Read Online The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2) by Jenny Oliver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenny Oliver
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eyes with a lazy stretch as she was pulling her jeans on and yawned, checking his watch for the time. ‘Places to go?’ he’d asked, and she’d nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he’d replied and rolled over and gone back to sleep. She’d pretended to herself that that was exactly how she’d wanted it to go.
Now, however, her need to leave the room wasn’t the fear of rejection, it was that it was just too intense being in there with him. Like if she stayed where she was then she’d have to reach out and touch him because if she didn’t, it would feel as though she couldn’t breathe.
So instead of touching him, she’d pulled on her black jeans and a green and white striped t-shirt, slipped on black flip flops, tied her scarf round her neck and gone down to the cafe next door which had free WiFi and really nice-looking croissants.
‘God, the sun is blinding.’
Holly turned to see Wilf strolling out the hotel, his hand shading his squinting eyes as he fumbled in his pocket for his shades.
‘How can it be this bright at…’ He looked at his watch, ‘Eight in the morning?’ He pulled out the white metal chair next to Holly’s and, stretching his legs out, said, ‘Why are we up at eight in the morning? It’s meant to be a holiday.’
Holly took a bite of her croissant, the flaky pastry crumbling onto her lap, ‘It’s because of this.’ She pointed to her bump. ‘Once I wake up I can’t get back to sleep any more.’
Wilf yawned, ‘Nightmare.’ He leant forward, elbows on his knees, did a quick survey of the area and then asked the waitress for an espresso and a plain croissant.
They sat in silence for a bit, Holly eating her pain au choc and Wilf scrolling through his emails, typing hasty responses and swearing a couple of times before chucking the phone onto the table when his breakfast arrived.
‘Something wrong?’ she asked.
‘Oh just annoying stuff. There’s a move to look at projects in New York and Sydney and some of us are for and some against.’
‘You’re against?’ she asked, remembering Emily saying he was investing in something in France with his new stepfather.
‘Yeah, sort of. I don’t want to expand for the sake of it. I want to go that way ‒’ He made a gesture of across. ‘Rather than ‒’ He pointed upwards. ‘So that’s where we’re at odds. What are you doing at the moment?’
‘Eating a chocolate croissant.’
‘Alright, smart arse, what are you doing for work?’
She smiled. ‘Bit of this, bit of that. Some coaching. Some singing. Some voiceovers. It’s mainly computer games nowadays. Some adverts. I’m the voice of a penguin on a cartoon on Nickelodeon, you may have seen that,’ she said, her tone implying that Wilf spent much of his time lazing about in front of children’s TV.
‘You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?’ he asked, downing the espresso in one.
‘It was a joke.’
‘Yeah, but I think you think I’m just some loafing public school boy who plays polo and dabbles in restaurants.’
‘If the cap fits.’
He smiled and shook his head. The impression he gave was that he enjoyed the challenge she presented him with. ‘To be honest he said, ‘You sound like more of a loafer than me, not that I’m a loafer at all.’
Holly laughed. ‘Yes, that’s probably a fair enough assumption. I gave myself a year after giving up rowing to just see and it’s been nearly a year. I wasn’t really expecting this…’ She pointed to the beginnings of her bump, ‘But I need to decide what to do soon because government maternity pay isn’t great and I need a solid future plan.’
‘You don’t have to worry about money,’ he said, breaking off a bit of croissant. ‘I’ll support the baby.’
‘That’s very sweet of you to say but I do.’ She took a sip of her juice, the liquid thick with bits of orange that stuck to her lips. ‘Whatever happens, I have to be able to support myself.’
‘But I can help you,’ Wilf
Now, however, her need to leave the room wasn’t the fear of rejection, it was that it was just too intense being in there with him. Like if she stayed where she was then she’d have to reach out and touch him because if she didn’t, it would feel as though she couldn’t breathe.
So instead of touching him, she’d pulled on her black jeans and a green and white striped t-shirt, slipped on black flip flops, tied her scarf round her neck and gone down to the cafe next door which had free WiFi and really nice-looking croissants.
‘God, the sun is blinding.’
Holly turned to see Wilf strolling out the hotel, his hand shading his squinting eyes as he fumbled in his pocket for his shades.
‘How can it be this bright at…’ He looked at his watch, ‘Eight in the morning?’ He pulled out the white metal chair next to Holly’s and, stretching his legs out, said, ‘Why are we up at eight in the morning? It’s meant to be a holiday.’
Holly took a bite of her croissant, the flaky pastry crumbling onto her lap, ‘It’s because of this.’ She pointed to her bump. ‘Once I wake up I can’t get back to sleep any more.’
Wilf yawned, ‘Nightmare.’ He leant forward, elbows on his knees, did a quick survey of the area and then asked the waitress for an espresso and a plain croissant.
They sat in silence for a bit, Holly eating her pain au choc and Wilf scrolling through his emails, typing hasty responses and swearing a couple of times before chucking the phone onto the table when his breakfast arrived.
‘Something wrong?’ she asked.
‘Oh just annoying stuff. There’s a move to look at projects in New York and Sydney and some of us are for and some against.’
‘You’re against?’ she asked, remembering Emily saying he was investing in something in France with his new stepfather.
‘Yeah, sort of. I don’t want to expand for the sake of it. I want to go that way ‒’ He made a gesture of across. ‘Rather than ‒’ He pointed upwards. ‘So that’s where we’re at odds. What are you doing at the moment?’
‘Eating a chocolate croissant.’
‘Alright, smart arse, what are you doing for work?’
She smiled. ‘Bit of this, bit of that. Some coaching. Some singing. Some voiceovers. It’s mainly computer games nowadays. Some adverts. I’m the voice of a penguin on a cartoon on Nickelodeon, you may have seen that,’ she said, her tone implying that Wilf spent much of his time lazing about in front of children’s TV.
‘You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?’ he asked, downing the espresso in one.
‘It was a joke.’
‘Yeah, but I think you think I’m just some loafing public school boy who plays polo and dabbles in restaurants.’
‘If the cap fits.’
He smiled and shook his head. The impression he gave was that he enjoyed the challenge she presented him with. ‘To be honest he said, ‘You sound like more of a loafer than me, not that I’m a loafer at all.’
Holly laughed. ‘Yes, that’s probably a fair enough assumption. I gave myself a year after giving up rowing to just see and it’s been nearly a year. I wasn’t really expecting this…’ She pointed to the beginnings of her bump, ‘But I need to decide what to do soon because government maternity pay isn’t great and I need a solid future plan.’
‘You don’t have to worry about money,’ he said, breaking off a bit of croissant. ‘I’ll support the baby.’
‘That’s very sweet of you to say but I do.’ She took a sip of her juice, the liquid thick with bits of orange that stuck to her lips. ‘Whatever happens, I have to be able to support myself.’
‘But I can help you,’ Wilf
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