The Last Place You Look, page 1
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1
“Oh dear, I think you might be too qualified.”
Sophie Tindall adjusted her smile at Warren, the seemingly sweet octogenarian with faded blue eyes and a grin that turned his paper-thin skin into a concertina.
“I hope not.” Her attention skittered around the packed common room at Roseford Aged Care Facility. Maybe Warren was right. Maybe her decision to volunteer here was an odd choice. “I might have a medical degree, but I still have six years of psychiatry training to complete when I return home to the UK. There’s always more to learn.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, dear, I’m glad you’ve been matched with me.” He gestured to the other elderly residents and their volunteer visitors seated at the gray Formica tables around him, then shot her a wink, along with a chuckle. His rough-but-cheery demeanor reminded her of her late father. “I’m the envy of every other codger in here. I’m not complaining.”
She returned his laughter and sent her gaze once more across the room. The hum of chatter ricocheted off the cream-colored walls, and the musky scent of people mixed with the light burn of antiseptic floor cleaner. She opened her mouth, about to thank Warren for the compliment, when her stare slammed into a set of deep, espresso eyes.
Her heart stammered, but she turned back to Warren, ignoring the rugged, younger man appraising her from across the room.
“You’re doing me a favor, really.” She widened her smile, the expression a strain against her hammering pulse. “I plan to use some of my free time in Australia to meet people from your demographic. You see, I want to specialize in geriatric psychiatry.”
He clapped his hands in exaggerated delight, leaning back in his seat, oblivious to the beautiful stranger staring her down from behind him. “Ahh. So, I’m your guinea pig then?”
She nodded and chanced another look at the starer, a man perhaps in his mid-thirties, sitting next to a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties. She was a little on the younger side for an aged care resident, but it wasn’t unheard of.
Sophie refocused on Warren, vowing to set the starer aside for now. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Warren interlaced his fingers over his generous belly. “I could listen to your lovely accent all day. Tell me, what part of the UK do you come from?”
“I live in London, but I’m Scarborough born and raised, sir.”
The muscles behind her eyes hurt from fighting the compulsion to watch the man behind Warren again. The heat and mystery in the stranger’s dark gaze called straight to the core of why she’d come to Australia. To live a little. To embark on an adventure.
Oh, stop sugar coating this. I want to get laid!
Electricity zipped up her spine, and she shivered at the blunt self-confession.
“Sir?” Warren huffed out a laugh, kindly eyes glittering anew. “Oh, you are a dear, but plain old Warren will serve just fine. We’re soon-to-be-friends, aren’t we?”
The tension dropped from her shoulders. He had a point; she was here to befriend him, and despite Mr. Dark and Mysterious staring her down—despite her inclination toward staunch professionalism—she could afford to relax a little.
She jutted her chin toward the self-serve tea station. “Say, how about I get us a cup of tea, and then we can get to know each other better?”
He gave a quick nod of approval. “I’ll have a white with two sugars. Thanks.”
She wrapped her fingers around the rough, crimson fabric on her chair’s armrests and pushed herself to standing. “Coming right up.”
Even as she walked, she sensed the sexy stranger’s glare burn into her back. Or maybe it was more a hope than a sense. That those alluring, chocolate-noir eyes hadn’t left her. That he followed her with as much intrigue as she had for him.
She approached the tea station, and her stomach clenched. She was a bonafide-nerd, someone who preferred books over booty calls. She had no place feeling excitement over this guy’s notice. Nothing in her past prepared her for how to connect with a man as rugged and handsome as the one who’d wrenched her attention just minutes earlier.
His warm, olive skin and enigmatic gaze alone demanded notice, much less that coarse-but-still-sexy, indented scar along the top left of his forehead. She hadn’t yet found the nerve to appraise his lips, though she figured when she did that they, too, would offer a promise of easy confidence and great sex.
A shiver worked up her spine at the word sex.
Okay sure, she was overanalyzing what were a couple of split-second glances, but overanalyzing was ingrained into her personality. Besides, her body recognized his intensity and hoped he’d maybe share a small degree of attraction toward her, too.
She filled two paper cups with boiled water and held one in her hand to warm her palm, leaving the other to sit on the table while the tea steeped. For so long, her life had consisted of one safe choice after another—anything to keep from rocking the foundations of trust she’d decimated amongst her family so many years ago.
But she’d tossed aside safe choices the day she decided to come to Australia.
Her thoughts looped over her reasons for being here. Those reasons were two-pronged. First, she’d wanted to embark on informal volunteer work while she had some rare time to do so. Second, she’d ended a four-year relationship with Hector Winthrop in order to escape the mundane life she’d built back at home. A life of predictable relationships and musty text books—a life now dedicated to playing catch-up on a great deal of personal discovery.
Any decent psychiatrist worth their salt needed life experience. And just like any decent psychiatrist, she also needed to make peace with her hang-ups—to do away with caution and find some freedom.
She would let life rough her up a little—or perhaps, again—but with a lot less carnage this time.
