Globetrotter Ingrid gets a fabulous fresh start when her job takes her to Melbourne, Australia. Here she meets wise and sweet Oliver, who makes her forget she doesn't have a heart.
This successful stability prompts Ingrid to accept an invitation to...
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December 2018
"That should be the last of it," Oliver said as he set down a box full of Ingrid's belongings which had ended up at his place.
"Thank you for this," she told him in a small voice.
"Don't mention it."
Momma came to rub herself against his legs, and Oliver knelt down to scratch her between the ears.
"I'm sorry, about New Zealand," he said.
Ingrid frowned, arms crossed over her chest. "Why are you sorry? I thought you were excited for Christmas in Queenstown."
"I was – I am, but..." Oliver straightened up. "This doesn't feel very fair. It wouldn't even be happening if it hadn't been for you."
"Yeah, but then I went and fucked up." Ingrid's hands moved to her hips, a lopsided smile on her lips. "It's as fair as it gets. You have fun with your family, Oliver. Don't worry about me. None of you."
"What will you be doing for Christmas?"
Ingrid shrugged. "Dunno. Don't care. Mimosas on the beach or something."
Oliver chuckled. "Sounds like a plan."
She winked and stretched like a lazy cat. "Good news is the doc cleared me for field work the other day. So I can keep busy. I've actually got a sale scheduled for next week."
"That's good." Oliver nodded. "I'm glad you'll be able to return to some semblance of normalcy, but I hope you're not rushing into it. Take all the time you need to recover."
"I'll recover better if I'm being productive."
He smiled, then leaned in to peck her on the forehead. "Take care, Ingrid."
"You too, Oliver."
*
"Irish-made, for the purists." Ingrid twirled the whiskey bottle to point out the made in Belfast label. "Great taste and reasonably strong for the casual drinker... Crack a can of Coke for me?"
Rudy, the pub owner, grabbed a can from the fridge. As it hissed open, Ingrid reached for two tumblers behind the bar. She filled both with Coke and Brennans.
"Mixes well for the lightweights...," she continued her pitch, "what more could you possibly want from a whiskey? Here, keep the bottle." She slid it over across the countertop. Next to it, she slapped down a small, white rectangle of glossy paper. "And that's my card. Call me if you make up your mind."
The sturdy, broad-built man behind the counter picked up a glass and tasted the mixed drink. Then he fetched a clean tumbler and poured himself a stiff one. Took a sip and frowned while his tongue distilled the flavour.
Ingrid studied his every movement. She'd donned a forest green pencil dress for the occasion, with short sleeves and covering her knees, but it hugged her figure, and the generous V-neck put a decent amount of side-boob on show. She crossed her arms under her breasts, leaning forward on her elbows.
