Page 8

Chapter Eight

I t didn’t take long for us to fall into a smooth routine of unplanned relaxation where coexisting with Winter came easily. Like a pair of puzzle pieces we naturally fit together. Her morning routine included two pieces of toast and a glass of orange juice whereas I slept later and when I padded into the kitchen ready for my morning run, there were always two bottles of water next to a banana in the fridge. While working, her voice carried through the house as I tied my laces – professional yet warm, weaving effortlessly into the air, turning the driest of conversation into something pleasant to overhear.

It was a comfort, that voice. A reminder of her ubiquitous presence, even when she wasn’t in sight. Just like always.

Winter spent the days working, using her short breaks to squeeze in some writing, while I fell into a predictable pattern of morning free-form training and afternoons lazily lounging by the pool. Broken only by trips into town for groceries or a quick meal with my parents, I spent most of my time at the house. The days weren’t remarkable in their events, but in the warmth of shared understanding, we fell into easy cohabitation. And while I knew in just over a month I would head back down the highway to the city, where the silent moments were far and few between, I couldn’t think of another place I would rather be. Another person I would choose to spend my days with.

Our agreement from weeks ago however, had been left on the shelf, none of us mentioning nor initiating anything under the guise of research . Sometimes I forgot it was there but other times, the anticipation hung like a thick cloud, ready to burst at the seams and drown us both. Initially I thought she changed her mind but now, more often than not, I noticed her writing was slower and I’d found her at her desk, gazing out the window rather than doing any real work on her manuscript.

When I wandered up to her room this afternoon, she was sat with her back to the open door, again focused on something off in the distance. The sun was nearly set although it was still disgustingly hot outside which made it the perfect balmy evening for what I had planned. She didn’t hear me enter due to my stealthy matrix style approach around her annoying plastic curtain shells, or perhaps she was simply lost in the abyss of her thoughts. Her thumb rubbing aggressive circles over one of the shells she kept next to her desk lamp was her only movement. The room looked the same as it did when we were kids, her parents never needing the space for themselves so her bed was still encompassed with what she called a Princess Net and I called a Mosquito Thingy. Her desk was still neatly tucked under the windowsill and her bookshelf adjacent to her built-in wardrobe, absolutely no rhyme or reason to where any of her books were placed. It was the one element of her life where she didn’t have a method and if I ever sought clarification she appeared entirely miffed by the question. Almost as if she wasn’t aware of her somewhat neurotic tendencies in most other areas of her world.

“You good?” The sound of my voice startled her enough that she jumped.

“Christ on a cracker, you scared me.” She answered, her hand slamming into her chest.

“You didn’t even hear me come in. What’s on your mind?” I asked, glancing down to the way she was still swiping her finger back and forth across the shell.

She huffed out a breath, clearly frustrated. “I’m stuck and it’s starting to really pee me off.” I gently took the shell from her hand, any abrasive ridges on the exterior long gone from her incessant fidgeting.

“Come on. I’ve made us a gangster cheese platter. Let’s swim, eat and drink more of that orange poison.”

“Gangster cheese platter?” She asked, her lips quivering with what was a smile threatening to spread.

I puffed my chest with pride. “I even went to the shop today and got some of that apricot cheese you like which tastes like feet.”

“You had me at gangster but consider me sold,” she answered as we headed downstairs. “Did Linda see you? She has been hounding me about you anytime I’m in there.”

I sighed. “She did. Took me an hour and a half to get what I wanted. I also had to fix a bloody shelf and install Solitaire on an antiquated brick I think she uses as a phone.”

Win laughed, her hand on her chest and I smiled in response. She had the type of laugh that lingered in the air, effortlessly comforting and I could never ignore its warmth when I heard it.

“The woman is relentless, honestly. She is still hell bent on Aiden and I getting married, completely unaware that he is an absolute tosser and I’d rather take an oath of celibacy.”

I ground my teeth at the thought of her ever sharing any kind of relationship with Linda’s son. He was the last person I would want her to marry and it wasn’t just because he had a secret gambling addiction which cost him and his family more than they would ever care to admit. He’d treated Win like garbage when we were younger, calling her insidious names and doing anything and everything to piss her off. I was nearly certain he was worse when I wasn’t around but she was fairly tight lipped about those things. School hadn’t been easy for her and other than the one time I actually witnessed it, she remained tight-lipped.

“She said he was hoping to catch me for a beer while I was home.”

“I’m RSVPing no to that endeavour so do not even...” She trailed off, her face brightening as it landed on the flowers I’d put in the vase on the table. “Oh my god. These are beautiful.” She looked over at me curiously, one brow raised. “What are they for?”

“You,” I answered with a shrug.

She leant down, lifting one of the blooms to her nose and breathing in as her eyes closed for the briefest moment.

“Gorgeous.” She said, rubbing her thumb across the petal just as I knew she would. She was the most tactile person and it wasn’t abnormal for her to glide her hands across surfaces with deliberate intent, seeking textures to ground her when she felt uneasy. When she first came to Sydney and we ventured around places unfamiliar to her, she would reach for my shirt, so subtly you wouldn’t know if you weren’t wholly attuned to her mannerisms. With each stroke, her breathing would slow, her shoulders relaxing as she found peace.

Only now, the quiet conversation between touch and calm was different. The sun’s fading embrace painted her face, softening every curve of her skin and the denim shorts she was wearing rode up her thighs, drawing my unwarranted attention.

Fuck. That’s your friend, you prick .

Why was I suddenly romanticising her?

“Happy holidays.” I answered, forcing my gaze anywhere but on her.

She bounded over, throwing her arms around me for a quick hug.

“You’re the best. I don’t think I’ve ever taken three weeks leave and when I ended that final call, it was a good feeling. I’m going to put my swimmers on and eat myself into a cheese coma. Meet you by the pool.”

We were a few kilos of snacks in and enough citrus deathbrew to knock out a baby elephant when I worked up the courage to finally ask her how her novel was tracking.

“Terribleeee.” She elongated the word with a whine before dipping below the water and coming to sit on the step next to me.

I tried not to chuckle, but she was adorable when she sulked.

“How so?” I asked, the venomous liquor fuelling my bravery.

“So I was able to write a fair bit a couple of weeks ago, but I’m back in no man’s land. I’ve spent the last two days brainstorming synonyms for…” She pointed beneath the water towards her bikini bottom.

“For your lady cave?” Her laugh burst out unexpectedly at my choice of words and water splashed the side of my face as her hands slapped up over her mouth.

“Oh my god. That is foul. I love it,” she giggled.

“I’ve been told I'm quite the poet,” I retorted sarcastically. “What about sausage pocket?”

Her eyes widened and uncontrollable laughter bubbled out again. “You are way better than I am. All I had so far was flower, muffin and cherry biscuit.”

“Cherry biscuit?” I asked incredulously before I threw my head back with a laugh. She was so unbelievably innocent and she had no idea.

“I’m really not good at this,” she sighed.

“I can see that.”

“What about clam coffin?” She suggested with an entirely serious face.

“He thrust his raging dick inside her clam coffin.” My balled fists were on my hips as if the superhero stance would somehow make the line any less vulgar. “Why is someone going there to die?”

“Valid. Oyster express?” She looked so genuine I guffawed with no shame and she pouted in response, my laugh cutting short when she bit her lip in concentration.

With the lethal drinks taking control of all movements I pushed off the step and moved through the water to stand in front of her, her legs parting subconsciously, the spot readily available for me to fill.

I studied her face, a hunger I couldn’t suppress rolling through me as I brushed a strand of hair from her face and wiped my mind of any rational thought.