She hopped out of the car. Breathed deep. Happy to have a little distance from the man.
Though distance wasn’t a luxury that would last long.
Though they had to work out the exact details, saying yes would likely mean visits and catch-ups and holidays and birthdays, having his input, his help. Being connected to Rafe for the rest of her natural life.
It would also probably mean sticking in Radiance for a little while longer, at least. Meaning more time with her mother. Having to face the Wandas and Trudys out there. To accept that the people around here would care about her business whether she wanted them to or not.
She should have felt twitchy. Trapped.
Instead she felt her feet grounding. Her skittish heart settling.
She could handle waking to the sound of birdsong for a little longer. The crisp feel of autumn leaves crunching underfoot. The taste of home-made cherry pie and fresh whipped cream made from the milk of a cow living just down the road.
More than that, the juxtaposition of light and colour, foliage and bark, trickling streams and the violent beauty of a forest reclaiming fallen trees had relit the fire of inspiration inside her. Her daily walks with her old camera slung around her neck had reminded her, up close in full colour, why she’d taken up photography in the first place. Before it had become a job.
Back here at the site of the original crossroads, she was now officially taking her road less travelled. The road to motherhood. Not only settled on who her child’s father would be, but getting closer and closer to being sure of who her child’s mother was too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“THIS IS SUCH an LA thing to do,” Mercy grumbled.
Sable turned towards her mother, who was chopping vegetables with such vehemence she’d made sure to keep her distance.
“It’s so not,” Sable chided.
“So why are we doing this?”
“Asking friends over to dinner is a regular grown-up thing to do. It’s just that you were never a regular grown-up.”
The fact that she needed one of those “friends” and her mother to get along as well as possible because they soon might be related was something she didn’t plan to own up to just yet. The others she’d invited as mere window dressing.
It was a few days after the Big Yes, as Sable called it in her head, and Rafe was due back any minute. In the end he had driven the Pontiac to Melbourne, probably trying to keep things as normal on his end as possible. He’d also promised to see a specialist there that Sable had found. She hoped the invasive nature of what she was asking wouldn’t send him running for the hills.
His words came floating back to her, as they had over the past few days.
“If we do this, we do it together. You don’t get to disappear this time. You don’t cut me out.”
Clearly she’d taken on the “running for the hills” mantle in their relationship. Not that they had a relationship so much as an agreement. Terms still under construction.
She glanced at her mother. The queen of disappearing, walking away, cutting people out. “You okay over there?”
Mumble, mumble. “Can’t cook and she throws a dinner party.” Mumble, mumble.
“I lived with a world-famous chef for years. Chances are I picked up a thing or two.”
Mercy stopped, shot her a sharp look, thoughts tumbling over behind her vivid eyes. “And how was that?”
“Which part, exactly? LA? Living with a chef?”
“Take your pick.” Mercy waved a hand her way. The one holding a knife, naturally.
Sable found herself looking for her mother’s motivation in asking. The ulterior motive. For she never—ever—asked such open questions. But this was her future child’s grandmother. If there was ever a time to accept an olive branch, this was it.
“New York was great. But LA? The light was different somehow,” said Sable, starting slow, “which made everything feel a little unreal. For quite a while, actually. As to living with a chef...” She shrugged, feeling a little squally. She pressed her shoulders back. That part of her past was done.
While Rafe’s part in her past, present, future, would never be done.
There it was, that cheeky little voice again. It had been piping up more and more over the past few days.
She glanced at her mum to find Mercy still watching her. Carefully.
“Was he kind to you at all?” her mother asked, gripping the knife handle tighter.
Sable blinked. “Um, yes. Of course. I wouldn’t have stuck around so long if he wasn’t. He was...nice. He told me he loved me, but I think what he loved was my work. He raved about my photographs. But with me he was...detached. A complete turnabout from how intense everything had been back here. Which, at first, was a relief. But after a while I craved the rawness, the honesty, the directness I was used to.”
Sable nudged a hip against the bench.
“And while we may have different ideas on what my life should look like, I’ve never for a second doubted your love. So thank you. For that. I now know just how much better that is than the alternative.”
Mercy swallowed. Sable gave her mother a smile.
“Now get out of my kitchen,” Mercy said, quickly swiping a finger beneath each eye. “Before you do something truly LA and skip the salt and sugar.”
Everyone arrived en masse, right on the dot of seven, as if they’d all heard about dinner parties but this was their first. Stan, moustache trimmed for the occasion. Bear, looking twice as big as usual without his apron. The McGlinty brothers and their mother Carleen bearing bottles of wine. And lastly, Janie.
And Rafe.
Dark jeans, dark jacket, white T-shirt. Dark hair curling about his cheeks. Dark eyes boring into hers. He could have been the poster boy for bad boys who grew up good. And the moment his eyes met hers, Sable felt the floor dip under her.
“Hey, Sable!”
Sable flinched as Janie leapt in between
