Secrets In Sydney. Emily Forbes

ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the short strands as if that slight pain would shake the ridiculous thoughts from his head.

      A cloud of coconut and floral scent floated over him and he gripped the edge of the table. He had no clue who was standing near him, and yet everything in him screamed it was Hayley. A bitter surge of vitriol at his useless eyes duelled with the surge of heat that rolled through him, taunting him with the memory of what he’d been doing the last time he’d breathed in that combination of fragrances.

      ‘Tom? What on earth are you doing here?’

      Hayley. She sounded stunned, indignant and happy all at the same time. He understood the emotions exactly. He somehow got this throat to work. ‘Having breakfast for lunch.’

      She laughed. ‘That’s why I’m here. I finished work and all I could think about was the big breakfast. May I join you?’

      Say no now to avoid problems later. ‘Sure.’

      ‘Great.’

      He started to move so he could stand up for her, but she said, ‘There’s a stroller wedged in behind you. Have you eaten?’

      He welcomed her matter-of-fact tone of voice and how she’d just slipped in the information quietly without making a fuss and then continued with her conversation. ‘I had the eggs Benedict.’

      ‘Ohh, fancy. I’m going for straight grease today with an extra side of hash browns. It’s crazy but sometimes I dream about these breakfasts and when I do I think it’s my body telling me that I need some salt and fat.’

      He remembered her delectable curves and how he’d appreciated them, unlike the feel of a woman who fought with food. He grinned. ‘Sounds reasonable to me.’

      She quickly gave her order to the waitress and sighed.

      ‘Problem?’

      ‘No, not at all.’ She sounded relaxed and happy. ‘It was a catching-my-breath sigh.’

      He knew what she meant. ‘I used to do that here.’

      ‘Used to? Simple deduction tells me you’re still doing it.’

      He shook his head. ‘Today’s the first time I’ve been here in over two years.’ He expected his words to be greeted with an embarrassed silence due to the indirect reference to his accident. Instead, he heard the creak of her chair as she moved in it.

      ‘I love coming to this café and here’s a perfect example why. There’s an elderly couple walking hand in hand along the pier. They’re deep in conversation and wearing hiking boots so I guess they’re going to walk to the next cove along the cliff-top path. To your left, on the beach, there’s a little boy about three and he’s trying to wrestle a bright red ball from his toddler sister.’

      He heard a high-pitched squeal. ‘I gather the sister doesn’t want to give up the ball.’

      Hayley laughed and the rich, smoky sound carried both the warmth and softness of velvet. ‘No, she’s holding on tight and he’s just sat on her. Their mother, who’s on her mobile phone, hasn’t paused her conversation for a second. She’s just picked him up by the back of his T-shirt and he’s flailing his arms and legs about.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Just behind you is a boy who looks about eighteen. He’s got heavily tattooed arms, piercings on his face, but he’s cuddling a puppy as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.’

      Tom instantly remembered the dog he’d adopted as a child and how devastated he’d been when it had died. His father had taken off when he’d been a baby and had never made contact again. Although his mother had loved him, she’d loved the contents of a bottle more. The dog, however, had loved him unconditionally and he could understand why the tough-looking young man was showing the puppy affection. The animal was probably the only thing in his life that gave him positive vibes. ‘What sort of dog is it?’

      The screeching scrape of the chair legs against concrete sounded and then he heard Hayley saying, ‘Excuse me. Could we have a look at your puppy, please?’

      He tensed. ‘Hell, Hayley I didn’t mean you to—’

      But Hayley ignored him and starting talking to someone he assumed was the tattooed young man.

      ‘Oh, he’s just gorgeous,’ she cooed. ‘He’s going to be a huge dog if he grows into those feet. This is my friend, Tom. He’s blind but he wanted to know what sort of dog it is.’

      ‘Do you wanna hold him, mate?’

      Tom suddenly felt the wriggling, warm softness of a puppy being shoved into his lap and he quickly brought his hands up to support and contain the dog. Its heart pounded hard and fast against his hand, and a wet tongue licked his thumb. He smiled as he traced the outline of its big, silky ears.

      The waitress’s brisk steps hurried to their table and with a clanking slam a plate hit the tabletop. ‘Here’s your big breakfast and no dogs are allowed in the café.’

      ‘Technically, we’re outside and this young man is on the beach so he’s not in the café,’ Hayley replied mildly. ‘And Tom’s blind so by law you have to allow his dog.’

      Tom stifled a laugh at the ludicrous argument and heard the waitress’s sharp intake of breath.

      ‘That’s not a seeing-eye dog.’

      ‘Not yet.’ Hayley had that tone in her voice that dared the waitress to prove her wrong. ‘A great deal of training happens before a dog is old enough to wear the harness and it all starts when they’re this young. It’s important that they’re out and about amongst people.’

      Somehow Tom managed to keep a straight face and nod as well, adding gravitas to what was an outright lie. ‘We have to see if we get along.’

      The puppy laid its head against his forearm as he stroked the length of its back.

      ‘Just keep it contained, okay?’ The waitress walked away, her shoes slapping the ground crossly.

      ‘Can I have me dog back now?’ the young man asked.

      ‘Sure.’ Tom held the puppy out toward the voice. ‘Thanks. I enjoyed the cuddle.’

      ‘No worries. See ya.’

      ‘Bye,’ Hayley said with a smile in her voice.

      Tom leaned forward, propelled toward her by a lightness of being he hadn’t experienced in years—if ever. ‘So tell me. What sort of a mutt were you trying to pass off as a potential seeing-eye dog?’

      Her laugh matched his. ‘What sort of dog did you feel?’

      He thought about the picture he’d painted in his mind. ‘Drop ears, wide head, long snout, strong legs, big paws, short coat and a healthy wet nose.’

      ‘Exactly.’ He heard the scratch of cutlery on china and a soft sigh of delight as she tasted her food. ‘You wanted to know what sort of dog it was and now you’ve seen it.’

      A spark of frustration flared. ‘I have no clue of its colour.’

      ‘A gorgeous golden blond.’

      Her perfume eddied around him and he realised she’d leaned forward. He fought against the distraction and thought about the dog and its short coat and immediately ruled out a golden retriever. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. That dog was actually a golden Labrador?’

      ‘I know you want to cast me as a con artist and, granted, I was pushing the envelope, but technically that dog could have been a trainee guide dog. Besides, you looked happy and we weren’t upsetting any customers. I would have said the same thing if it had been a Jack Russell.’

      He fought the traitorous cosy feeling of being cared for by using the stark reality of abandonment as the weapon. Experience had taught him not to let himself be tricked by caring because it always let him down. A long sigh shuddered out of him. ‘Hayley.’