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‘Yuck,’ was Shea’s hollered reply right before the blender was silenced.
Retrieving a strawberry low-fat Yoplait from the second shelf, Samantha turned to a grimacing Shea. ‘What’s so wrong with it?’
‘What’s right with it?’ She plucked it from Samantha’s hand and read the label. ‘Fat free, no added sugar … it should just say taste-free and horrid.’ She handed it back. ‘Yuck.’
Samantha peeled the lid back and dug her spoon in. ‘Well then, what do you suggest I have instead?’
‘Other than good old bacon and eggs …’ Shea wriggled her brows. ‘A cinnamon bun.’
‘Oh my gosh, I’d forgotten all about those.’ She swallowed her second spoonful. ‘We used to basically inhale them.’
‘I still religiously have one every Friday, when I go into town to grab the weekly grocery shop, but seeing as you’re here, I reckon I should make an exception and take you to get one this morning.’ She slipped her apron off. ‘Let me turn this dishwasher on, and we’ll head into town.’
Just the thought of all the calories, and how much exercise it would take to burn said calories off, had Samantha squirming. ‘I’ll be full after this, so let’s leave it until Friday.’
‘Oh, come on, Sammie.’ Shea looked at her as if reading her mind. ‘I know you like to stay fit and healthy, but how about you live a little seeing as you’re on holidays, for goodness sake.’
It was the shove Samantha needed. Dumping her teaspoon into the sink, and the tub of yoghurt into the bin, she wiped her hands together. ‘Right, my friend, let’s go commit carboside.’
‘Now there’s the wild, free, reckless Sammie I remember.’ Shea grabbed a bunch of car keys from the bowl. ‘Let’s head, before you go and analyse everything and change your mind.’
‘Oh, stop it.’ Samantha gave Shea’s arm a playful slap as they headed down the hallway. ‘You stirrer.’
‘Never ever will I stop stirring you … ’ Shea’s face was a picture of brazenness, ‘…because I know how much you love me keeping you on your toes.’
‘Ha, yes, too true,’ Samantha replied with a wide smile.
Between the light conversation and the picturesque scenery, the trip into town didn’t take long. After pulling into a park right out front of the bakery, the pair of them climbed out and made their way to the front door. A bell tinkled their arrival as they stepped inside. The mouth-watering buttery scents instantaneously made Samantha want to bury her face in the display cabinet. Shea ordered them one glorious cinnamon bun each, and after fighting over who was going to pay, with Samantha winning when Shea was tapped on the shoulder, Samantha stepped aside while Shea chit-chatted with the unfamiliar older woman. Unable to wait any longer and with the enchanting smell wafting from the paper bag, she plucked the still-warm cinnamon bun out and sunk her teeth into the mound of delicious, sticky carbs, groaning in absolute pleasure.
Shea finally came back to her side, and she passed hers over. ‘Oh my god, Shea, these little beauties are as yummy as I remember, if not more.’
Shea grinned. ‘See, aren’t you glad I told you to live a little?’
‘Uh-huh,’ Samantha garbled.
The tinkle of the bell drew her gaze past Shea, and to the six feet of hunky man stepping inside, his wide-brimmed hat shadowing his face. Her breath caught when she realised it was him. And like a bolt of lightning, she felt Connor Gunn’s presence right down to her very core. She’d never been able to fully shake him since that night, especially in her dreams, which he’d unwelcomely popped into from time to time over the past decade; she knew it couldn’t be his twin brother visiting her in slumber, because of that little scar on his right hand, the one from when he’d sliced it open on barbed wire while trying to let her between two railings of a paddock fence. A long time ago, he knew her truest self like the back of those hardworking hands that were now removing his hat and sliding through his unruly head of sandy-blonde hair. Hair that matched his wild personality. In faded jeans and timeworn boots, with the sleeves of his dark blue button-up shirt rolled to the elbows revealing the dark ink of tattoos spiralling upwards, and shoulders wide enough to carry the weight of the entire world, the air of trouble clung to his every inch. From head to toe, he was masculinity in its finest form. Rough and rugged, muscular and somewhat intimidating, Connor Gunn had matured from a lanky teenager into one hell of a man.
Shea gave her arm a squeeze, snapping her from her trance. ‘Look away, Sammie, and for god’s sake, take a breath woman.’ She grinned cheekily. ‘Told you he was a hottie now, didn’t I?’ she whispered with an elbow nudge.
‘Mmm, it appears you are a woman of your word,’ Samantha mumbled.
An armful of bags clutched to her, the woman who Shea had been talking to stopped at her side again and started another chinwag. Shea’s stealth eyeroll conveyed annoyance, but Samantha was glad for the distraction – she needed a moment to catch her breath. She was dead right in saying he was hot. Smoking, in fact. So much so Samantha found herself forgetting to breathe. Again. Tall, fair-haired, tanned and with striking blue eyes, he was an arresting cross between a strong rugged stockman and a tattooed, axe-wielding Viking warrior.
Lifting his gaze from the row of pies and sausage rolls, then turning as if sensing eyes upon him, Connor’s thoughtful expression gave way to a fleeting look of shock then a heartstopping smile. ‘Oh my god, Sammie, it’s really you.’
Struck by the sensation of travelling back in time, Samantha grasped for her inner cool. ‘It sure is, me, here, in the flesh,’ she garbled, hoping to god there wasn’t flaky pastry all over her lips.
‘Wow.’ He closed the short distance between them.
‘Hey there.’ It was all she could muster as their gazes locked tightly, just like they had once before, and as his blue eyes pierced hers, she was reminded of Angus. She shook the image of her teenage boyfriend’s mahogany casket away. She wasn’t going back to that awful place.
‘Jack mentioned you were coming home for the wedding, but I needed to see you to believe it.’ His easygoing Australian accent was pronounced. ‘It’s been forever.’
‘It has been, forever.’ Caught in his gaze a little longer than was socially acceptable, she blinked and tore her eyes from his. ‘So, how have you been?’ To her frustration, and embarrassment, her eyes snagged on his chiselled biceps that were straining the material of his button-up shirt.
‘Yeah, can’t complain I suppose.’ He shifted from boot to boot, then rocked back a little on his heels. ‘You?’
‘Yeah, same.’ As firecrackers exploded inside her, she fought to remain cool, calm and collected as she blew a stray lock of hair out her face.
