‘I might let my hair down and lash out on an Earl Grey. And a piece of that carrot cake I saw on the counter on the way in. At least my appetite is back now that blasted chemo is done with.’

  Hannah hovered her phone camera over the QR code in the centre of the table, not quite ignoring the queasy feeling in her stomach. The reminder there’d be no more treatment was more bitter than sweet. ‘Done.’

  ‘So …’ Lenore tucked her menu back into the cutlery holder. She had that look on her face, eyes narrowed, nose slightly wrinkled, fixing her victim with that laser stare, the one that signalled she was about to stage an inquisition. The one she used when launching into a consultation. ‘What exactly did you have planned for Christmas before Nancy and I gate-crashed your party?’

  Avoiding Lenore’s questions was like line-dancing in stilettos: a scenario to steer clear of at all costs. ‘Nothing much. Just the usual.’

  ‘The usual being disappearing into the wilderness completely on your own.’

  ‘With my phone and a flare, and making sure someone knows where I’m going.’ One comment into the conversation and she was already on the defensive.

  ‘That’s what you were going to do?’

  ‘Possibly. I hadn’t set anything in concrete.’

  ‘You can’t find someone else who likes traipsing around the bush I suppose, a friend who might like to accompany you on your jaunts? At a more suitable time of the year?’

  ‘You know me, I like doing my own thing.’

  ‘I do know you, which is exactly why I’m asking.’ Lenore shook her head, as if she’d come across a particularly vexing clue while doing a cryptic crossword. ‘I worry about you being on your own so much. It’s not healthy. And even less fun. That old saying “work to live, not live to work” has some merit. You spend far too much time working and not enough enjoying yourself.’

  ‘You’re one to talk.’ In her prime, Lenore had been the classic workaholic. ‘How many PhDs did you do, on top of your client hours and your teaching?’

  ‘Yes, and I was a fool. Spent far too much time slaving away at my desk and burning the midnight oil.’

  ‘But your work was important, you helped so many people, clients and your students. You don’t regret any of that, surely?’

  Lenore looked wistfully out the window. ‘I do, in a way. It was very satisfying, the study and the clinical hours, and I’m glad I was of use to others. Helpful. But now …’ She drew in a long breath, her shoulders rising then falling again as she exhaled. ‘Now I wish I’d focused more on life outside of work. Perhaps found love sooner. Dealt with my demons a little earlier.’

  Demons? As close as they were, Lenore had never shared a lot about her early life, the years before they’d met. Apart from a couple of vague references to an alcoholic father, she’d said next to nothing. And prying into people’s personal lives was not in Hannah’s playbook, not unless it was in the office. She’d learned from experience that in the game of getting-to-know-you, for every question you served, there would be one lobbed straight back.

  Their drinks arrived, and Lenore sliced the carrot cake in half, sliding one piece across the table on a napkin. ‘You’ll have to help me out here, it’s enormous.’ She cut into the cake, licked the icing from her lips and placed the fork on her plate. ‘I may have mentioned to you that my father was a drunk. But what I failed to share was that he was also abusive. To my mother, and to me.’

  The few sips of latte Hannah had taken curdled in her stomach. Hand trembling, she settled her cup on the table. If her friend wanted to share this story now, she had a good reason.

  ‘It was physical abuse, and emotional too, not sexual. No one survives beatings like the ones he gave and comes away unscarred. But, like you, when I finished school, I left home and put it all behind me. My mother had passed away by then. Died when she was forty-five, from cancer of the oesophagus. Undoubtedly stress induced. My father sank into the depths of despair—despite the way he treated her, he claimed he still loved her. All the fire went out of him and he virtually drank himself to death. So, at eighteen, I was on my own. I wanted to know what made people tick. Why they acted the way they did, how they could profess to feel one emotion but behave in a way that was completely opposed to it, which is why I went into psychology.’

  ‘And why your specialty was working with domestic violence cases.’ It all made sense. Previously, Lenore had only ever said she wanted to help women be the best versions of themselves.

