Home for the Holidays. Sarah Mayberry
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up while he made the bases and the kids took charge of the toppings.
Ruby was silent for a long moment. Just when he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake suggesting they revive the tradition, Ruby smiled.
“Can I have three types of cheese on mine?”
Joe smoothed a hand over her fine blond hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “Deal,” he said.
“Okay, then I guess I can go to school.”
Joe looked up as Ben entered the kitchen, his backpack already on his shoulders.
“Can I have some money for lunch?” Ben asked, hands dug into his pockets. His gaze shifted around the kitchen, not settling on anything.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” Joe asked.
“Yes.”
Joe hadn’t noticed a bowl or plate in the sink, but he had no reason to think his son was lying.
“I thought we could pick up some sandwiches from the coffee shop on the way to school,” Joe said.
He planned to get to the supermarket sometime this afternoon so he could make their lunches from here on in, but today he was winging it.
Ben frowned. “I don’t want to be dropped off.”
“Well, tough. It’s your first day. I want to make sure you know where you’re going.” Joe said it with a smile but Ben’s frown deepened.
“I already know where to go. I’m not stupid. I can work it out for myself.”
“I know you can, but it won’t be the end of the world to have a bit of help on your first day.”
Ben pushed away from the counter, hands fisted by his sides. “I don’t need help. I don’t want it.”
Joe stared at his son. Where had this sudden rush of anger come from? “Mate—”
“I’m walking to school,” Ben said defiantly.
He stalked from the room. Joe sighed. Ruby was watching him expectantly.
“You should go after him,” she advised.
“Thank you, Miss Bossy Boots, I was about to do that.”
She grinned as he moved past her and into the hallway. He pulled up short when he saw Ben wasn’t in his room. He checked out the window and, sure enough, Ben was on his way down the driveway.
Joe exited the house and took the porch steps two at a time.
“Ben!”
His son had reached the street and he paused, turning toward the house. He looked half afraid, half determined.
“What about a compromise? I’ll drop you off up the block and you can walk the rest of the way on your own. How does that sound?” Joe suggested.
Ben shrugged, his mouth a tight line. Joe studied him, trying to understand what was going on. Was this simple first-day nerves? A reaction to the move?
“Is there something wrong, matey? Something on your mind?” he asked.
Ben screwed up his face in utter rejection of the idea. “No! Why would there be?”
Joe ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just we’ve had a lot happening lately. Selling the house, saying goodbye to everyone, moving.”
Ben shrugged. “So?”
Joe watched him for a beat, but Ben simply stared back, his face blank.
“Okay. Come inside while I get your sister ready,” Joe said.
He managed to get them both to school on time without further incident but his gut was churning as he pulled away from Ruby’s school.
This is my fault. I shouldn’t have moved them. I should have taken Mom up on her offer to sell her place here and move to Sydney.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. It wasn’t as though he could undo the move. They were here now, they’d all have to make the best of it.
He checked his watch. If he hustled, there was just enough time for him to check out a few car dealerships before he was due at his lawyer’s office. He’d bought their current sedan to replace the car Beth had been killed in, but for some time now he’d been thinking about getting something bigger. An SUV, or a wagon, maybe. Something that could absorb all of the kids’ paraphernalia and still have room to spare.
He was taking a shortcut through the local Elsternwick shopping district on his way to the commercial strip along the Nepean Highway when he passed a shiny black SUV on the side of the road. He slowed when he saw the big For Sale sign in the back window. It was parked in front of an automotive garage and Joe hesitated a moment before pulling to the curb. Why the hell not, after all? Might as well see what the private market was offering before he hit the big car lots.
The SUV was a Mazda, only two years old with shiny alloy wheels. He did a lap of the car, peering in the window, checking out the panels. It was in good condition and a sign resting on the dashboard claimed that the car had been serviced since new at the garage and came with full records.
Joe turned toward the open bay of the workshop. A blue sedan was up on the hoist inside, a red coupe parked beside it. A middle-aged guy in grease-stained overalls was frowning at the underbelly of the sedan. Tinny radio music bled out into the street. The workshop floor was spotlessly clean, the walls freshly whitewashed. A promising start.
“Hey,” Joe said, walking forward. “Have you got five minutes to talk me through the Mazda out the front?”
The man shook his head. “No point talking to me, mate. You need Hannah. She’s the manager.” He jerked his head toward the other car and for the first time Joe noted a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the front of the coupe.
Right. A female mechanic. Apparently it was his week for finding women where he least expected them. In motorcycle leathers, beneath cars.
He moved closer to the coupe and squatted to make himself heard over the radio. “Excuse me. Any chance you could take me over the Mazda? I’m in the market for an SUV.”
“Sure. Give me a sec to tighten this sump plug … There we go.”
No sooner had she spoken than the mechanic slid out from beneath the car. He tensed. It was the woman from last night, the noisy biker with the attitude. She was smiling, but the smile froze on her face when she saw him. He wondered if his own surprise was as obvious.
There was a long moment of taut silence.
“Well, are you going to say it or am I?” she finally said.
She was still on her back on the mechanics’ trolley. He hadn’t noticed last night, but she had incredibly plump lips, the bottom lip rounded and full. Her sun-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, leaving her smooth cheekbones and small chin to speak for themselves. He’d noticed her curves last night, but it hit him suddenly that she was a very attractive woman.
“I guess it’s up to me, then,” she said. Her tone was heavy with irony when she next spoke. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”
Because she’d caught him off balance again, his first instinct was to retreat. He stood, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“I wanted to look at the car,” he said stiffly.
She wiped her hands down the legs of her coveralls and pushed herself to her feet. He’d forgotten how tall she was. It was one of the reasons he’d been so startled to realize she was a woman last night—she’d been looking him almost squarely in the eye when she’d straightened and her face had been inches from his until he’d taken a step backward.
Now, she held his eye as she offered her hand.
“Hannah Napier,” she