The Dare Collection: March 2018. Nicola Marsh

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       CHAPTER NINETEEN

      Abby

      I USUALLY LOOKED forward to my day at TAFE once a week, a day to take a break from the manic pace of Le Miel and absorb the theory behind creating pastries.

      I loved the lectures, the note taking, the practical sessions. The sight of my notebooks covered in scrawl. The sharing of recipes with fellow students. The questions fired at the visiting chefs.

      I loved it all. But today I was distracted, seriously distracted. And I blamed a tall, tattooed nightclub owner with a penchant for pastry and me.

      Last night had been incredible. A laid-back evening filled with laughs and loving. Making love, that was. I’d never be foolish enough to confuse it with any other type of love.

      During our beachside date, Tanner had been more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. He had a softer side to him that was just as appealing as the harder edges. I liked seeing his different facets, like peeling back the layers of an onion and discovering more intricacies beneath.

      He’d come back to my place after our beachside picnic and we hadn’t left the bed for hours, before falling asleep in each other’s arms. When he’d left at five this morning, he’d seemed different. Almost reluctant to depart. More tender somehow.

      It had freaked me out a little. I couldn’t let Tanner derail my plans. I’d already given up so much of myself in the past and now that my divorce had come through and I was finally free, I needed to move forward. To do what was right for me.

      As much as we burned up the sheets and the many ways I craved him, having anything beyond short term with Tanner would be a recipe for disaster.

      I knew what would happen. I’d end up getting emotionally invested, wanting to do whatever it took to keep my man happy and end up resenting him, ensuring one of us would walk away. And I’d be catapulted back to twelve months ago, picking up the pieces of my life while struggling to heal, while cursing my lack of a backbone.

      After coming so far, I couldn’t do that to myself. I wouldn’t.

      Determined to forget the possible complications with Tanner and focus on today’s lectures, I hoisted my backpack higher and headed for the imposing wrought-iron front gates, mentally reciting the day’s timetable.

      Deep in thought, I stumbled over a crack in the footpath.

      And almost slammed into my mother.

      ‘Hello, Abigail.’ She helped me straighten, her expression half fearful, half expectant, as she released me. ‘How are you?’

      ‘Fine,’ I responded by rote, stunned to see her here, torn between wanting to hug her and throttle her.

      I’d missed her so much. Had she missed me at all?

      A tsunami of mixed emotions swamped me: anger, sadness, hope, regret. A potent combination that made my hands shake and I clenched and unclenched them a few times to get a grip.

      I’d envisaged the first meeting with Mum or Dad so many times late at night, when I’d been cradling a Chardonnay and trying to ignore the insistent little voice in my head that recited how much my parents didn’t give a damn. In those thoughts, I’d imagined Mum hugging me, squeezing me so tight like she’d never let go. Maybe even Dad apologising and begging for forgiveness.

      But there’d been no hug from Mum. No sign that this was anything but an orchestrated encounter for who knew what purpose.

      ‘You look tired,’ she said, studying my face, her intense scrutiny not bothering me like it once had.

      How many times had I heard her berate me?

      ‘Abigail, СКАЧАТЬ