***
From a quarter to six onwards, Annie kept her gaze firmly on the shop door. The pier was quiet now with most of the tourists having wandered away, tempted by other pursuits. Only the optimistic anglers remained and they planned to catch their fish not buy it. Some boats were heading out for a night of fishing and others were sluicing down the decks and anticipating a night in port. Crab pots dried in the late afternoon sun and nets spooled on the wooden planks of the pier, waiting to be repaired before they were cast again.
Harry paused by the door under the clock that now read ten past six. ‘Time to head home, Annie.’
‘I promised a customer some prawns.’ She heard the irrational disappointment in her voice and experienced a flash of irritation at herself. What had she expected? That he’d come at six and then they'd stroll home together, deep in conversation, just like she’d pictured in her imagination? Stupid.
‘I think he's missed the boat so to speak.’ Harry laughed at his bad joke. ‘Those prawns have been off the ice for a bit now so we can't resell them. Take them home and have them for your dinner.’
Great. Just what she needed after a day working with seafood— more of the stuff. She forced her lips to curve into a smile of gratitude. ‘Thanks, Harry.’
‘No worries, love. Don’t paint the town too red tonight.’ He grinned as he locked the door behind her.
Paint the town red? Harry had a far better imagination than she did.
Tucking the white paper package under her arm, she walked the short distance home pausing only once. A ripe mango had fallen from a heavily laden tree and it lay cushioned on the thick, green couch grass of the nature strip just begging to be eaten. She scooped it up and two minutes later she was letting herself into the house. The quietness and coolness rushed her, along with a shot of loneliness. Giving herself a shake, she stowed the prawns in the fridge, the mango in the fruit bowl and then she poured herself a glass of lemon, lime and bitters. With skills learned from years of waitressing, she balanced a book, her drink and a bowl of macadamia nuts before sliding open the door to the deck. She'd sit outside and read for company while enjoying what she hoped would be a vivid scarlet sunset with lingering mauves as the sun dipped below the horizon. Sunsets always restored her joy no matter what had happened during the day.
The sudden singsong chime of the doorbell pealed, startling her and making her load wobble precariously. Setting everything back down on the kitchen bench, she walked barefoot to the front door and pulled it open. Astonishment trapped her words of welcome in her throat.
Familiar sky-blue eyes widened in delighted surprise while his high-forehead creased in confusion. ‘Hello. You're Judy Higgins?’
She dug deep to find her voice, which seemed to have deserted her. ‘Ah, no. Judy's my mother. I’m Annie.’
He stared down at her, his face slowly morphing from puzzlement to pleasure and he extended his hand. ‘Damien Marks. It’s a pleasure to really meet you.’
His smile cascaded over her like sunshine after rain and the long summer weeks with their aching loneliness faded away. All that existed was this moment and his smile. She returned it with a smile of her own, allowing herself to sink into the twinkling pools of his eyes and blissing out on the warmth of his hand against hers.
How had he found her? Had he asked Harry where she lived?
It doesn’t matter how he found you; the important thing is that he did.
‘Annie?’
He tilted his head in enquiry and she suddenly realised that he must have already asked her something and she'd been so busy high-fiving herself about the fact he'd tracked her down that she hadn't heard the question. She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Sorry, I didn't quite catch that?’
‘I asked if I could come in. Your parents are expecting me.’
‘My parents…?’ Her mother’s voice kick-started her brain as her words came flooding back. An appointment with a food critic from Just Delectable magazine. It’s not good to stuff up these sorts of things, especially with a new book coming out.
Oh, God. Damien hadn’t talked to Harry. He wasn’t here to collect his prawns or to see her. He was the food critic here to dine with her parents. Get a grip! Think. ‘Oh, right, of course, yes.’ She cleared her throat and summoned up her best hostess voice. ‘Please. Come in.’
‘Thanks.’ He stepped across the threshold, his height immediately filling the entrance and he glanced around smiling again. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this appointment for two weeks. I deliberately scheduled your parents last so I could finish my fortnight in the area with a special treat before I head back to London. ’ He rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘Their food and hospitality are legendary in the food critic circles.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be gratified that you hold their recipes in such high regard,’ she said trying hard to resist the urge to wring her hands. Explosions of panic were detonating all over her as the significance of her father's scheduling stuff up hit hard. One bad review from a prestigious magazine could really sour book sales, and her parents worked far too hard for that, even if her father was as vague as a violet.
