“A writer!” She paused in her makeup routine to stare at him. “I’ve never met a writer before. What do you write?”
“Short stories, novels.”
“Wow. So you’re famous, then.” She grinned at him, her eyes impossibly huge and blue after her bit of makeup magic.
“I don’t know.” He made a pretend grimace. “You’ve never heard of me.”
Tyler shrugged. “Oh, I don’t count. These days I don’t have time to read much, and when I do it’s more likely to be Spot, The Dog than anything adult. What’s your most recent book?”
“Kingsley Jeffers’s Journey. Heard of it?”
She shook her head and pulled out a mascara tube. “And it’s been successful?” she asked, carefully coating her lashes.
He didn’t reply immediately. How did one define success? Was it the number of books he’d sold, the talk shows he’d been on, the magazine articles and flattering reviews? Was it the size of his advance for his follow-up book, so eagerly anticipated and already eight months behind schedule? If so, then he was a raving success. But if that were true, why did he feel like he was suffocating? Why couldn’t he suppress the lurking suspicion he was really a failure?
“You can ignore my questions.” Tyler’s voice broke through his milling thoughts. “I’ve heard how tough it is for writers. They say it’s difficult enough just to be accepted for publication, so you should be proud of your achievements.”
She spoke so disarmingly, no doubt to soothe his artistic pride, and besides, he hated broadcasting his triumphs, so he coughed and murmured, “Thanks.”
She finished highlighting her lashes and dropped the mascara back into her bag. Her eyes stood out more now, but somehow he preferred her the way she’d looked this morning, all earthy and elemental.
“You don’t look much like a writer to me,” she said as she threaded several silver bracelets onto her slim wrists.
“What do writers look like to you?”
“As I said, you’re the first writer I’ve met, but I’ve always imagined writers to be older, with beards and leather elbow patches, and either boring everyone in their uppity voices or swearing and getting roaring drunk on whiskey.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said with a chuckle.
“Oh, I didn’t say you’re a disappointment.”
Startled, he glanced at her and caught the tail end of her insouciant smile. Was she flirting with him? The possibility sent a curious vibration through his nerves, as if he liked the idea of Tyler flirting with him. Shoot, he knew he shouldn’t have offered her a lift. “Where to now?” he asked as they reached the center of town.
“It’s just a couple of blocks up ahead.”
He eased off the accelerator as they cruised down the main street. He’d grown up in Goulburn and wasn’t too familiar with Burronga, even though the towns were an hour’s drive apart. Burronga was a more upmarket place than his hometown, with fancier shops and more expensive cars parked on the streets. They passed the Red Possum, a big, old-fashioned pub, before approaching a late Victorian building where Tyler indicated for him to pull over. The historic facade of the building had been preserved, but the ground floor looked like it had been recently renovated, with new glass doors and a wide, striped awning bearing the name Java & Joolz.
“So this is where you work?” he said as Tyler unstrapped Chloe from her booster seat.
“Yes. It’s an art gallery and coffee shop. As a matter of fact, I’m part owner,” she added, a note of pride edging into her voice.
“Oh.” He couldn’t help lifting his eyebrows, and she didn’t miss the gesture.
“What? Don’t I look competent enough to be part owner of a business?” Resting a hand on her hip, she gave him a razzing grin.
It wasn’t a question of being competent. He’d seen the chaos inside her house and that didn’t easily gel with running a business. “It must be hard work,” he answered diplomatically.
She hauled Chloe out of the car and balanced the child on her hip while she hooked her enormous bag over her free arm. “It’s bloody hard work. Why don’t you come inside and have a look?”
He shouldn’t. He should politely decline and be on his way, his good deed—two of them—done for the day. Deep down, he knew that Tyler, with her brilliant blue eyes and pert smile and purple underwear, plus her impish daughter, was exactly what he didn’t need. Exactly what he’d never need. The debacle with Jennifer had only hardened his resolve. He’d come to Burronga to bury himself in his writing, nothing else. It was his final chance to salvage something out of this disastrous year, and the last thing he needed was a sassy single mother distracting him. Especially considering how he’d reacted to her flirty grin earlier in the car. He should say no.