Maybe the sleepy town of Roseford wasn’t the most daring place to start. But Luke, her tech CEO brother, had been kind enough to offer her free use of his country cabin. As a cash-strapped student, she’d jumped at the chance. From there, she’d been lucky to scrape together enough funds for plane tickets, a hire car, and a bit of spending money.
She already lived in a major city back home, so drew the line at residing under Luke’s nose at his Melbourne home. And Roseford’s big, community aged care facility, with its volunteer program, meant she could work on her people skills. So maybe living in the sticks would be a welcome change after all.
“Want to grab a drink?”
She jolted, stilling just in time to not pour hot tea on her black leggings.
Burnt umber eyes glinted mere inches from her own. Mr. Dark and Mysterious’s gaze did a slow glide over her body. Like a man full of devious, delicious secrets. Like a man imagining her naked. Though whatever he imagined probably didn’t match the reality of what hid beneath her olive-green tunic—a pair of sensible, beige-cotton underwear with a stupidly high waist.
She lowered her teacup to the table. “I. Ah. You’re asking me out?”
Full lips curved higher. “I mean, not now. After the old timers clear off.”
His soft rumble wafted over her like smooth butterscotch, and he stood a little too close. But even his close proximity added an air of natural intimacy.
This guy. With his dark scent of incense and sandalwood. He smelled like an ancient church. Sacred and arcane. Or maybe just a really manly soap. And even though his thick, inky curls sat a little scruffy, and his loose, gray sweat pants were a tad on the overly casual side, he still managed to resemble a sexy version of Lucifer—tall, with imposing physicality—minus the horns and gnashing teeth.
This guy probably enjoyed women clad in red lace and hot times, not a med student in high-waisted underwear and a bad case of repressed sexuality.
She took a sharp swallow at the lump in her throat and searched for her ability to reply. This would be her first, and maybe only, chance at exploring her wild-and-sexy side… Do I even have a wild-and-sexy side?
Then again, she’d taken risks on men in the past. Long ago. Before Hector—who’d been a whole other mistake unto himself...
“Are you sure?” Her brow tightened with the counterproductive question, but she couldn’t stop from voicing her doubt. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
Why am I killing this exchange? I should throw myself at him. Just take whatever is on offer and say yes.
“I thought the whole point of grabbing a drink was to get to know each other.” He dipped his chin, and those deep brown eyes set forth a challenge—as if he knew more about her than she knew of herself. “But I’m happy to skip the drink and get straight to taking each other’s clothes off, if that’s what you’d prefer…”
His lip crept up on one side. She glanced away, face hot, heart thundering. Why hadn’t she thought to splash out on some serious red lace lingerie before embarking on this trip?
“Um…” She cleared her throat, attempting to play cool. “Maybe let’s start with that drink.”
His eyes glinted, and he gave a quick nod, then turned away, calling over his shoulder, “Catch you later.”
He spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. The older woman he’d been sitting beside glared at Sophie.
Sophie loaded herself with cups of tea and s
Sure, maybe Warren’s heart was in the right place, and going on a date with a fellow volunteer held the potential to complicate things should they not get along, but Sophie was a beggar and couldn’t afford to be choosey. Not when she’d found an incredibly attractive opportunity for adventure right here in Roseford. And if this opportunity worked out, she wouldn’t have to bother with long trips to Melbourne just to get some action.
She waved a dismissive hand, a wave that said a strait-laced woman like her knew better than to engage in any trouble with a man like the one she’d just met. Gosh, she’d accepted a date from someone and hadn’t even grabbed his name… Oh well, Warren had to be wrong; no one who was “pure trouble” would spend their time volunteering at an aged care facility.
“Never mind him.” She refocused on Warren, leaning in. “Tell me about you.”
Warren went on to explain about his life. She held a polite smile and nodded at his stories about his family and a long career in metal welding, which had eased off into a newfound passion for small-scale wire sculpturing, all the while dispersing her own input into the conversation.
Just as her pulse finally came down from her earlier excitement, her two-hour window with Warren ended, and in an instant, her pulse picked up again.
Mr. Dark and Mysterious would be waiting for her. She had a date with someone supposedly experienced in trouble. Someone who might be able to show her the way…
She stood and patted Warren’s shoulder, promising to return with the other volunteers in two days’ time.
It’s only a drink. I can do this. Or bail if I really can’t.
A care worker wheeled in a cart with blue lunch trays, while Sophie waited at the common room’s exit, one of the last volunteers to leave. Only, her handsome stranger still sat amongst the tables and the other residents, while his elderly partner brushed past in a hurry to get out.
For a brief moment, a beautiful smile tugged at his soft-looking lips, but then he dipped his chin and those same lips curled into a wicked grin. She waited another few beats, expecting he’d stand and follow her out the door.
But he didn’t.
Her body stiffened. She spun around to peer outside through the glass sliding doors, where the lady he’d sat next to ambled through the parking lot, then ducked into a white hatchback. The taillights flared red, and the car pulled away.
Sophie whipped back to her sexy stranger. Her stomach flipped. A care worker slid a lunch tray in front of him, his new flinty glower saying there’d be no drink.
