“Well, that’s both TMI and far too sad,” Jess joked. “But seriously, are you sure Nick’s okay about coming out in this weather to rescue me?”
“Of course!”
“I guess I can wait for the emergency service if I have to.”
“You won’t have to but if it makes you happy I’ll ask him. Hang on.” Libby muted the phone and faced Nick. “Jess’s bedroom ceiling is full of water.”
“Sounds like a job for the volunteer emergency service.”
“Nick!” She punched him gently on the arm. His lack of sympathy was surprising, especially as he often helped Jess out with general repairs like changing washers on faucets and high pressure cleaning her deck. He’d recently installed her new dishwasher. “She’s already called them and there’s a long wait.”
“But tonight’s our night,” he moaned. “Surely there’s someone else she can call? Someone on her side of the creek?”
“Will’s on the platform this week. You know she wouldn’t ask unless she was desperate. Do it for me,” she implored, stroking his cheek. “Please.”
He let out a groan, swung his legs onto the floor and grabbed his boxers. “Just for the record, Libs, I’m getting tired of being Jess’s Mr. Fixit. We’re giving her a tool kit and DIY classes for her birthday.”
Libby laughed, knowing he wasn’t serious, just a tad testy because of the timing and the wet weather. Nick loved his community and prided himself on being helpful. The widowed Italian nonnas in town adored it when he arrived on their doorstep with his tool kit. Once, one of the tech-savvy oldies posted a photo of a bare-chested Nick digging out her septic on the town’s Facebook page. She’d tagged it #ifonlyIwasthirtyyearsyounger. Nick didn’t have the heart to ask her to take it down and the blokes at the coast guard had ribbed him about it for weeks.
Libby scrambled to her knees and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you for being such a wonderful man. I’ll be right here waiting with my grateful thanks.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He gazed down at her, his face softening. “Love you, bella.”
“Love you too.”
The headlights of Nick’s car swept into Jess’s living room, casting shadows on the walls, and then the light faded along with the throb of the diesel engine. Jess was surprised she’d heard the noise over the clamor of the rain, which didn’t seem to be letting up. According to the weather bureau, Bairnsdale and Kurnai Bay were being hammered by a once-in-fifty-years storm. Luckily, she lived on a hill—the low lands would be flooding.
Despite the tumult and the racket Jess had made finding buckets, Leo was sleeping soundly. Even so, she didn’t want to risk Nick ringing the bell and waking him so the moment she heard Nick’s familiar tread on the veranda, she opened the front door.
“Hi.”
“Seriously, Jess? Tonight?”
She forgave Nick his hostile greeting. Despite the short distance from the car, the man was wet through and rain droplets clung to his hair and eyelashes. “Come in before you get any wetter.”
Kicking off his boots, he stepped inside and accepted a towel, burying his face in it before dragging it over his head. When he looked up he visibly startled. She glanced down at her rather boring dressing gown. It was identical to Libby’s—her friend had bought two and given her one. Jess rarely wore it as it really wasn’t her style, but she’d pulled it on to cover the berry-colored silk and lace negligee.
A flush of color was crawling up Nick’s neck and washing across his face. It instantly took her back to the first time she’d met him, when he’d been an inexperienced eighteen-year-old boy at a beach party.
“Have you got a bucket to drain the water into?” he asked tersely.
“Yep and I’ve spread out drop sheets.”
“Good.” He walked down the short hall and Jess followed. While he stared up at the brown stain that was widening in concentric circles and looking a lot like tree rings, she set up the two-step ladder.
He balanced on the top step and pressed his hand lightly on the plaster. “I’ll start with two holes. Be ready with the bucket.”
“Aye, captain,” she said, trying to get him to crack a smile.
The high-pitched whirl of the drill filled the room and then rank brown water poured into the bucket. Jess wrinkled her nose and shuddered at the lucky save of her new mattress.
“Thanks, Nick. I mean it. I appreciate you coming over.”
He grunted. “Did you really call the SES?”
She shrugged. “I knew you’d be quicker.”
“Damn it, Jess.” But he no longer looked or sounded as ticked off as when he’d first arrived. He stepped neatly off the ladder. “If Costa’s not going to sink any money into this place, you should move.”
Jess was spreading out towels and adjusting buckets to catch the remaining drips. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Homeowner. I don’t suppose you take any notice of the articles in the Gazette about how high rents are driving locals out and anything half-decent is up on Airbnb.”
“So? Move to Bairnsdale.”
He said it as if it was the perfect solution. As if it wouldn’t change everything. “The next time I move, it will be into my own place.”
“You’re serious about buying in the bay?”
It annoyed her that it hadn’t occurred to him. “Of course I am. Is it true Harry Sullivan’s thinking of selling?”
Nick stiffened. “I dunno. But even if he was, that place isn’t for you.”
Old anger, forged in her childhood by small-minded bay residents, flared. “Are you saying my place is on this side of the creek?”
His gaze fell away. “I better get home.”
She immediately regretted her confrontational tone—after all, he’d come out in shocking weather to help her. “Sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean …”
But his eyes were glued to his phone and he didn’t appear to have heard her. “Bugger!”
“What?”
“The causeway’s flooded.”
“I guess you’re stuck here for a bit.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got
