April's Glow Page 7

  The scent of garlic and herbs also filled the house, as Zac opened the oven door and turned over the chicken pieces.

  ‘What’s cookin’?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t you mean what’s cookin’, good lookin’?’

  ‘Nice try. So does it have a name?’

  ‘Nope. But let’s call it Wednesday Chicken.’

  ‘Sounds irresistible.’ She chuckled.

  ‘Would you like to name it then?’

  ‘I’ll need to eat it first before knowing what to call it.’

  ‘Then I’ll eagerly await your input.’

  They continued their conversation like a tennis match until Zac washed his hands and finally met her gaze, then it dropped to the bottle in her hand.

  ‘Oh, here. I didn’t want to come empty-handed so this was all I had at home. Unless you have something else?’ She held up the bottle of red.

  ‘Um, I have homemade lemon, lime, and bitters, I’ll just have that. But feel free to have the wine yourself.’ He slid his hands into his pockets then removed them and twisted to face the high cupboards. ‘Oh, I’ll get you a glass.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’ll have what you’re having.’

  ‘You sure? It’s up to you.’

  ‘Yep. I’ll just put this over here.’ She moved the wine to the corner of the kitchen counter near the knife block. ‘Creative in the kitchen, huh?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘If there’s something I want, I’ll make it. You cook?’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m not that great. So it’s probably good you didn’t come over.’

  ‘It’s not that hard. Find instructions online—easy.’

  ‘Somebody’s confident.’

  He shrugged again. ‘I like to look after my health, it’s easier to do that if you’re self-sufficient.’

  ‘So tonight’s meal could be called Healthy Wednesday Chicken.’

  He smiled. ‘It could. It’s an improvement. But I’ll be expecting something more creative from you after dinner.’

  ‘Good thing I’m not drinking the wine then, otherwise I might call it something ridiculous like Healthy What Day Is It Chicken.’

  ‘Ha!’ Zac’s laugh was natural, but he scratched his head awkwardly. Was he just being polite and pretending my humour was humorous? ‘Oh.’ He walked to the mantle and picked up the candle. ‘Should put this over here.’ He placed it in the middle of the round, rustic wooden dining table.

  ‘You’ve unpacked a bit more, I see,’ April said, eyeing the combined living and dining room. There were now books on the bookshelves that had been empty when she’d been here earlier. She scanned the titles but didn’t recognise any of them.

  ‘It’s becoming more like a home, bit by bit.’

  April peered closer at the books. ‘Novels or nonfiction?’

  ‘Nonfiction, mostly. They’ve helped me a lot. You read?’

  April scratched her arm. ‘Ahh, my reading is on par with my cooking. I mean, I can read of course, I just forget. Or my mind keeps me occupied with other things. Or I read Facebook. But, oh! A friend gave me a book recently, so I’ve been reading some of that.’ She was three-quarters of the way through the book that was as much about the rugged masculinity of the hero as it was about the rugged country landscape. Fine with her.

  ‘Oh yeah? What’s it about?’

  April diverted her gaze as she recalled the shirtless man on the cover. ‘Something about a guy who moves back to the country, to the place he grew up, and reunites with old friends and enemies.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And … there’s like, arguments and stuff, and he has to help his adoptive dad run the farm, because he’s sick, but he’s keeping a secret from him, and there’s also this girl, I mean woman, who he meets and she has this food business, like she makes jams and stuff from local produce, but she has a secret too, and …’ And in chapter nineteen they finally get it on in her kitchen when she’s showing him how to make blueberry jam and he gets some on his face and she licks it off and …

  ‘Hang on, so is it the sick adoptive dad who has a secret or the guy who moved back home?’

  ‘The dad.’

  ‘What’s the secret?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Well, tell me when you find out.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Cool.’

  April grinned. ‘Or you could just read it after me.’

  ‘But I like how you tell the story.’ He grinned too. ‘And let me guess, the guy and the girl hook up?’

  ‘Several times.’

