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do you know anyone? Huh? Huh?’

      Anna had been trying to get the low-down on her supper with Blane all week, and Camryn had told her the basics: they’d eaten, they’d chatted, they’d parted company, end of story. Looked like she was about to open a new chapter. Of course, she’d omitted the teensy-weensy detail of him being her husband. What was the point of going into all that when he wouldn’t be for much longer?

      ‘Hold on to your latte, funny girl. I’ll give Blane a call now and see if he can swing by tonight.’

      Anna’s wide grin spoke volumes: she wasn’t buying her casual attitude one bit.

      ‘Good idea. I’m sure Blane will be a lot more skilled with his tools.’

      Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the innuendo. ‘We can only hope.’

      Turning away, she slid her fingers into her back pocket, relieved and scared at the same time when they wrapped around the stiff cardboard.

      She didn’t want to do this, she really didn’t, but the café came first, and if she wanted to offer her regular patrons their fix of the best cheesecake this side of the Docklands, she had no choice.

      Pulling the card quickly out of her pocket, she stared at the crisp, bold font, BLANE ANDREWS, amongst the crinkles.

      How many times had she absentmindedly doodled Camryn Andrews over the years? Not many, considering he’d ditched her so fast after they’d married she hadn’t had time to get around to officially changing her name.

      ‘Just ring him already!’

      Sighing, she reached for the phone, her thumb poised over the touch buttons while she flipped the card over and over with her other hand.

      ‘Why don’t you go check on the latest Java bean shipment then head on home? I’ll be fine.’

      ‘I’m sure you will.’

      Anna smirked, sending a pointed look at the card in her hand. ‘I’m sure Blane is very handy with a tool or two.’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘Enough with the tool jokes, already. Now, go.’

      She wanted to be alone when she made the call, not trusting herself to feign nonchalance under Anna’s astute gaze when she heard his voice again.

      ‘Okay, boss. Catch you tomorrow.’

      She waited till Anna had headed through to the storeroom before glancing at the card and punching in the number for Blane’s mobile, hoping he’d answer for the sake of her cheesecakes, hoping he wouldn’t for her peace of mind.

      Her heart stalled as the dial tone was replaced by the crackle of static before ‘Blane Andrews speaking’ filtered down the line in that deep, mellifluous tone she knew all too well.

      ‘Hi, it’s me. How are you?’

      She stiffened at the slight pause before willing herself to relax, thankful it gave her a moment to take a deep breath and slow down her thudding heart.

      ‘Hey, Cam. I’m fine. And glad you called.’

      Cringing as she steadied herself to burst his bubble of hope, as she’d called for another reason than what he wished for, she rushed on. ‘Actually, I need your help. I’ve got a refrigerator hinge that needs fixing, and it’s pretty urgent. I gave it a shot myself but couldn’t manage it, so I was wondering if you could pop around tonight and take a look for me?’

      The sound of a circular saw whined in the background, closely followed by a loud hammering that had her holding the phone an inch away from her ear.

      ‘Sure. Let me finish up here and I’ll be around in about two hours.’

      To give him credit, he didn’t sound disappointed or annoyed. She should have been relieved. Instead, a small part of her was insulted he didn’t push her for an explanation as to why she hadn’t called or when she finally did it was to ask him for his building expertise.

      Injecting false cheer into her voice, she said, ‘Great. I really appreciate it.’

      ‘No worries, see you later.’

      He hung up first, leaving her staring at the phone in confusion.

      By his own admission he wanted them to get reacquainted. He’d said it, blunt as you like, the other night. So why wasn’t he bothered she hadn’t called?

      Shaking her head, she replaced the cordless phone in its charger and crumpled the card in her hand. Considering almost a week had lapsed since their infamous chat, he’d clearly got the message she wasn’t interested in resurrecting the past.

      Great.

      Or was it?

      Blane slid his mobile back into his top pocket, rubbed his palms down the side of his jeans, and perched on the tailgate of his ute.

      ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he muttered, his words whipped away by the blustery gale blowing straight off the ocean, the wind effectively drowning out Mike’s staple gun as it hammered nails into the fence.

      She’d called.

      After six days, during which time he’d mentally kicked himself for being a jackass and leaving the ball in her court, she’d finally picked up the phone.

      Okay, so it wasn’t quite the ‘let’s catch up and have a drink, dinner, whatever’ call he’d been hoping for, but she’d called nonetheless.

      A busted fridge hinge could be fixed by anybody, but she’d rung him, which could mean one of two things: she wanted to see him again and was using the fix-it as a flimsy excuse, or she couldn’t be bothered paying some guy out of the phone book a small fortune for such a quick job and was using their shared past to get what she wanted: a fixed fridge.

      Shaking his head, he inhaled deeply, hoping a good lungful of bracing sea air might give him the clarity he’d so desperately sought since he’d first laid eyes on Cam again.

      Refreshing as it was, the tang of salty sea air didn’t help as memories of the way she’d looked and smiled and sounded assailed him.

      Memories of those incredibly tight black jeans moulding her long legs to perfection, those sexy knee-high boots, her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders when she’d let it out, the same rich colour as the chocolate fountain on the bar of her café.

      She’d changed so much, the young, shy girl maturing into a confident, stunning woman. If she’d captivated him six years ago, it had nothing on the need coursing through him now, the need to reconcile with his wife.

      His wife…the word rolled around and around in his brain, sweet and tempting and oh-so-right, exactly like Cam herself.

      She’d been his driving force all these years, the thought of coming back to her with so much more to offer making him work longer, harder and faster than his competitors.

      Reuniting with the only woman in the world for him had been a powerful motivator, and now that he’d finally seen her…well, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

      Cam could stall and bluster and pretend she was immune to him all she liked, but he knew better.

      He’d seen the old spark in her eyes, the tenderness when she’d swayed towards him, the flare of desire when he’d touched her.

      He hadn’t sugar-coated why he’d left, and while she probably hadn’t accepted it yet, she’d come around.

      In the meantime he had every intention of giving her all the encouragement in the world to see exactly how perfect they could be together. All over again.

      And if she needed concrete proof…Glancing at the house, he hopped off the ute, refastened his tool belt and sauntered back to work, whistling ‘Fly Me to the Moon’, their song, under his breath with a smile on his face and hope in his heart.

      Camryn paced the

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