Just One Last Night.... Amy Andrews

her bag, the contents still strewn over the table, stuffing it all back in, shutting her laptop lid and shoving it in too. Aware of Brent’s heavy stare the entire time—feeling it in her breasts and her belly and her thighs.

      But mostly in her heart.

      Items slipped through her useless fingers, dropped to the floor, rolled out of reach. Grace wanted to weep she felt so clumsy and …

      Out of control.

      Chaos reigned again.

       Damn it!

      She forced the last item in and stood, taking a couple of deep, calm breaths. This interview was important. And she was the best one for the job. She needed to be composed. Prepared. In control.

      She drew in three more cleansing breaths before turning to face Brent again. ‘It was … nice … seeing you again,’ she said politely, before gathering all her bravado and walking past him, her head high.

      And her knickers twisted into the mother of all knots!

      Nice? Nice! Brent stared after her until the softly shut door completely obscured her.

      Nice?

      It had been surprising. Shocking. Startling.

       Cataclysmic.

      He sat down on the nearby lounge and shook his head.

      Nice? Damn, it was anything but nice.

      Even now his body was stuck back in first-year uni, skipping class to stay in bed with her all day. It was a wonder the two of them hadn’t contracted a vitamin D deficiency. Or turned into vampires.

      They’d certainly had insatiable appetites!

      Brent absently rubbed his jaw as the memories played like an old film reel in his head. He’d never quite managed to erase the images of her. Not through twenty years of distance or even two impulsive marriages and their subsequent fallouts.

      And here she was. At Melbourne Central Hospital.

       Déjà vu.

      Confounding him again. Making him feel things again. Challenging all his assumptions about her being firmly in his past.

      He dropped his head in his hands and shut his eyes. For some reason he’d been so sure they’d never cross paths ever again. Her goodbye had been so final—he’d never doubted she meant it even when he’d wasted two years harbouring secret fantasies about a reconciliation.

      Meeting her today had been a huge jolt.

      And very far from nice.

      Dear God. What if she got the job? His job. What if he had to see her every day? Hear that laugh he’d loved so much. Watch that sway to her hips.

      Smell that damn lip gloss?

      Brent opened his eyes on a silent groan, his gaze falling on an object near his foot. He reached for it, realising it was a photograph. Grace must have dropped it from her bag when she was stuffing everything back in.

      He stared at the image for a long time, trying to comprehend what he saw. Two children, a boy and a girl. The girl looked about twelve. The boy four, maybe five. Brother and sister?

      They were laughing at the camera, their arms slung around each other’s necks. Trees and a clothesline could just be seen in the background. They looked happy and loved.

      And remarkably like Grace.

      The girl more so. They both had her grey eyes but the girl had long blonde hair that fell in a white-blonde curtain to her waist, just as Grace’s had back when he’d first known her. The boy looked more like Grace around the mouth. He laughed like her.

       Grace had children.

      His brain tried to reject the notion but he knew it somewhere deep in his gut. Just like he’d known all those years ago that she’d meant it when she’d said she was never coming back.

       Grace had children.

      Was she married also? Had she been wearing a ring?

      A storm of emotions built inside him and he gripped the corners of the photograph hard. What the hell had happened to remaining childless? To never, ever?

      That’s what she’d said the day she’d given him back his ring. The day she’d received her second-year anatomy results and discovered she’d failed the subject. The day she’d totally flipped out, blaming them—blaming him—for derailing her career.

       ‘I’m the eldest of ten children, Brent. I’ve lived in chaos and clutter and noise all my life. I’ve fed and changed and bathed and rocked and carted and carried and kissed skinned knees and babysat my entire life. And they’re my family and I love them but I don’t want that for me and I never want to do it ever again.

       Never, ever.

      I’m done with it all. I want to go far away. Live and work and experience somewhere else. Somewhere different. I want to be totally selfish for the rest of my life. To not have anyone but me to worry about. I’m going to make a great aunty—the best—but no babies for me.’

      Brent stared at the picture—she’d lied.

      Grace felt confident as she shook John Wilkie’s hand half an hour later. Facing a panel interview was always nerve-racking and with the fates conspiring to knock her totally off balance before she’d even begun, she could have easily messed it up.

      But she’d clicked into doctor mode, treating the interview like a multi-trauma case, drawing on the focus for which she was known. And she’d nailed it.

      The get-the-job plan was looking up.

      The last thing she expected when she exited the room was to find Brent waiting for her.

      He gave her a rather grim look and stood. Grace’s breath caught in her throat as he unfolded himself. She’d forgotten how he redefined the whole tall, dark and handsome thing. How broad his shoulders were. How his hazel eyes looked tawny in some lights. How his cleanly shaven jaw was impossibly smooth.

      ‘How did it go?’

      Grace blinked at the terseness of his tone. He seemed annoyed with her and she felt her hackles rise. Just because he was already in the damn job it didn’t mean it was his. She really didn’t have enough time or room in her life for his male ego.

      ‘I nailed it,’ she said bluntly.

      Brent snorted. Of course she had. Grace had always done everything well. Failure was not acceptable to her—he’d learned that the hard way.

      He passed the photo that had been eating a hole in his gut back to her. ‘You dropped this.’

      Grace frowned and took it. Her expression softened as she realised what it was. Tash and Benji. Back before their world had been turned upside down. Before Benji had cried himself to sleep every other night. Before Tash had dyed her hair black and pierced her nose.

      They’d been so innocent.

      She looked back at Brent, who was looking at her expectantly. Like she owed him some kind of explanation. And suddenly his terseness made sense.

      It wasn’t about the job at all.

      She lifted her chin. ‘Thank you.’

      Brent scrunched his fingers into fists by his sides to prevent himself from reaching out and shaking her. ‘You have kids.’

      It wasn’t a question and Grace hesitated for less than a second. She did. She did have kids. She may not have given birth to them, she may not have a clue how to deal with them, but they were blood and they’d been living under her roof for eighteen months.

      And she loved them.

      So, yes, she had kids. ‘Yes.’

      Brent