  ‘We all have crosses to bear. And those crosses are often a heavy load. Too heavy.’ She waved her fork in the air. ‘People like us are experts at compartmentalising. We can lock those damned things in a cupboard and move on like they never happened, but even if we swallow the key and walk away, at some point the weight of that burden is going to smash that door right off its hinges.’ Lenore moved a morsel of cake around on her plate, a cat toying with a mouse. Her eyes were downcast but the angle of her head indicated she was waiting for a reaction.

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Giving as concise an answer as possible was the only way to get through the conversation. Eat the cake. Finish the coffee. Go shopping. Even that would be better than this.

  ‘Oh, Hannah, come on. I’ve seen enough denied trauma in my time to recognise it when it’s right in front of my face. That’s possibly what made me good at my job—the capacity to empathise. You have it too. You’ve done a stellar job keeping your heartache under wraps, but sooner or later a case comes along that forces you to deal with your own residual grief. Maybe that case for you is young Owen.’

  ‘We talked about this. I have it under control.’ The sweetness of the icing suddenly turned rancid on her tongue. She toyed with the corner of the napkin. ‘Okay, there was a hiccup to begin with but I’ve learned from that. You said yourself the session went well this week, and we’ve worked out a strategy for next time. Honestly, Lenore, it’s fine.’

  ‘I agree. It is fine. You’ll complete all the sessions with him and I’m sure he’ll be much better for them, and for your expertise. What I’m saying is you will not be. You’ll go on burying yourself in your work, disappearing into the woods like a hibernating bear rather than facing the truth. You need to drag that cross from the cupboard and smash it to smithereens. Get to it before it crushes you. Before you wake up one day and realise you’re a lonely old woman with nothing to show for her life but a backlist of grateful patients.’

  ‘Isn’t that something to be proud of?’

  ‘Yes. But not at the expense of your own happiness.’

  ‘I’m perfectly happy.’ She crossed her arms. Uncrossed them again and let them fall into her lap, fingers twitching.

  ‘When is the last time you went on a date?’

  ‘A date?’

  ‘Yes, you know, those hours you spend with a person you’re attracted to. Who is attracted to you.’

  ‘I dated a few times this year.’

  ‘A few times?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  Oh God, did they really have to go there? Presumably so. ‘Town vet. Who happened to be madly in love with someone else but couldn’t admit it to himself. I played cupid and took myself out of the equation. It wouldn’t have worked anyway; there wasn’t really any chemistry. Not like you and Nancy.’ A brilliant tactic, move the discussion in a new direction.

  A soft light shone in Lenore’s eyes at the mention of her wife. ‘I waited far too long to find that spark. It doesn’t come along often and when it does, you need to fan the flame and let it burn.’

  ‘Sounds painful.’ Another genius move: deflect with humour.

  ‘It can be. But having a life partner is so much better than being lonely.’

  ‘I’m not lonely.’ And partners weren’t always for life.

  Pursed lips and raised eyebrows; Nancy could not be fooled.

  ‘Okay, so there are times when I might be a little, but …’ There wasn’t really any way to finish the sentence without covering the same ground they’d already trodden. And there was no point getting antsy. Lenore was only trying to help. ‘I appreciate your concern. Really I do, but I’m doing okay.’

  ‘My point exactly. You’re doing okay. You’re treading water. That’s not enough. Take it from someone who wasted too much time when it came to matters of the heart. Maybe you should try online dating.’

  ‘Ah, I don’t think so. Do you know how many crazy people are out there?’

  ‘I’ve got a pretty good idea.’ Her snort was contagious and they broke into peals of laughter, a great tension diffuser. ‘Although I’m not sure that’s suitable phrasing coming from a psychologist.’

  ‘As a matter of fact …’ She’d barely given Lenore anything. Maybe offering her a tidbit of something personal would steer her away from heavier matters. ‘I was asked out on a date only yesterday.’

  ‘It wasn’t that gorgeous creature I saw close your gate and climb into his ute, by any chance? Tall, bearded and looking like he’d just lost his best friend?’

  ‘You saw him?’