  He laughed. ‘Maybe I will read it then.’ Zac put two plates on the kitchen counter then some cutlery. ‘And you’ll have to read one of mine.’

  Umm … She didn’t feel that inclined to read some New-Age self-help book, but what could she say? ‘I’m not a fan of self-help,’ she said. Of course, the truth. No filter needed.

  ‘Have you ever read any?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then how do you know you’re not a fan? And anyway, they’re not just self-help, there are books about spirituality, philosophy, poetry, and the science of the universe.’

  ‘Sounds riveting.’ Well, she would probably like the poetry, after today’s enlightening experience.

  Zac went to the bookcase and extracted a book. ‘Here, start with this, it’s not too lengthy and you can read small amounts at a time.’

  April took hold of the small book, The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran. ‘Is this really you and you’re hiding behind a pseudonym?’

  He laughed again, this time more high-pitched as if she was being ridiculous. ‘Yes, and I time-travelled back to the early twentieth century just to write it.’ He opened the cover and pointed to the original publication date.

  ‘Ah. Okay, I can’t refuse a challenge. I will read it. On one condition.’ She lifted a pointed finger.

  His eyebrows rose.

  ‘You visit my store one day.’ She held up her palm facing him as his posture shifted and his confident stance slackened. ‘I know, I remember what you told me today, and I know I don’t know anything about the agoraphobia or what you’ve been through, but I do know that you didn’t always have it, and that anyone can get through anything if they really want to, so I want you to promise that one day, even if it’s in a million years, that you’ll walk through the door of my store.’

  ‘Do I have to buy anything?’ he joked.

  ‘That’s optional.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Good. Because I’m not a fan of pushy sales people.’

  ‘So will you?’ April held the book near the bookcase. ‘Or should I put this book back and never become enlightened to its magical secrets that have helped you immensely?’ She raised her eyebrows at him the way she’d seen Olivia do to Mia when she wanted her daughter to obey.

  He shook his head, not to say no, but as a show of his amusement. ‘How could I imagine going through life knowing that you never got to read that book? You’ve put me in an incredibly difficult situation here.’ He half-smiled. ‘So yes, one day, I promise, I will walk through the door to your store—well, not literally walk through the door, that would hurt—but I’ll visit your store, yes.’

  April held out her right hand and he shook it. His large hand enveloped hers with a gentle firmness. ‘Deal.’ She placed the book next to her handbag on a lone bar stool that stood at the kitchen counter. ‘So can I do anything to help, with my awesome kitchen skills?’

  Zac ushered her to the table and pulled out the wooden chair for her. ‘Hmm, how about you take a seat and I’ll get everything sorted.’

  ‘Works for me!’ She tapped her fingers on the table. ‘But seriously, if I can help with anything, I’m not really that bad.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not, but there’s nothing else much to do, so sit back and relax.’ He took a bottle from the fridge and poured some of the liquid into two glasses. ‘There you go, one hundred percent natural ingredients, hope you like it.’

  April sipped the lemon
, lime and bitters as the ice cubes crackled and clanked together. ‘I like it. It could make a good candle flavour. I mean, fragrance. If lemon, lime and bitters could be a fragrance.’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Do you have many food or drink related candles?’ He leaned on the kitchen counter and sipped his drink, then swirled the glass around in small circles.

  ‘Sure do. Cinnamon, obviously,’ she eyed the candle centrepiece, ‘and chocolate, vanilla frosting, watermelon, even coffee.’

  Zac nodded slowly. ‘Have you ever taken a bite out of one when you were hungry? Just to try it?’

  She chuckled. ‘I’ve been tempted. Some of them smell so delicious it’s hard not to.’

  ‘I bet you don’t have a Healthy Wednesday Chicken candle though.’

  ‘Umm, I don’t think that would be a great seller. And I definitely need to improve on that name. Leave it with me.’ She tapped her temple.

  ‘Speaking of Healthy Wednesday Chicken …’ He placed his glass on the counter and grabbed an oven mitt, opened the oven door and pulled out a large baking dish, steam rising in curvy streams.