Gah! Why was she the only member of the family at home? She was the one who burned water. Sure, she'd designed and built the barbeque area outside but she never cooked on the barbeque. But right now she needed to create some of the legendary Higgins hospitality and conjure up a meal. Not just any meal; a memorable one.
With what? The fridge's empty.
Ignoring that inconvenient detail, she forged forward. ‘Damien, may I offer you a drink?’ Fortunately, her parents’ bar fridge was always well stocked. Some alcohol in his veins might just help soften the blow when she told him that not only weren't her parents at home; they weren't even in the country.
‘That would be great, thanks.’ He glanced out towards the deck. ‘That's one amazing view. I’ve really been soaking up Port Frazer’s natural beauty after London’s greyness.’
Annie twirled the cork out of a really expensive bottle of Australian sparkling wine. She figured it was the very least her dad could donate to the cause given he’d landed her in this mess. ‘But London has other beauties like St Paul’s Cathedral with its Baroque dome.’
‘London's got stunning buildings and sure, I get pleasure from looking at them but I guess I've been homesick for some wide open spaces.’ He accepted the proffered glass and held it up to the light scrutinizing the fine bead before lowering it and breathing in the scent. ‘Hmmm, lemon grass. Interesting. Cheers.’
Her heart sank. If he'd detected that aroma then he really knew his stuff. She was doomed. ‘Cheers,’ she said, her voice sounding overly bright as she clinked her glass against his. Gulping down a big sip of champagne, she offered him the macadamia nuts.
After he'd taken a handful, she ate one herself but her anxiety had dented her tastebuds and cardboard held more flavour. With her heart hammering hard against her ribs and her brain coughing up empty solutions, she knew she couldn’t put the truth off much longer. She spun the fine-stemmed glass in her fingers. ‘Damien, I’m very sorry. My parents tried to contact you, as did I, but they’re currently in Asia working on their next book.’
His shoulders stiffened and disappointment tinged with irritability streaked across his face. ‘I see.’
She could already picture the scathing review as she frantically tried to come up with a way to rescue the situation. ‘But…’ Annie knew she was burbling, ‘I hope you’ll stay for …’ What? More booze? More nuts? She suddenly remembered the prawns she'd brought home. ‘…a light seafood meal.’ Her words came out in a rush.
He shot her a teasing look, his eyes sparkling and that mesmerizing dimple of his dancing on his cheek. ‘I thought you preferred steak.’
Heat whizzed through her, reducing her already jumbled thoughts to mush. ‘But my parents’ latest release is all about seafood.’
‘You’re going to make one of your parent’s recipes?’ He sat down across
the bench from her, totally at ease and with anticipation written all over his face. ‘Excellent.’
‘Hmm, not exactly. This one's more casual,’ she said, continuing to wing it. ‘I’m a more of a “last minute” sort of a cook. An “open the fridge and be inspired” kind of a girl.’ She opened the fridge and pulled out the only package.
He raised his brows as he caught sight of her almost empty fridge. ‘And let me guess, you’ve been inspired by prawns?’
She met his knowing gaze with one of her own. ‘Prawns someone didn’t collect.’
He grimaced. ‘Sorry. That was extremely rude of me but in my defence I didn’t want to be late for your parents.’
His grin of contrition dissolved her disappointment that he’d forgotten, but it also rammed home the point that her parents had forgotten him. She drained her glass and poured them both another drink.
‘Can I help? I don't just write about food you know, I love to cook.’
‘Of course you do,’ she muttered under her breath as rising dread crept through her. ‘Um …’ She glanced wildly around the kitchen looking for inspiration. She spied her windfall fruit that she’d placed in the fruit basket next to a pear. ‘Can you cut up the mango while I grab some herbs from the garden?’
‘No problem.’
She tore her eyes away from his large, capable hands, which were now caressing the mango. A vision of his hands caressing her projected itself clearly in her mind. Stop it. Seducing the food critic was a seriously bad idea. Still, if the meal didn’t work...
She jogged down the back stairs and stood staring in desperation at her parents’ vegetable garden. Family voices squabbled in her head. Living with ‘foodies’ meant every meal was deconstructed and decoded, down to the minute level when all she ever wanted to do was just eat.
Now, as she spied a shiny red miniature chilli shining out against the deep green leaves of the tiny plant, those previously annoying conversations started to help. Chilli would work as a flavour! The thought spun around her mind, gaining momentum. Passionfruit and mint would work together too.