  ‘Nancy and I were pulling into the drive as he left. I meant to ask you about him but then Nance started rabbiting on about the whales we saw and I became distracted.’ She leaned forward, hands clasped on the table, an earnest look on her face. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Nothing to tell. He’s a farrier. And a Christmas tree farmer. And at least six years younger than me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he’s Owen Morgan’s half-brother.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What do you mean? Personal involvement with the relative of a client is unethical.’

  ‘You could always request he be transferred to another psychologist. Cite a conflict of interest. It’s not like he came to you of his own volition. And I’m sure he doesn’t care who signs off on his papers.’

  ‘A minute ago you were telling me I should use his case as an opportunity to re-examine my own trauma. Now you want me to offload him so I can screw his brother?’

  Lenore’s lips curled into a wicked grin. ‘I never mentioned screwing, but if that’s what’s on your mind …’

  Based on the steam pumping through Hannah’s system, there was a good chance her head currently resembled an over-ripe tomato.

  ‘Oh, don’t go getting all flustered. I know you’re a professional through and through, but sometimes life isn’t black and white. If you like this fellow, maybe you should find a way around the problem. Before you spontaneously combust!’

  ‘And on that note, I think it’s time to go shopping.’

  ‘I suppose so, but don’t think I’m going to let you off the hook.’ ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  Out of their chairs and back into the mayhem, the heat of the day and the chaos of the street went some way to diluting the awkwardness of the cafe conversation, but as they entered one shop and then another, Lenore oohing and ahhing over a hand-thrown pottery bowl or a vintage brooch, snatches of it lingered.

  Work to live, not live to work … You need to drag that cross from the cupboard and smash it to pieces … It doesn’t come along often …

  An ache that was surely deeper than the ocean swelled in her gut, rising with the dreaded inevitability of a tsunami. And with it the knowledge that everything Lenore had said was true. The only lie uttered had been her own: I’m not lonely.

  The only person she was fooling was herself.

  Chapter 12

  ‘There you go. These should keep you occupied.’ Crystal piled book after book onto the reception counter in a flutter of gelato colours until the resulting pile looked more like a literary sculpture than a TBR. A roll call of familiar author names decorated the spines: Beth O’Leary, Sally Thorne, Helen Hoang, Emily Henry, Katherine Centre … a who’s who of romcom authors with a few small-town titles thrown into the mix. ‘I’ve been doing some decluttering and thought you might like these.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Hannah squeaked out the words. She could hardly deny her penchant for reading romance when she’d been caught red-handed at the market stall, book in hand.

  ‘Did you like the Ali Hazelwood? A good four chillies, that one.’ Crystal waved a hand in front of her face as if she’d just stepped out of a sauna, and gave a low whistle. ‘Lots of detail in those sex scenes.’

  ‘Hmm. She’s a … good … writer.’ ‘Good’ was one word for it. Reading those bedroom scenes had provided more than a little vicarious enjoyment. Not that Hannah was about to admit that to her receptionist. And having a pile with similar heat levels on show in the office was not exactly the right vibe for a professional establishment. ‘I’ll return them to you once I’m done.’ She began transferring the books to a spare shelf behind the counter.

  Crystal assisted her. ‘No need. Out with the old, in with the new. I’ve got a whole lot more on my wish list. How about you?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Your wish list, for Christmas.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t really …’ celebrate Christmas. Only this year she was. Maybe it was time to fake it till she made it. ‘Nothing specific. I like to be surprised.’ Totally untrue, but …

  Crystal leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I thought there might be a certain man on your hot sheet.’ No exaggerated wink, but there might as well have been!

  ‘Hot sheet?’ That expression was way too close to the bone after their previous conversation about spicy novels.

  ‘Cole Harrison is about as handsome as they get, don’t you think? And such a lovely man. Blows my mind that he hasn’t been snatched up already, but I think he’s a bit like you—a total workaholic—and devoted to his family. You don’t see many men his age taking care of their younger brother the way he’s taken Owen under his wing. Still, there might be some wriggle room for a woman in his life. And you two looked so lovely standing there together at the carols. You were even wearing the same colour, like you were out on a date.’ Coming up for air, Crystal blinked more than was totally necessary and scratched the back of her neck. ‘I know it’s none of my business. I’m just saying you could do a whole lot worse.’

