Misty and the Single Dad

But what he was feeling was more than that.

He was working on plans for a seriously large yacht. She was being built in England. He should be there now, but this new way-delegating responsibility to a partner-was working fine. He sat in the big front room with his plans spread out over two tables. He was consulting via Skype. He could see what was happening every step of the way.

He should be excited by this project. He was excited, but undercutting his excitement was…Misty.

The vision of Misty was always there, in front of him.

The dogs were sleeping on his feet as he worked. Misty and Bailey were both at school. He should be knee- deep in boat plans.

He was, but…

‘But tomorrow’s Saturday,’ he told the dogs. ‘Tomorrow we get to take a day off. We’ll all take a day off. Together?’

Separate houses. Separate lives.

He looked at the two dogs. Separate lives? Yeah, right. They’d figured it out.

Misty.

He needed to do a bit of figuring himself.

Saturday morning, and Misty had every intention in the world of keeping the door between the sides of the house firmly shut.

She could use some extra sleep, she told herself, so she didn’t set her alarm, and when she heard a door slam and a child giggle on the other side of the house she closed her eyes again and wished she’d closed the curtains.

Only when had she ever? Her almost floor-length windows opened out to the veranda, to the sea. The breeze was making the net curtains flutter outward. It’d be a great day, Misty thought, and yawned and stretched-and a dog landed on her chest.

Any dog but Took might have winded her, but Took was a very slight dog and she barely packed a whumph.

‘Yikes,’ she said and Took quivered and licked. It was good to have dogs back here, she thought. It was great.

And more. Bailey’s head poked though the window, peering around the net curtains. ‘Took! Dad said we’re not allowed to wake up Miss Lawrence.’

Took, it seemed, wasn’t following instructions. She stood on Misty’s chest and continued quivering, but not with fear. This was excitement.

So much for separate. Misty chuckled and moved sideways in the bed so Bailey could join them. Then she realised Ketchup was at the window, whining at being left out. With one gammy leg, he couldn’t manage the twelve-inch sill, so she had to climb out of bed, scoop Ketchup up and scoot back to bed before anyone…anyone in particular…came looking for his son.

She tugged the covers to her chin. She was covered in two dogs and Bailey. She was respectable.

‘Where’s your father?’ she asked, trying to sound…uninterested.

‘In the shower. He takes ages. What will we do today?’

‘I’m not sure what you’re doing,’ Misty said cautiously. ‘This morning I’ll visit my gran, and this afternoon I’m sailing.’

‘Sailing.’ Bailey lit with excitement. ‘I like sailing. Can Dad and I come?’

‘Come where?’ And it was Nick-of course it was Nick-speaking from right outside the window. So much for showers taking ages. He did have the decency not to stick his head in, though. ‘What are you two planning?’

‘Sailing,’ Bailey said and flew to the window to tug the curtains wide. ‘Miss Lawrence and I are going sailing.’

Nick was wearing jeans again and a T-shirt, a bit too tight. His hair was wet. He looked… He looked…

Like it was totally inappropriate for him to be looking through her bedroom window.

At first glance he’d been smiling-his killer smile-but Bailey’s words had driven the smile away.

‘You’re not sailing,’ he told his son.

Misty thought that was his prerogative, but his voice was so hard, so definite, so unexpectedly angry that, before she could help herself, she heard herself say, ‘Why not?’

‘We don’t sail.’

‘You design yachts,’ she said in astonishment. ‘You built a yacht.’

‘I design yachts, yes, but that’s all. Bailey doesn’t sail.’ It was a grim snap, and somehow it was impossible not to respond.

‘Says your mother.’

His face froze. Uh oh, she thought grimly. That was out of line. She’d overstepped the boundaries-of what was wise, of what was kind. This was not her business.

But she’d said it. The words hung. It was the second time she’d goaded him about his paranoia, and his smile wasn’t coming back.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, icy with anger.

Should she apologise? Part of her said yes. The other part wasn’t having a bar of it.

‘Ooh, who’s cross?’ she ventured, thinking there was no unsaying what she’d said. It might even be a good thing that she had said it, she decided. Someone had to fight for Bailey. Maybe they should have this out when Bailey wasn’t around, but Bailey looked interested rather than worried.

‘Dad fusses,’ he said and she nodded.

‘I guess if I had a little boy who’d just come out of hospital I might fuss, too.’ She peeped Bailey a conspiratorial smile, a smile of mischief. ‘But the sailing I do is pussycat. I have a Sharpie, a tiny yacht, I’d guess it’s far smaller than anything you guys have ever sailed. The bay’s safe as houses. Bailey, if your dad lets you try Mudlark out-that’s the name of my boat, by the way, because the first time I tried her out I got stuck in mud-we could stay in shallow water. And of course we’d wear life vests.’

‘You got stuck in mud?’ Bailey said, entranced.

‘It was very embarrassing,’ she told him. ‘Philip Dexter, the town’s lawyer, had to tow me off. I’m a better sailor now.’

‘Dad…’ Bailey said.

‘No,’ Nick said, refusing to be deflected.

‘I can swim,’ Bailey said, jutting his jaw at his father. They really were amazingly alike.

‘No.’

‘I’ll wear a life vest.’

‘Life vests are great,’ Misty said. ‘They take all the worry out of tipping over.’

‘You tip over?’ Bailey said, casting a dubious glance at his father.

‘Sometimes,’ she admitted, being honest. In truth, there was nothing she loved more than setting her little boat into the wind, riding out conditions that had more experienced yachtsmen retire to the clubhouse. Tipping was part of the fun. ‘But today’s really calm-not a tipping day at all. If your dad did decide to let you come I’d be very careful.’

She ventured a cautious peek at Nick then and thought, Uh oh. She wasn’t making headway. Nick looked close to explosion. But if he was about to explode…Why not take it all the way?

‘You know, if your father was on board, too…’ she ventured. ‘I’m thinking your dad knows yachts better than I do. I bet he’d never let it tip over.’

‘No!’ Nick said, and it was a blast of pure icy rage.

Should she leave it? She glanced at Bailey and she thought Nick had brought him here, to this house, because he thought it was safe. Because he thought she was safe.

And something inside her matched his fury. She was not going to stick to his rules.

‘So what else do you intend to forbid?’ she demanded. ‘Every kid in Banksia Bay plays in a boat of some sort. Canoes, dinghies, sailboards, surf-kites, water-skis. This is a harbour town.’