Instead, he said, “Sure. I’m in desperate need of a decent coffee right now.”
She smiled at him, and the candid radiance of her smile made him blink. “Coffee’s on the house. I owe you.”
He climbed out of his car, his blood still tingling from the aftereffects of her brilliant smile. Tyler Jones yelling at him in her underwear was quite a sight, but Tyler Jones beaming at him was something else.
Tyler unlocked the front door of Java & Joolz. Even though the business had been running for more than three months, she still got a thrill from entering the store and realizing it was partly hers. It had been her idea to open a coffee shop combined with a gallery selling handcrafted jewelry, fine art, and gifts, but she couldn’t have done it without her friend and partner, Ally, who had years of experience running a gift shop.
Their business was located in a building owned by Ally’s fiancé, Nate, who had renovated the ground floor to their requirements after a car had smashed through the store and ruined Ally’s previous gift shop. She and Ally had worked their fingers to the bone getting Java & Joolz up and running. They weren’t making a profit yet, but sales were steadily rising.
Tyler set Chloe on her feet and said to Luke, “Have a look around while I get the machine going. How do you like your coffee?”
“Double espresso, please.”
“You must like your caffeine.”
“It’s been one of those mornings.”
Yes, it sure had. She settled Chloe at a corner table with her drawing paper and crayons. Chloe would be quite happy doodling and coloring for about half an hour, but after that, she’d get antsy. Her babysitter was suffering from shingles, so it would be two weeks or more before she’d recover. How was Tyler going to cope with a fidgety three-year-old for four whole hours? Not to mention tomorrow, and the day after that. There was little time to find a replacement, and besides, she didn’t want to dump Chloe with a stranger.
Pushing aside her worries, she moved to the espresso machine. Luke had wandered over to the gallery section of the store and was studying the items intently. As he bent over a glass display, she couldn’t help noticing how his jeans clung snugly to his backside. Heaven help her, she was ogling the man’s butt. The same man who’d insinuated she was too inept to take care of her own daughter. She frowned and concentrated on the coffee grinder. But she couldn’t stop herself from taking another peek at Luke’s behind. He might be full of himself but he had the kind of lean, athletic physique she had a weakness for in a man.
He straightened up and glanced across at her. “Hey, I just read the label. These are yours.” Looking surprised, he tapped the glass cabinet he’d been leaning over. “The earrings and necklaces.”
“I’m a jewelry maker, too. In fact, that’s how Ally, my partner, and I teamed up. I used to make jewelry for her gift store here before it was destroyed by a couple of joyriders.”
“You have time to make jewelry on top of running this place and looking after Chloe?” For once, he seemed impressed by her.
Trying to ignore the tiny spurt of gratification, she tamped the ground coffee into the filter and attached it to the espresso machine. “I make time.”
She had to. Jewelry making had been her main source of income before, but now running the business consumed more time than she’d imagined. She was also working on a commission for a high-profile client. Crystal Kerrigan, well-known TV personality and local celebrity, had asked her to make a special-occasion necklace, which would net Tyler valuable exposure and a tidy sum. And with the business consuming all her time and resources, Tyler needed every cent she could get.
“I really like your stuff,” Luke said, still studying her jewelry. “You have a unique eye for color and texture.”
Her heart gave a little leap, to her surprise. Did she care that much about Luke’s opinion? She’d only known him a few hours. “Thanks. Jewelry making is about the only thing I’m good at.”
“Did you go to art college? Work an apprenticeship?”
She snorted. “Wish I had. No, when I left school I was a bit of a wild child, only interested in having a good time, not studying.” She’d been desperate to leave Burronga and reinvent herself somewhere new. Poor Aunt Daphne had tried to talk some sense into her, but like so many eighteen-year-olds, Tyler had thought she knew best. Six years later, she’d returned to Burronga, this time with Chloe and a whole different set of priorities. “I’ve done the odd course, but I’m largely self-taught. I have a workshop at home.”