A thrill fizzed inside her. Apparently she hadn’t always completely tuned out of the family food conversations to spin castles in her head. Something had thankfully stuck. She plucked what she needed from the garden, and holding her apron out in front of her to cradle her produce, she rushed back into the kitchen.
Damien smiled at her, his teeth white against the tan of his face. ‘Do you want these prawns peeled?’
Her breath did that strange stalling thing and her brain emptied under the rays of his smile. Concentrate. ‘Well, I’m conflicted. Part of me says no because we'll lose colour when we peel them.’
Who are you and what have you done with Annie? It was a bit like being taken over by aliens and she hardly recognised herself.
‘But part of you says yes because it makes the meal a lot less messy.’ He laughed as he pulled an apron over his head. ‘If I leave the tails on will that solve the problem?’
‘Great idea.’ She helped herself to another macadamia nut. This time the crisp, delicate flavour rolled over her tongue and creativity struck. She rummaged through the pantry until she found the macadamia nut oil. Lighting the gas, she gently toasted the nuts in the warm oil.
Damien peeled the prawns, his fingers cracking the shells easily but despite their strength they dextrously removed the long, black vein. She stirred the contents of the pan, moving the nuts around the heat and a cosy feeling of shared purpose hummed between them. For the first time in her life, cooking was fun. She sneaked a longer peek at him, loving the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck, how the muscles in his arms tensed and relaxed as he worked. She found herself picturing him on the balcony of a castle, tall and lean against the ancient bricks.
‘Um, Annie,’ his quietly spoken words broke into her thoughts. ‘You might want to turn the heat off.’
Hell! She’d been so busy dreaming about him she’d almost burned the macadamias. ‘Just what I was thinking.’ With a quick flick of her wrist, she snapped off the gas, the action as decisive as if she cooked every day. She immediately drained the nuts onto paper towel and then pulled out a chopping board. Positioning it opposite Damien, she shared the available space and started chopping mint. She was savouring the fresh aroma of the herbs when prawn juice sprayed her on the cheek.
‘Sorry.’ Leaning over, Damien wiped her face with a towel, his hand gently caressing her skin.
She found herself leaning forward against his hand, enjoying the sensation and not wanting it to end. ‘Don’t worry. I’m used to smelling like fish.’ Dumb! The moment the words left her mouth she wanted the kitchen floor to open up and swallow her.
‘Actually you smell pretty good to me.’ His eyes darkened and his shoulders shook with laughter. ‘But then again, I like fish.’
‘Hey,’ she flicked him with her hand towel in mock indignation. ‘Be nice to the cook or you won’t get fed.’
He raised his dark brows and grinned. ‘I thought it was “be nice to the critic”.’
Damn, even in jest he had her there. She smiled sweetly. ‘More champagne?’ She refilled his glass again and refocused.
Ten minutes later, Damien was washing up after peeling the prawns and Annie had set the table out on the deck. Under a setting sun that radiated shards of orange, red and purple and sent them streaking across the sky, she surveyed her handiwork.
The prawns lay against a bed of freshly picked baby spinach, surrounded by diced mango, pears and toasted macadamia nuts. Everything was drizzled with the passionfruit dressing. The greens of the salad and herbs and the oranges of the mango and prawns contrasted beautifully against the dazzling white of the square plates. She looked up as Damien’s firm steps sounded against the deck.
‘It looks fantastic.’
Admiration clung to his words and she crossed her fingers behind her back. Let it taste as good as it looks. ‘Please, sit down.’
But he didn’t sit; instead he came around to her and pulled out her chair. As she sat down he leaned forward and placed her napkin on her lap as if he was an attentive waiter in an expensive restaurant. The crisp zip of citrus and salt filled her nostrils and she breathed in deeply, committing his scent to memory. This moment was the best she’d had all summer.
He sat opposite her and raised his glass, catching her gaze in the same way as the French. ‘Bon appétit.’
‘Bon appétit.’ Trying not to bite her bottom lip in anxiety, she watched him fork the food into his mouth. She watched the concentration lines on his forehead deepen and she could clearly see him slowly decoding the flavours of the dressing.
A slow smile spread across his handsome face, crawling into his five o'clock shadow. ‘Passionfruit, chilli, lime and ginger. Good call.’
She leaned back, heady with relief. ‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘I more than like it, Annie. It's sensational.’
His richly timbred voice wrapped around her and combined with her relief, she suddenly felt light headed. ‘I’d love to say it’s something I whip up all the time but that would be stretching the truth.’
