“Bear, for instance,” she went on. “Met him yesterday, love him already.”
“You do know he’s gay,” Rafe said, sliding her a telling glance.
“Sure. Apparently, we have the same taste in coffee. And men.”
She earned a double-eyebrow lift for that one. Then a chuckle, deep and rough and delicious. She’d forgotten quite how much she loved it when that serious face lit up.
“What’s his story?” she asked, before clearing her throat.
“Rode into town a year or two back,” said Rafe, “hoping my team could wield some magic on his favourite Harley: a 1974 Shovelhead.”
“Your team?”
Another sideways glance, then, “Didn’t Mercy tell you? I took over Stan’s old garage a few years back. Renamed it. Expanded a little. Made a bit of a name for myself, bringing broken-down vintage cars and bikes back to life.”
“Well, that’s just fabulous! And no, Mercy did not tell me. Turns out she’s very good at not telling me much at all. Such as the fact that your father passed away. I’m sorry, by the way. It must have been a rough time.”
Eyes front, Rafe offered up a single chin lift by way of acknowledgement. And nothing more. Stoic as ever.
Mulling that over, she didn’t realise where they were till they got there.
“Oh!” she said, her boots scraping to a halt as a pile of crunchy autumn leaves caught in a whirl of wind and swept across the cracked grey path. “I didn’t remember this place being so close!”
Open during spring and summer, and during the autumnal Pumpkin Festival, Radiance boasted an old-style fairground named Wonderland Park. Complete with Ferris wheel, a carousel with the most amazingly detailed horses, and a hand-painted wooden Chair-O-Plane.
Not one for group events, or capitalism, or fun in general, Sable’s mother had flat out refused to ever give her a cent to attend, so she’d watched from the sidelines, listening to the clatter of machinery and the squeals of joy, on many a balmy summer evening from a spot in the playground nearby.
In fact, the playground had to be close... Searching the gaps in the frail-branched bushes, she found it. There—the ancient rusty slippery slide, and wonky wooden swings—
“Our first kiss,” said Rafe.
Sable jumped at his nearness, at the words he’d said, the rough edge to his voice. “What’s that, now?”
He angled his chin towards the playground. “Over there. That’s where we had our first kiss.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
She remembered, vividly. It had been the night of her seventeenth birthday when she’d seduced him. If dragging him up to the loft in his father’s barn, where she’d set out a dozen battery-operated candles around a picnic blanket, and pressing him against a tattered old hay bale and kissing him for all she was worth could be considered seduction.
She remembered being so impatient for her life to begin back then. So impatient for a future with Rafe. A future and a family. It had taken her a long while to truly believe Rafe when he said he would never have a family of his own. A while longer still before she’d left.
Rafe’s gaze swung to hers. “Do you really not remember? It was a week before the park was due to reopen that spring. A bunch of us came down here. Jimmy Dale had snuck a six-pack from his dad’s stash.”
Sable blinked and just like that it all came back to her.
She’d been fifteen, perhaps. Rafe a couple of years older. Jimmy had taken a shine to her, invited her along with a bunch of senior kids to “hang out”. She’d never have gone if Rafe hadn’t mentioned he’d swing by.
There’d been beer. Someone had brought a guitar. They’d built a fire. Stupid, what with all the winter kindling littering the scrub.
She remembered wishing she could go home. Feeling angry with herself for not having a richer vein of rebellion. Why did she flutter and float on the whims of others? Couldn’t she stand up and say what she wanted? What was she so afraid of?
Then Jimmy had dragged her from the swing and started to dance. Spinning and spinning her until she thought she might faint.
Till he’d spun her out to the end of his arm and let her go.
There’d been a moment of pure panic, when she’d been sure she’d trip, or fall, when her sense of balance would truly fail her, until a strong hand had taken her by the fingertips, curled her back in, gathered her close.
Rafe’s hand. Calloused, and enveloping and so very warm.
They had been friends for a couple of years by that point. Best friends, really. He being her silent protector as she scoured the forest for junk to photograph, she his adoring acolyte, watching over him as he fixed radios, washing machines, cars.
And while he’d held her hand a million times, to help her navigate a path across a stream, carried her piggyback all the way home from the base of Mount Splendour the time when she’d twisted an ankle, they’d never been face to face, body to body, nose to nose.
Her hand on his chest, she’d felt the racket of his heart. His hand at her back had tightened, gathering her dress in his grip.
“Rafe?” she’d whispered. Bewildered, hopeful, on fire.
And then he’d kissed her. A light, sweet sweep of his lips over hers.
The catcalls had begun. Whistles and howls and laughter.
Not that Sable had cared. For Rafe had been kissing her. Kissing her. Till her muscles had melted and her insides had sung. Fulfilling the deepest, most secret wish she’d ever wished in a lifetime of wishes.
When Rafe had pulled back, he’d looked as glazed as she’d felt. Until a shutter had dropped over his face, as impenetrable as steel. “Was Jimmy watching?” he’d asked.
“Who?”
A small smile, then, “Jimmy Dale. The bloke who’s been trying to paw at you all night.”
She’d glanced sideways to see Jimmy watching her glumly. “He saw.”
“Good. He’ll
