A Southern Star (17 page)

She watched the shop assistant respond to Blake’s natural charisma and air of authority, a pang of emotion flashing through her. Christie moved over to look at another display, unable to see anything in the colour schemes she had imagined. Some of the prices took her breath away; she realised this was the sort of shop she and Paul would have looked in if things had been different.

Christie watched Blake out of the corner of her eye, not acknowledging her sudden irritation or the reason for it. She smoothed her hand over a plain wooden cot, admiring the rich colour, the perfect finish. “That’s not solid wood.” Blake was back, standing next to her.

Christie shrugged. “Don’t let me interrupt you,” she said acidly.
 

He gave a low whistle. “Would that be another mood swing, Christie?” he said, his voice deceptively light.
 

“Probably,” she muttered, trying to cover her overreaction, guiltily aware she was acting possessive when she had no right to.

“As I was saying, it’s just imitation,” Blake said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Is this the sort of thing you were after?”

“Not at this price,” Christie said quietly. “I just like the colour, it looks like kauri.”

Blake smiled. “That’s a North Island wood,” he said. “Do you want a light—coloured cot?” She nodded, continuing to examine the cot, briefly moved to another, which had a darker finish, and then to a painted white cot. Blake watched her silently, noticing she went back again to look at the first cot she had seen.

This time when the assistant approached he was relieved to see Christie asking questions as the assistant demonstrated the features of the cot, showed her the different mattresses. The assistant walked off and Christie turned towards him, her face neutral. “It seems expensive,” she said. “And I was imagining…” She did not finish the sentence, seemingly preoccupied.
 

“What?” Blake said, prompting her.
 

She looked up at him. “I don’t like the design so much.” He shrugged. “We’ll look around then.”

— # —

Christie walked into the large store; Blake had insisted on dropping her off at the door and then parking the car. She walked over to the cot display, looking forward to seeing what was available. She had liked the colour of the cot at the previous store but the design was so—plain. Christie had narrowed it down to two possibilities when Blake joined her; although neither was exactly what she imagined, she was realistic enough to know that this would probably be as close as she could get to what she wanted. She mentally calculated the difference in price, trying out the features of each.

Christie was conscious of Blake watching her silently, suddenly remote. She realised she actually preferred the cheaper model, turned to Blake. “That’s the one then?” he asked, his voice unreadable. Unnerved, Christie nodded. “Christie…” he spoke abruptly, stopped. She looked at him, her face questioning, remembering her earlier resolve to enjoy these two hours, despite the reality of the situation.
Enjoy everything, except Blake flirting with the sales staff
, she thought dryly.

“That’s a quick decision,” he said after a pause. Christie continued to look at him, intuitively sensing he was not saying what he originally planned. She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling.
 

“I could look around some more, but it’s the one I like the best,” she said. “Still a bit plain though.” She shrugged. “I am pleased with it though, Blake.”

“Plain in what way?” he asked.
 

Christie grinned. “I don’t know…I just had an image of some carved wooden thing. Real cots are a lot more practical.” She laughed, unaware of how her face lit up with mirth. After looking around briefly, she walked over to look at pushchairs, immediately drawn to the buggy type designs rather than the conventional pushchairs.

Christie frowned as she tried to work out how to adjust the particular model she was interested in. Blake held himself perfectly still, tense as he watched her. “Thanks for helping,” she said mutinously as she struggled with a lever.
 

“Don’t you want to be left in peace?” Blake retorted, his voice suddenly hard, a dangerous reminder of her overwrought words on the water taxi. Christie’s eyes flashed as she glanced at Blake, silently acknowledging her own contrary behaviour.
 

She became more and more frustrated as the lever did not move. “Christie.” She looked up at Blake suspiciously, hearing the sudden amusement in his tone. “Either look at a different model, or release the brake.” Christie blushed bright red, realising she would never be able to wheel the buggy without remembering this exchange. Blake swore quietly, reached over, released the brake, his hand touching hers briefly.

Christie felt as though his touch burned; not looking at Blake again, she once more tugged on the lever; it swivelled smoothly. “With a bit of practice that could be the ideal buggy,” Blake said calmly, his eyes warm with amusement. She nodded, still embarrassed, her heart still pounding at the remembered sensation of Blake’s touch. Trying to focus, Christie flicked over the price tag, making sure it was within her budget. “How does it compare?” Blake asked, his eyes narrowing.
 

“Fine,” Christie said briefly.
 

“Do you want to look at a couple of other places before deciding?”
 

She shook her head, reminding him of the Internet searches she had done. “I thought I’d get the cot and pushchair here,” she continued. “I want to look at the other shops, but mainly for clothes.”

Blake was silent; again, Christie noticed his remoteness, the shadows in his eyes when moments ago he had been teasing her about the buggy. “What is it, Blake?” she asked bluntly.

He tensed at her words, shrugged, clearly making a deliberate effort to relax. “Just thinking about the meetings this morning.”
 

Christie’s eyes narrowed, sure that in fact he regretted accompanying her, resented time spent with her.
No doubt Lisa had insisted he at least help her with the heavier purchases.
Sudden fury filled her, mixed with disappointment as she realised Blake was just being polite, was keen to get back to work.
What did you really expect?
she asked herself bitterly, remembering his casual, almost automatic flirting with the shop assistant.
 

“What about the meetings?” Emotion made Christie’s voice sharp. She struggled to moderate her tone, not wanting to betray the way she felt. “Don’t feel you have to hang around here if you need to get back to work. Or the shop assistant.” She was unable to disguise the catch in her voice. He looked at her for a long moment; she glared up at him stubbornly.

