Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns
Chapter Nineteen
‘You’re going to make gingerbread by yourself ?’
‘Keep your voice down!’ Henri hissed at Tilley, glancing around The Ag Store, not wanting to draw the attention of the customers. Thankfully there weren’t many; this wasn’t really the place to buy Christmas presents. ‘And yes, I am. I want to do something nice for Liam.’
After what he’d done for her yesterday, the man deserved biscuits!
Tilley raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s sweet in theory, but also very brave. You know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but it’s also a way to quickly turn him off. No guy likes a woman who can’t cook.’
Henri wanted to tell Tilley that she could cook but maybe she’d be better at it if she hadn’t grown up with her and their mum undermining every attempt. Instead, she bit out a terse, ‘What century are you living in?’
Tilley turned and called through to the office where her husband was sitting at the desk. ‘James! Would you have married me if I couldn’t cook?’
‘That depends,’ he fired back. ‘Would you still have been good in bed?’
Tilley’s cheeks flared to almost the same colour as her red Ag Store polo shirt and Henri couldn’t help but snort. Sometimes she loved her in-laws more than her actual blood relatives.
‘Do you even have a recipe?’ Tilley asked.
‘Of course I have a recipe. Haven’t you heard of Google? I’m using Nigella’s—you always say you can’t go wrong with her. I just bought all the ingredients from IGA.’
‘Okay, that’s a good one, but don’t overwork the dough—it should be firm but not tough. And be careful not to put too much flour in or—’
Henri held up a hand. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but was it you or me that made seven gingerbread houses with Mum recently?’
‘The way Mum tells it, you spent most of the time pinching the dough.’
‘Forget I asked,’ Henri spat, more than a little annoyed now. ‘I’ll improvise and use glasses to cut the dough.’
She’d meant to sneak the necessary equipment from home but hadn’t been able to find it and didn’t want to ask her mother for fear she’d get a similar lecture to the one Tilley was giving her now. Or worse, that she’d insist on helping her. Henri wanted this to be a gift from her; the whole idea of doing it in Liam’s kitchen was so she didn’t have someone breathing down her neck the whole time.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tilley said, reaching out to grab Henri’s arm as she turned to storm out. ‘I’m just—’
‘Overbearing and egotistical?’
‘I was going to say, just not used to this new side of you, but I suppose that fits as well. It’s what you get from being the eldest of four kids.’ She smiled sheepishly. ‘This loved-up you is new to me. I’m not used to you having anyone you want to bake for. But of course you can borrow my cutters. And anything else you need.’
Henri’s shoulders loosened. ‘Maybe a few trays? I didn’t see any when I searched Liam’s kitchen earlier and I don’t want to borrow from Macca because I want this to be a surprise. Liam’s working in his studio today, so hopefully by the time he finishes, I’ll be done too.’
Tilley nodded. ‘That’s a lovely idea. I’ll just go get my house keys.’ She headed into the office, returning with a bunch of keys attached to a unicorn keyring. ‘So, things are clearly going well between you and the spunky publican?’
Henri’s stomach did some sort of gymnastics as she took the unicorn. She didn’t know if it was guilt at lying or nerves because the lies—at least on her part—were starting to turn into truth. ‘Yes, better than I thought possible. I really like him.’
Yesterday had been truly amazing. Undoubtedly one of the best days of her life. Quite aside from conquering her fear of getting in another aircraft, they’d walked, they’d talked, they’d snorkelled and sunbaked, and she’d almost forgotten that the rest of the world existed. She’d felt closer to Liam than she did to anyone else.
There’d definitely been moments during the day when she’d thought something real might be about to happen between them, but if he’d felt it too, he’d been on his best behaviour—both while on the islands and later when they were back at the pub.
She kept telling herself she was glad about this. As attracted as she felt towards him, did she really want to ruin what could be a burgeoning friendship? Coming back to Bunyip Bay would be even better if she knew that when she did, she could hang out with Liam and Sheila, pick up their surfing lessons and their friendship exactly where they’d left off.
‘Hello? Anyone home?’
Henri blinked to find Tilley waving her hand in front of her face. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said, you still owe me all the juicy details. Should I come to the pub, and we can have a drink tonight? Mum said you’ve been spending every night there.’
‘Not every night, but yeah, okay. Do you want to have dinner together?’
‘At home or at the pub?’ Tilley asked.
‘Pub, and don’t tell Mum. If she thinks I’m meeting you, she’ll want to join us.’ Both Tilley and her mother were better—much more bearable—one on one.
‘Does seven work? That’ll give me a chance to make sure James is feeding Macy something vaguely nutritious.’
‘Seven’s good. I’ll see you then.’
After driving out to Tilley’s place on the edge of town to collect what she needed, Henri returned and then parked Cecil a little up the road from the pub so as not to be seen. Hopefully by the time Liam came in from the studio to shower and get ready to open the pub later that afternoon, her gingerbread would be cool enough to eat.
And, let’s face it, also that it would actually be edible.
She crept in the back door, snuck up to his apartment and let herself in with the key she’d stolen on her way out, only feeling mildly guilty about being there alone and uninvited. Resisting the urge to snoop or pluck his pillow off the couch, bury her head in it and inhale his woody scent, she went into the kitchen and set to work, putting baking paper on the trays, carefully measuring the exact quantities of ingredients into a bowl and then lovingly mixing it all together. It smelled and tasted so good Henri thought she deserved a medal for only eating a tiny chunk before wrapping it all in clingwrap and putting it in the fridge, and she felt immensely proud of what she’d achieved.
See, Mum? See, Tilley? I can cook.
She’d make sure to save a couple of biscuits for each of them to prove it.
After cleaning up the kitchen, there was still an hour and forty-five minutes to go before she could roll out the dough and start cutting. What on earth was she supposed to do with herself in that time?
You could go downstairs and see Liam.
Yet, as much as the idea of watching him work appealed—especially if he was shirtless again—making her presence known would defeat the point.
She wandered into the living area, thinking she’d see what was on TV, when her gaze caught on the bookshelf. Aside from a couple of old favourites, which she returned to time and time again for comfort and kept on a tiny shelf inside Cecil, all Henri’s books were on her e-reader, so it was a novelty having so many at her fingertips. Her device was more practical for travelling, but she did miss the smell and feel of actual print novels.
She trailed her fingers along the spines and shrieked when she came across the recent release of a favourite author that she hadn’t had the chance to read yet. As she plucked it from the shelf, she saw another couple of books that surprised her. Liam had to be the last person she’d have expected to have copies of The Baby-Sitters Club. She remembered Tilley and Frankie devouring these books, but they’d never interested her. Had they belonged to his little sister? Curious, she opened the first and frowned down at the inscription scribbled in juvenile handwriting on the front page.
Dear Liam—Happy Birthday. Luv Katie.
The second had an almost identical inscription. His sister’s name was Lacey, so who the hell was Katie? She must have meant something special for him to have kept these books. Ignoring the ridiculous dart of jealousy that shot through her, Henri went over to the couch and collapsed onto it.
She started to read, but her mind kept drifting from the story. It kept returning to Liam. To their magical day yesterday. To the way her insides turned to mush every time she saw him, like she was some teenage girl with a silly crush.
After a while she gave up, grabbed her phone and checked how long was left on the timer. The recipe said to let the dough rest in the fridge for at least two hours—there was still an hour and ten minutes of that to go—but was it really necessary to wait that long?
‘Guess there’s only one way to find out,’ she said to herself, dumping the book on the coffee table and heading back into the kitchen.