‘What are you drinking?’ Scotty asked. Before Claire could respond, he grasped her forearm with his big hand and said, ‘Wait, let me guess. Midori and lemonade?’
She swatted away his paw, laughing. ‘Oh my God, Scotty!’ she said. Thinking about the bile-green, melon-flavoured monstrosity she’d claimed as her ‘signature drink’ back when she’d believed it was cool to have one made her feel queasy. ‘I’m not twenty any more. I’ll have a glass of pinot noir, please.’
Scotty gestured to the barman. ‘So,’ he said when Claire’s drink had been delivered, ‘I think this momentous occasion deserves a toast.’
Claire arched an eyebrow. ‘You do?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘To us. Scotty and Claire, the dynamic duo, together again. At last.’ He clinked his pint against her wineglass.
Scotty raised his glass to his lips and drank deeply, his green eyes regarding her closely over the rim. The way he looked at her, steady and defiant, was unnerving. It was as if his gaze held a question, a challenge.
Claire felt unsteady on her feet, almost drunk, though she’d had only a tiny sip of her wine. Together again. At last. What did he mean by that? It sounded like a statement of intent, loaded with possibilities she hadn’t let herself think about during the months since they’d found each other again. She deleted his emails after replying to them so that she wouldn’t go over and over them, looking for clues that she still mattered to him, conjuring deeper meaning where there wasn’t any.
But perhaps she had been too cautious. Jackie insisted that no red-blooded single man spent six months corresponding with a woman he had only friendly feelings for – especially, she said, when that woman had been his first love. Could Jackie be right? Here he was, IRL after eight long years, looking so very good. Should she take a chance and ask him out on a real date?
Claire cleared her throat. Maybe I’ll just test the waters. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be happy to hear from me back in June.’
There was that smile again. ‘Why would you worry about that? I missed you,’ Scotty said. He slid off his bar stool and took a step towards her. ‘C’mere.’
He wrapped her in a tight hug, pulling her into his broad chest and resting his chin on the crown of her head. Claire had always marvelled at how well they fitted together, even though Scotty was so much taller. It wasn’t that she had forgotten how good it felt to be held by him; she just hadn’t wanted to let herself remember.
Being in Scotty’s arms felt like home. For eight years, she had believed she’d never be able to go home again.
‘I didn’t think we’d ever be back here,’ she mumbled into the soft cotton of his T-shirt.
He chuckled and she felt rather than heard it rumble deep within his chest. ‘I knew you couldn’t keep away from me forever.’
No, just eight years. Reluctantly, she pulled away. ‘So, what does this mean?’ she said, feeling giddy. ‘How is this going to work?’
‘Well, actually, there’s something I want to ask you,’ Scotty said.
Claire’s heart rate abruptly tripled. She nodded mutely.
‘Claire, will you come to my wedding?’
And in that instant, it felt like her heart stopped beating altogether. A sharp pain sliced through her abdomen, and for a moment she thought she’d been struck. ‘Your what?’
‘I’m getting married! Can you believe it?’ His grin split his face from ear to ear.
Claire slowly shook her head. She felt caged and panicky. Her limbs fizzed as if preparing to flee. ‘I really can’t,’ she said, her voice flat.
‘And I want you to be there,’ Scotty continued, apparently oblivious to her desperation. ‘Outside of my family, you’re the person who has meant the most to me in my life. I can’t imagine you not being there on my wedding day. Will you come? Please?’
She searched for something to say, some words to fill the yawning chasm that had suddenly opened up inside her as she racked her brain for any mention of a fiancée. She couldn’t recall Scotty ever so much as hinting at dating.
All she could muster was ‘When is it?’
‘Christmas Eve,’ Scotty replied.
The words jolted her back to the present moment. ‘Christmas Eve? But that’s —’
‘In two weeks. I know!’ he crowed. ‘Isn’t it crazy?’
That’s one word for it, Claire thought.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Christmas Eve?’ Jackie said incredulously. ‘But that’s a Sunday. Who gets married on a Sunday? That’s so cheap.’
‘Jackie, you’re missing the point,’ Claire wailed. ‘The point is Scotty’s getting married. To a woman he’s known for a month. How can he do this?’
Jackie pursed her lips and twisted her thick red hair into a tight ponytail. She pulled a lurid fuchsia swimming cap over the top. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t think straight until I cool off,’ she said. ‘You coming in?’
Claire followed her friend to the pool’s edge, suddenly absurdly grateful that Jackie was such an early riser. The swimming pool was virtually deserted at seven a.m., even though the outside temperature was already nudging thirty degrees. The city’s roads would be choked with traffic by now as the masses flocked to set up camp on Sydney’s iconic beaches for the day. She was glad of the comparative peace of the suburban leisure centre where Jackie swam laps religiously every Saturday morning.
Claire eased into the pool and felt momentarily soothed. It had been a sleepless night – the stifling heat would have been enough to keep her awake even without the roiling thoughts clogging her brain – and the still water was a balm to her agitated soul. Even the Christmas songs playing on repeat over the tinny speakers felt comforting rather than grating.
Jackie began an easy side crawl. ‘So,’ she