  ‘Actually, that smells really good. I think I would totally buy a candle that smelled like that,’ April remarked.

  ‘As long as I get commissions. Fifty percent.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He placed the dish on top of the stove, and April took another sip of her drink. So far so good. The night had just begun, things were flowing well, and he didn’t irritate her the way he had before. The photos on the mantle caught her eye again, and she wondered about other people in his life. Did he have any?

  ‘Anzac Chicken?’ she blurted.

  Zac half-smiled. ‘Are you going to randomly blurt out name ideas throughout the evening?’

  ‘Probably.’

  He grinned. ‘Not bad, but I don’t think it would do the Anzacs justice. Unless we remove the An and make it Zac Chicken?’

  ‘Ha! Might as well call it Ego Chicken. Or, I’m Such A Damn Good Cook Chicken.’

  ‘Now you’re talking.’ He nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

  He plated up the meals and carried them over, placing one in front of her. ‘Ooh, thank you. Looks yum.’

  ‘Dig in, neighbour.’

  She sliced off a morsel of chicken breast and skewered it with zucchini, eggplant, and tomato. The tender chicken warmed her mouth, and a rich, enticing, slightly sweet flavour blended with the vegetables. ‘Very nice, Zac,’ she said. ‘I do give you permission to call it Zac Chicken.’

  He swallowed a mouthful and shook his head, then said, ‘Nah, you can do better than that. Keep ‘em coming.’

  ‘I will. So what gives it this beautiful, rich flavour?’

  ‘I marinate it in caramelised balsamic vinegar with fresh herbs, garlic, and a few other secret ingredients.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want to bribe me for the recipe?’

  She was about to take another mouthful but replied, ‘No, I’ll just invite myself over here whenever you make it.’

  ‘How about, for every book of mine you read, I’ll cook you dinner.’

  April tilted her head. ‘How about every chapter I read?’

  He tipped his head back in a chuckle. ‘Not gonna happen. Gotta make you work for it.’ He eyed her silently for a moment, and she thought he was going to say something like, ‘on second thoughts, sure, come over for dinner after every chapter you read!’ Which, if she read one every night, would mean she’d have dinner with him every night and never have to cook another day in her life. Now there was a good plan.

  What was that look in his eye? It had only been there a brief moment then disappeared. Maybe she imagined it. Maybe the candlelight had just reflected off his irises and made them look … different.

  ‘So where were you before—’

  ‘You didn’t get to—’

  They spoke at the same time.

  ‘You go,’ she said, flicking her hand towards him.

  ‘I was going to say, you didn’t finish telling me the story of how your store got its name, that day when you …’

  Dropped the you-know-what in front of you.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she interjected, before he could embarrass her. ‘Well, since you’re being so hospitable, I guess I can tell you now.’ She took a sip of drink then cleared her throat. ‘Okay, so obviously, candles glow, right?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And my name is April. So, April’s Glow! Ta-da!’

  Zac blurted a one-shot laugh. ‘Yeah, I’m not buying it, neighbour. Tell me the real story.’

  April put down her glass. ‘Am I that bad a liar?’

  ‘I’m just really good at reading people.’ He swirled his drink in front of his lips then took a sip.

  A random thought flashed through her mind as she wondered what sort of people he’d had to read in his previous vocation. What kinds of people had he met, fought, and seen hurt or killed? The idea of war seemed so far removed from him, sitting here in his modest dining room, eating good food, and talking about such luxuries as candles and books. Her gaze dropped to the tattoo on his inner right wrist as he put down his glass.

  ‘What does that mean?’ She pointed to the Chinese symbol that looked like a fancy letter N or H.

  ‘Hey, don’t change the subject,’ he replied.

  ‘But it’ll only take you a second to tell me.’