“I don’t know that I do have time to help you after all.” Blake’s voice was hard, uncompromising. “I’m too busy spiking drinks or trying to pick up complete strangers. At least it’s not your best friend,” he said cuttingly, shocked despite himself, as Christie’s face suddenly bleached white, filling with pain. “Maybe I should call Lisa,” he continued, wanting to emphasise the wild nature of Christie’s accusations. “Then you’d be proved right. Maybe then you could relax.”

“You’re already with Lisa,” Christie retorted, devastated by his words, his reference to friendship, her suspicions spilling out. “So flirt with whoever you want. Not my problem.”

“Christie—” Blake began.

“And all I did was ask you about work,” she flung at him before he could finish. “I know you’d rather not be here. I know it’s a busy day for you.” She broke off, unable to look at him, humiliated by his cutting words and her loss of control.

Christie was conscious of Blake’s rigid self—control as she heard his precise words in reply. “You know I’m not with Lisa, Christie. And I’m not with you either,” he said, his words making her flinch. “So you’re right, I can flirt with whoever I want.” His voice became rough. “And if I choose to talk—” he emphasised the last word, “—with a shop assistant, at least it finally got you interested in shopping for what you need.”

Blake took a step towards her. “Lisa did mention you’d talked about getting gear. You heard my father at lunch yesterday. Inviting you to Dunedin made sense.” Christie was unable to look at him, let alone respond. “And in case you’re worried about my work pressures, a high stakes sales meeting pales in comparison…” he added, stopping abruptly.
 

To dealing with you.
Christie heard the rest of the unspoken words as clearly as if Blake had finished the sentence. He took another step closer, his nearness strangely comforting. Christie was bitterly aware he made no move to touch her, simply stood close to her, gazing down at her. She turned her head slightly, focusing on the fabric of his shirt, intensely conscious of her loss of control, the accusations she had made, his coldly, controlled response.

“Christie.” She looked up at him as he spoke, her eyes huge, troubled. “I can talk to female shop assistants,” he said, unerringly focusing on the flashpoint of her outburst. “I can’t help the way they react to me,” he said outrageously, his mouth curving into a smile at Christie’s appalled look. It took her a moment to realise he was joking, pretending to be exactly what she had accused him of being.

“You and Lisa seem to have a close friendship,” Blake continued. Christie sensed he was choosing his words carefully. She nodded mutely, looking away. “So surely she’s explained…” He let his voice trail off, clearly genuinely at a loss.
 

“I just jumped to conclusions,” Christie muttered, now embarrassed beyond measure at what her angry words had revealed, desperately hoping Blake would not continue with his perceptive comments and questions.

He nodded slowly, still thinking about her words, her reaction, deciding not to press her further. “Always dangerous,” he said neutrally. “Do you think you can get through the next hour without that happening again?” Christie nodded, her face still flushed. “Good,” Blake said calmly, standing silently as a shop assistant approached. He watched Christie’s face as the assistant explained that the buggy would need adapting to be suitable for a newborn, showed her what was required.

Christie glanced at Blake quickly as the assistant turned to him, obviously assuming he was the baby’s father. “Is that still the one you want, sweetheart?” Blake asked Christie, amusement glinting in his eyes, slight sarcasm in his voice. She nodded, dully registering his endearment, the look in his eyes daring her to make a scene as he played on the shop assistant’s assumption.

“What about that extra padding for a newborn baby?” Blake asked as Christie remained silent. “Is that included?” Silently, he calculated the extra cost of the displayed add-ons that were available, noticing the row of durable plastic toys and even a small animal mobile displayed by the pushchair, wondering how the toys could be attached to the pushchair.

“And is this a good quality model?” He found himself still questioning the shop assistant in the face of Christie’s continuing silence, knowing he should stop, unable to do so as his practical mind seized on the features of the buggy. “Can these toys be attached?” The assistant spoke to them both as she answered.
 

Blake knew this was the pushchair Christie wanted, had seen the uncertainty on her face at the extra costs, knowing that she too, with her quick mind, would be calculating the total. He heard her ask about another model, dismiss it.
I’ll just spend a bit more
, Christie said to herself, reminding herself she had savings for exactly this situation, unable to resist the optional toys the assistant had referred to. She heard Blake’s authoritative voice telling the assistant they would look around before deciding. “This is the one I want,” Christie said to Blake, determined to maintain a civil tone, still unsettled at Blake’s sarcastic endearment.

“Still in your budget?” he asked gruffly.
 

“More or less,” Christie said. “It’s not that much more, and it seems like an all-in-one.” She felt drained after her outburst, her words cautiously polite. She turned to the hovering assistant, confirming what she wanted.
 

Blake spoke before he could think. “And one of those attachments, the bigger one with the toy zoo animals and the shapes. And the dolphin mobile.”

“No,” Christie spoke firmly, embarrassed at Blake’s involvement, at his choosing toys for the baby, when in reality she knew he was only here because Lisa had asked him to help. No doubt after all his questions about prices he thought Christie couldn’t afford to buy even small extras; felt compelled to buy a gift. Pride flared up in her. “I don’t want them,” she said ungraciously, despite them being the exact designs she had planned to get.
 

“No?” said Blake in mock surprise, trying to cover his lapse but still determined to get the toys for Christie’s baby. Too late, Christie heard the steel underneath his teasing tone. “If it’s a boy he won’t thank you for the pink unicorn mobile, Christie. Or the matching plastic dolls. Imagine looking back at the photos.”
 

Christie rounded on him. “I don’t mean the designs, Blake. I don’t want you buying them. I can pay for them. I’m not a charity case.”

“Lisa asked me to keep an eye out for something for the baby,” Blake lied smoothly as inspiration struck him. “Those toys and mobile seem ideal, something the baby would enjoy.” He shrugged in what he hoped was a casual manner, privately thinking such a small mobile would be a complete waste of time, even though Christie kept glancing at it.