  At this point, Hannah could either terminate her receptionist on the spot for way overstepping the employee–boss suitable-conversation line, dig a little deeper into Cole’s dating history or politely put an end to any further discussion. Crystal’s joie de vivre made it impossible to be mad with her and maybe this was her opportunity to brandish a metaphorical shovel and find out a little more.

  ‘You wouldn’t by any chance have known Cole was running Uncle Willy’s when you sent me out there, would you?’

  Crystal pursed her lips and gave a side-eyed glance. ‘I might have.’ She held up her hands in a don’t shoot gesture. ‘I mean, all I did was put the idea out there and you ran with it. Sometimes the universe guides us in mysterious ways and we just have to see where it leads.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘I certainly do.’ Crystal lifted a bejewelled hand to her mouth and wrinkled her nose. ‘And I had a vibe about you and Cole Harrison the moment I saw you two together.’

  There was no way Hannah was admitting she’d had a similar feeling herself, but Crystal’s ‘vibe’ was certainly interesting. ‘Time will tell.’

  ‘You could do a lot worse.’

  ‘I’m sure I could. Thank you again for the books.’ They shared a conspiratorial smile. Had they just bonded over an imaginary romance? Hannah checked her watch and pointed towards her office door. ‘I have a Zoom consult, so I’d best get going.’

  Without even a glimmer of contrition, Crystal pulled out her chair and turned on the computer, fire-engine red nails covered in tiny Santa hats tapping away at the keys. ‘And I’d best get on with the accounts.’

  Door firmly closed, Hannah sank into the plush comfort of her leather desk chair. There were so many advantages to living in a small community—less noise, more fresh air, not having to fight for a parking space—but when it came to privacy and anonymity, country-town living scored a big fat zero. Crystal had seen her with Cole at the tree-lighting (not that she had been with him, merely standing beside him) which meant a whole lot of other people would have too. The grapevine would most certainly be ablaze. The alarm chimed on her phone. Time to log on. For now she needed to focus on Eileen Jackson’s ongoing anxiety and put all thoughts of a certain farrier out of her mind. She settled her face into an expression of compassionate affability and turned on her computer.

  Quieting her mind was one thing. If only she could douse the chemical reaction going on in her body after the conversation with Crystal. And it wasn’t the book talk that had ignited it, just like it wasn’t a generic hero she pictured when she read the raunchy sex scenes in the novels that had been keeping her awake into the early hours the past couple of weeks.

  ‘Hello, can you hear me?’ Eileen’s quivering voice echoed down the line. ‘Dr Rasmussen?’

  Technically she wasn’t a doctor but no matter how many times she reminded some clients of this, they didn’t seem to grasp the concept.

  Flicking the video on and unmuting the microphone, she pasted on a smile and blocked every thought of a certain person from her mind.

  ‘Hello, Eileen.’

  Dinner at the hotel had been Nancy and Lenore’s idea—possibly part of their contention that she should ‘get out more’. And as much as she would usually rather have poked her eye out with a knitting needle, it hadn’t turned out too badly.

  Restaurants were her preferred dining venues but the vibe at the Yarrabee Hotel was suitably merry. A ham raffle had attracted more punters than would probably be here on a weeknight, and the menu was surprisingly gourmet for a backwater bistro. Not even the ludicrous snow-covered tree in the corner or the cheesy seasonal playlist filtering through the speakers spoiled the mood. Hannah was here with her close friends—family, really—having a lovely meal and life was relatively good. If there was any gossip circulating about her, it didn’t seem to be happening here. At home, presents sat like secret treasure, sparkling in silver foil under the tree, and Nancy’s pudding hung in the pantry in all its calico glory to dry out. So far, the lead-up to the big day hadn’t been too bad; had, in fact been kind of nice. In next to no time, the true celebration would begin and her mettle would be well and truly tested.