  ‘If I tell you now, then you’ll ask me about my other tatts and explaining them all could take quite a long time.’ He crossed his arms in front of his plate. ‘So, April’s Glow. Spill.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ As she began talking he uncrossed his arms and resumed eating. ‘Well, there is the reference to glowing candles, and my name, but the thing is, when I was a child, I had a skin condition called rosacea. It gave me these inflamed red patches on my face, around my cheeks, and I hated looking different to other kids.’ She took a quick mouthful of food then continued. ‘Anyway, to make me feel better, my mum used to tell me that I had red cheeks because there was so much love inside me that it was bursting to get out and be shared with everyone. She didn’t tell me it was called rosacea until I was older. Up until I found out she had always called it April’s Glow. She made it sound like a special thing.’ April smiled. ‘So once she told me that, I wore my red cheeks with pride. If anyone asked why they were so red I’d say: “It’s April’s Glow”. Some people would laugh and others would say “why don’t my cheeks glow?”.’

  Zac gazed at her with interest as she patted her cheeks.

  ‘It eventually went away, as you can see my cheeks are perfectly normal now, except when—’

  ‘When you drop embarrassing items on my front doorstep.’

  April paused with her fork in midair. ‘Um, yep.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘And they’re probably glowing a bit right now.’

  Zac laughed. ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist.’

  April shrugged. ‘Anyway, when I got the idea for the candle store, I thought how candles make people feel good, or, like you said, give people hope, and I was reminded of how my mother made me feel better about my condition. So the name seemed like the perfect fit.’ She rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together above her plate.

  Zac nodded slowly. ‘Nice. I like it. Much better background story than me calling my dinner Wednesday Chicken simply because I made it on a Wednesday.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s always better for things to have a greater meaning. Speaking of which, what does your tattoo mean, huh?’ She leaned forward, pinning him with her determined stare.

  He glanced at his wrist. ‘It’s the symbol for strength.’

  ‘Oh. See? Only took you a second to tell me.’

  He stayed silent.

  ‘Unless, is there more to it? And why the wrist?’ Something told her that he wouldn’t be the type to get a tattoo just because it looked good or seemed like a cool idea; with his deep mind surely each would have significant meaning.

  ‘I told you what it means, now I get to ask you a question,’ he s
aid.

  April leaned back a little. ‘Okay, fair enough.’

  ‘Do you have a tattoo?’

  April took a big breath. ‘I did. But sadly, my tattoo is no more.’

  Zac looked confused for a moment; then, as she glanced down at her prosthesis he opened his mouth in realisation. ‘No way. Really?’

  ‘Yes way. Of all the places to get a tattoo and it just so happens to be on the part of me that I end up losing. Loved that tattoo too.’ Her smile disappeared.

  ‘Have you thought about getting it redone on your other leg?’

  April’s eyes widened. ‘No. I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She pushed back a clump of wavy hair from her face. ‘Because it wouldn’t feel right.’ She could feel her face warming up, even though she wasn’t embarrassed. ‘What if … It could …’

  She stopped trying to form sentences when Zac’s hand covered hers. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.’

  She looked at his hand on top of hers, and his forearm with its manly skin and light shading of hair, corded veins, and the shadows formed by his sculpted muscles. It was as beautiful and unique as the grainy wooden table that lay beneath their connected hands.

  She looked back into his cinnamon-speckled green eyes. He knew. Somehow, he knew that she had the invalid fear that if she got another tattoo, the same fate might manifest for her remaining leg. But she didn’t want to talk about fears. Wouldn’t. He may be comfortable with getting in touch with his inner self and reading all those books and pouring his heart out into poetry, but she wasn’t. She was comfortable with living her day-to-day life, being out in the world, talking to people. But interestingly, he wasn’t. They were like opposites. Magnetically attracted to balance each other out. One thing they did have in common was the ability to ask direct and honest questions and think them perfectly valid and not at all confronting or inappropriate. But being on the receiving end of those questions … she wasn’t used to that. Zac challenged her. He was a mirror, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to look closely at the reflection.

  Her hand flinched a little and he removed his. ‘I might get another tattoo one day, but not on the leg. And not the same one,’ she said.