A deep rumble of laughter rolled around her. ‘I did wonder when I saw the look of panic on your face and combined it with the empty fridge. But in true Higgins style, you pulled it off. This recipe should be in the book.’
His praise sent waves of tingling sensation through her. She’d done it. She'd really done it. Not only had she rescued the appointment snafu, Mum and Dad would be both thrilled and shocked that she'd managed to create a meal without a recipe.
Damien propped his elbows on the table and leaned in, his expression all interest and curiosity. ‘So tell me, what is Judy and Barry Higgins’ daughter doing working in the Port Frazer Fish Co-op?’
‘Summer job. ’ She twirled the stem of her champagne flute in her fingers. ‘I’m furiously saving for a semester at Cambridge to finish off my Architecture degree.’
‘You’r
e an Architecture student?’ He didn't bother to hide his surprise.
She gave a shrug, used to the disbelief when people found out her chosen career. ‘I am. I love buildings as much as Mum and Dad love food. I can’t wait to get to Europe and visit the Duomo in Florence, the Tuscan walled-cities, the chateaux of the Loire...’
‘You sound like me three years ago when I left Melbourne for Europe, except I was going for the wine of the Loire, the wild boar of Tuscany and the foie gras of France.’
She smiled. ‘You haven’t mentioned seafood in there. I thought that would have been on the top of your list, seeing as you’ve been into the co-op every day for the past two weeks.’
The palest tinge of pink stained his tanned face. ‘Well, I do like seafood but buying it every day wasn’t my sole purpose.’
‘You never asked for sole,’ she teased, as a kernel of hope opened up inside her.
‘Very funny.’ He stood up and walked around to her, gently pulling her out of her chair and into his arms. ‘Can I see you when you come to Cambridge?’
She looked up at him, watching the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. ‘I’d really like that.’
He curled a strand of her hair around his finger. ‘I want to show you Europe and introduce you to all my favourite foods.’
She stroked his cheek. ‘I want to discover amazing buildings with you. Architecture and food.’
He gazed down at her, eyes twinkling. ‘I think there could be a book in that. The first page will be a photo of the Port Frazer pier at sunrise and your Queensland Surprise Prawn Salad.’ He leaned down, his lips gently capturing hers in a warm kiss. Over the past two weeks, she'd imagined such as kiss but this one exceeded all of her daydreams. He tasted of chilli, passionfruit and the promise of fun and adventure. On a rush of tingling delight she rose on her toes and returned the kiss, accepting his promise and offering up one of her own.
She sighed. Just delectable.
***
Fiona Lowe’s recipe for
Prawn Salad with Macadamia and Passionfruit Dressing
Serves 6 as an entrée
Ingredients
4 tiger prawns per person, shelled
1 large mango
175 g water cress, or if unavailable use baby spinach leaves
2 medium pears, sliced thinly
½ cup Vietnamese mint leaves, or ordinary mint
1 cup toasted macadamia nuts, halved and unsalted
Ground black pepper, to taste
Dressing Ingredients
½ cup macadamia oil
1/3 cup passionfruit pulp (about 5–6 passionfruit), strained
2 small fresh chillies, seeded and finely chopped
2 tbsp lime juice
1 tbsp grated fresh ginger
1 tsp fine sugar
Pinch of salt
Method
1. Dressing: combine all the ingredients in a screw top jar and shake well. The dressing can be made one day prior.
2. Arrange the watercress (or baby spinach leaves) in a circular pattern on a plate and top with the prawns, pears, macadamia nuts and mango. Sprinkle with mint.
3. Drizzle with the dressing.
Enjoy!
About the Author
Fiona Lowe is a RITA® and RuBY award-winning, multi-published author with Berkley Penguin USA, Carina Press and Harlequin Mills & Boon. Whether her books are set in outback Australia or in the USA, they feature small towns with big hearts and warm, likable characters that make you fall in love. When she’s not writing stories, she’s a distracted wife, mother of two ‘ginger’ sons, guardian of 80 rose bushes, slave to a cat and often found collapsed on the couch with wine. She loves to hear from her readers and you can find her at her website, Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads.
Discover more books by Rita award-winning and
bestselling author Fiona Lowe
at https://www.fionalowe.com
Recent titles by Fiona Lowe
Montana Actually
Truly Madly Montana
Saved By The Bride
Picture Perfect Wedding
Runaway Groom
All books available from online retailers
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends