Chapter 3-2
714 Words
The next morning, Agathe dragged her small suitcase onto the veranda. She pulled the cabin door closed behind her, an empty envelope clutched under her armpit, as she set about fulfilling the previous owner’s instructions to leave the key under a potted plant at the veranda’s edge. Assumedly, Luke would be over later to pick it up, and if luck worked in her favor, she’d be far from the cabin long before then.
She slipped the key into the envelope, then knelt, moving the shiny blue ceramic plant pot. A folded white card waited for her underneath, and her heart snagged. She didn’t need to guess who this was from.
She sat cross-legged on the ashy-brown, weathered boards and took a sharp breath.
Agathe,
The spare key was in the paddock, not far from where we met last night.
She peered ahead to the hilly terrain and early autumn leaves rusty in the chilly morning fog, her muscles tensed at the reminder of last night. Well, as bad as things had been, at least Luke’s key recovery erased one tiny portion of her guilt.
I can’t stop thinking about last night.
She snorted out a sardonic laugh. Yeah, because he thinks I’m insane!
Despite how things ended, I’d like a chance to get to know you. My number is at the end of this note.
She frowned at that last line. Why would he want to know more about a clusterfuck like her? Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe she was the one who needed to stay away. God knew, her own self-destructive tendencies were hard enough to deal with.
Please cancel your taxi and come to the main house. I’m leaving for my home in Melbourne today, too. I’ll give you a lift. I’ll even foot the bill if the driver’s waiting by the time you get this note.
Let’s talk. Please.
Luke.
She pressed her fingertips to her mouth and said a silent prayer for clarity. What on earth would possess an attractive and seemingly stable man like Luke to want to see her again? Did he hope a little road trip with her would provide some on-road entertainment at her expense?
No. That wouldn’t be it.
He was a decent guy. Probably too decent for her. His restraint last night proved as much. And he’d been right, in the clarity of day, she did regret what had almost happened. Thank goodness he’d stopped.
The man was smoking hot, probably loaded, given he had a home in Melbourne and an estate in Roseford. He didn’t need a walking disaster like her staining his perfect life.
Of course, she couldn’t accept.
Not on calling him. Not on a ride home. Even if intrigued, and if she did want to know his story too.
She’d learned long ago her heart didn’t cope well with getting attached to others.
So, she stood and left his card where she’d found it. Maybe he didn’t seek entertainment at her expense. Maybe he was a great guy willing to look past her freak-out from last night. Maybe he possessed some genuine pity, or worse, affection for her. Either way, there was no point dreaming big.
I deserve to languish in my demented hell. Leave the poor, nice man alone.
Her nerves startled beneath her skin, and she took her first steps off the veranda. Last night’s failed romp made Luke the first person in four years to glimpse the cracks just beneath her carefully maintained façade. He knew too much.
The fact he still wanted to know her made things worse. He’d likely have questions. And if he did want to pick up where they’d left off, he’d also never settle for the mystery she’d demand. Besides, picking up where they’d left off would never happen.
He sure as heck didn’t need to know her story.
Hell, even she didn’t want to know her story.
Her only option with this man, as much as the dull pain in her chest begged otherwise, was to get on with her life as she always did.
She heaved her suitcase off the veranda and waited for her taxi outside the cabin’s low wire gate. She’d eventually forgive herself for last night’s slip up. For messing about some poor, innocent, well-intended man. And soon, any recollection of Luke and their almost night together would fade. Just like most memories did these days.
Most memories, except for the ones about Elsie.
- Writer