She’d heard of young people taking up residence in nursing homes, but never before had she actually encountered one. It often took some injury, disability, or condition—something that required twenty-four-hour assistance—to land someone non-geriatric in a place like this. Often because there weren’t enough places in more appropriate facilities, especially if someone lived rural. Rural, as in, Roseford.
Pain radiated through her chest, and her heartbeat throbbed loud in her ears; even worse was the burning in her cheeks and the sickening cramp in her tummy. She forced herself to turn and place one foot in front of another. To get the hell out of there.
The man she’d hoped would kick-start her sexy, new life wouldn’t be “catching her later”. He wouldn’t be going anywhere. He wasn’t even a volunteer. He was a resident.
2
That afternoon, Sophie sat alone at The Keeper’s Arms, Roseford’s only pub. The lighting was subdued and a subtle, but not completely unpleasant, smell of stale beer punctuated the air. Judging by the empty seats, the large venue was at half capacity.
She nursed a white wine on the table before her, and her bruised ego brought strain to her heart. At the very least, she deserved a break from making her own lunch and scrimping over every dollar she spent to be at this pub now.
Her embarrassing encounter at the home left her unfocused and regretful, with little idea of what had truly happened, or why that guy had picked her to torment. Her heart pounded at how much she’d failed at her first attempt at breaking from her boring existence in the hopes of finding a man.
She twisted the wine glass in front of her, the thin stem not quite as cold as the lump that nestled in her chest. A dazzling stranger had jumped at the chance to toy with her. To humiliate her. To chip away at her unstable confidence. Why? Why her? Did she look like a woman easily fooled? Clearly, she did.
The way his all-seeing stare had cooled to flat malice…
She swished the citrine liquid in her glass and then knocked back a big mouthful. Even the biting taste played on her dread. He’d banked on her naïvety. That she’d never pick him for a resident. A man in his thirties, much less mobile, much less seemingly mentally aware. Jerk.
She didn’t know his name. Didn’t know his story or his motivation. But sure enough, she wanted to hate him.
And yet… Something held her back from that very thing. Something about him plucked at her intrigue.
He didn’t appear to have anything wrong with him… Well… Except for his not-so-charming personality.
She scoffed under her breath and shook her head at her stupidity. Maybe she hadn’t moved quite as far from that innocent girl she’d once been, but she could start by letting the whole ordeal go. She’d come to this country for experience, and the dazzling jerk had given her just that—though not the positive encounter she’d hoped for.
Her lunch arrived, and she pushed a fry into her mouth, savoring the comfort of carbs whilst using her spare hand to reach for her phone. She needed to hear a friendly voice and had promised to call her best friend and housemate in London.
“Sophie!” Hannah Taylor’s voice chimed in clear as a bell. “How are you doing? Meet anyone cute yet? Oh God, the house just isn’t the same without you. Talk, girl. Tell me what’s happening.”
Tension slid from Sophie’s body. Hannah was the least difficult person she knew—well, except for the whole being messy thing, and Sophie always having to clean up after her housemate, which did complicate her life more than needed. And then there was Hannah’s strange passion for collecting charity shop handbags and leaving them all over their tiny apartment… “I’m fine, just settling in. Tell me how everything on your side of the pond is doing.”
“Hmm. Well, not much going on, really. You’ve only been away a week. Oooo, but I’m sure you’ll be devastated to hear that I saw Randal Berry leave his apartment with a new, leggy bimbo on his arm.” Hannah giggled.
Randal Berry was their downstairs neighbor, a guy Sophie had a not-so-secret crush on. A crush spanning the entire six years she’d lived in the two-story building.
“Don’t say that.” She reached for her wine glass again, gulping down another sip of reality-obscuring liquid.
“What? The bit about Randal having a new girlfriend, or the part where she’s a bimbo?”
“Both. But the bimbo part especially. It’s beneath you. And she could be a nuclear physicist for all you know.”
“Yeah, but she’s totally not. Come on, Soph, you know Randal doesn’t date anyone with an I.Q. higher than a potato.”
Sophie pulled her wine from her lips and tried not to choke. Hannah did have a point. And Randal did have a type. Tall, athletic, blonde… not very bright… All the clichés and all the things Sophie wasn’t, not with her medium brown waves and shorter than average build. He’d never go out with a visually standard nerd such as herself. Which was probably why she liked him. The man was unattainable. A relationship was never going to happen. Though really, she had no desire to change for a man, so she’d painted herself into a corner with that particular infatuation.
She cringed, and her earlier tension returned. Just today she’d tried to “aspire” again and here she sat, drowning her sorrow and using her best friend for distraction. A small wave of guilt took over, because there was one man that she’d forgotten in all her musing. Hector.
She’d dated Hector for far too long, in part because he seemed a safe bet. But she’d learned that a safe bet wasn’t all that safe when life ticked over and mutual misery provided their only connection. They’d used each other as a crutch to shy away from taking any real risks. Not that her recent attempt at risk-taking had paid off, but at least she could say that for the first time in years she was trying.
