand and pulled her to her feet.
‘I’ve made tea,’ he said, leading her by the hand to the kitchen.
‘You hate tea,’ Rowan said on a smothered yawn.
‘Not for me, for you.’ Seb pulled out a chair from the table and shoved her into it.
As her eyes focused Rowan noticed that, instead of looking as if a nuclear bomb had exploded in it, the kitchen was tidy, all the surfaces were clean, the chip and sweet packets were packed away and the remains of the cake were in a big plastic container.
‘You cleaned up.’ Rowan took the cup he held out and wrapped her hands around it. ‘You shouldn’t have. I was going to.’
‘Anyone who could fall asleep against a stone pillar for an hour was not up to cleaning up.’ Seb held a cup of coffee in one hand, his fingers curled around the mug.
Rowan wished, passionately, that they were curled around something attached to her.
‘So, that was your function?’
‘Mmm. My stupid way to make some money.’
‘If it’s legal, there is no stupid way to make money,’ Seb responded. ‘Was it worth it?’
Rowan nodded. ‘Yes, it was. Do you mind your property being invaded by a horde of kids? They didn’t come into the house, by the way, except to use the downstairs bathroom.’
‘No, of course I don’t mind,’ Seb said, and shook his head at her puzzled look. When he spoke again, he sounded frustrated. ‘Ro, you could fill this place with a hundred kids and I wouldn’t mind. I do mind you working so hard that you fall asleep with your head on the wall as soon as you sit down. You coming home is supposed to give you some space to sort your life out, but you’re bartending and arranging kids’ parties and you’re exhausted. You don’t need to do this...’