Page 21 of Love Is…?
“Yeah.” Jayde looked down, taking in their joined hands, then lifted her head. “A wishing well. Apt.”
Tessa didn’t know what to say. Not yet, anyway. It was clear why Jayde viewed romantic love like she did. Jayde had nointerest being anywhere near a wishing well or holding a candle. It made sense. She squeezed Jayde’s hand again and leaned her shoulder into the back of the couch.
Jayde continued. “I live in the flat attached to the back of Dad’s house, so I see him basically every day, and every day I’m reminded that my mum left him because she didn’t love him. Not enough to stay. Not enough for it to qualify as real love.”
They sat in silence again.
“Jayde, we don’t have to do this. This challenge thing,” Tessa whispered, and Jayde seemed to contemplate her, her gaze roaming across Tessa’s features.
Then she gave a single laugh, and instantly the sadness, and the pain vanished. “Yes. We should. My dad will be thrilled.” She laughed again. “He told me off a couple of weeks ago. Said I needed to pull my head out of my arse and look for my person because I’m fixating on the past. That I need to trust that the person won’t be my mum. I’m certainly not my mum, that’s for sure. But he reckons that the person will be there waiting for me.”
Tessa blinked. “That’s…wow.”
Jayde smiled. “I’m paraphrasing.”
They lapsed into silence again and Tessa let it sit. Jayde’s revelation deserved to sit. She never expected that Jayde would reveal why she was a love sceptic but what happened to her dad was a pretty damn good reason. Although, eleven years to hold on to that scepticism was a long time and helping Jayde fall in love with love was going to be challenging. She let out a quiet breath.
“You didn’t have to tell me, you know.”
Jayde disentangled their fingers and Tessa missed the contact immediately. Jayde’s fingers were warm, and smooth, and perfect for sliding her own fingers between.
“I know. But you’re good to talk to. I like our chats.” She smiled, turned it into a grin, and gave it a touch of cheekiness. “You should work for ASIO. You could dig out all sorts of secrets from terrorists because you’re a cute, harmless pixie.”
Tessa, despite blushing because Jayde had called her cute, still had the wherewithal to poke Jayde in the thigh, and narrow her eyes.
“I’m not always harmless and listen, you’re not much taller than me, I’ll have you know. If you’re going to be mean, I’ll tell on you to Abby that you’re teasing her daughter’s chaperone.”
Jayde laughed. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” Jayde’s grin was wide, her eyes sparkly, and Tessa revelled in the browns and the golds. “Besides,” Jayde continued. “Abby’s not inclined to chuck me out because she seems to have come to the same conclusion as Grace. That I’m an innocuous hack without an agenda who eats her food and occupies furniture.”
Tessa laughed and shuffled back so she could turn square on. “Are you really that harmless?”
Jayde quirked an eyebrow. “I can bite when the occasion calls for it.” Her wild, wavy hair fell slightly and she pushed it away from her face, flipping it over her shoulder, then sliding her fingertips through the last tendrils to tuck them behind her ear.
Tessa stared, then blushed. Again. It was becoming ridiculous. It felt like a hibachi had taken up permanent lodging on her face. So much for announcing that she was immune to flirting and its trappings. What rubbish.
Tessa darted her gaze about. “Right. Um…okay. So in between school drop off and pick up, netball training, monitoring internet usage so Grace can return all her homework and assignments on time, helping at the cupcake stall at the combined Grammar school fair.” She grimaced. “Gracevolunteered me. So thoughtful. Anyway, in between all of that this week, and going back to my flat on a couple of nights and on Sunday to ground myself, and so, so much more, I wrote—” She leapt off the sofa, and pointed. “Wait here.”
She power-walked out of the lounge, through the house, and into her bedroom where she quickly stared at her reflection in the hand mirror on her bedside table.
“Pull yourself together, woman. For God’s sake! She’s Jayde, ordinary journalist person, with a heartbreaking story and really lovely hands and those eyes and a fabulous smile and hair that is just begging to?—”
She smacked her thigh, yanked open the drawer, and grabbed the notebook with its pencil tucked inside. Then she hustled back to the lounge and returned to the safety of her corner of the sofa.
She took a deep breath. “You’re starting your lessons today,” she informed Jayde, who squinted.
“I am?”
“Yes, this is your curriculum.”
Jayde blinked. “You wrote a curriculum.”
“Of course. Love shouldn’t be taken lightly.” She nodded earnestly to underline the statement.
Jayde looked as if her thirty-year-old heart wasn’t quite ready for an intervention from the Department of Education. “Okay. What lessons have you planned so far?” she asked, somewhat nervously.