A Father At Last by Julie Mac

thousand delicious memories. “Come on, let’s go and look at the gardens. We can come back to the café later.”

    He started walking before she had a chance to kiss him back, or even agree—not that she objected to walking with him. It felt good to have a man take her hand so confidently, and what red‐blooded woman in her right mind would turn down the chance to stroll hand in hand through a beautiful garden on a lovely summer’s evening with a good-looking man?

    She was glad she’d left work early so she had time to shower and change before she came here. She wore her new blue silk top, teamed with a pair of summery white three-quarter pants and her pretty strappy sandals, and she’d spent a good ten minutes with the straightening iron on her humidity‐frizzed hair.

    A couple of young women passed them, heading in the opposite direction, and Kelly saw the looks of appreciation they shot Ben’s way.

    When they’d gone, she turned to him, smirking. “Still turning heads, I see.”

    He pretended not to have noticed. “Why would I look at other women when I’ve got you by my side?” he asked, gripping a little tighter on her hand and pulling her closer to steer her past a rough spot on the path. He wasn’t laughing and Kelly experienced a rush of pure pleasure. The memories were there, hot, strong and undiluted by the passage of time—his skin against hers, his mouth on hers, their bodies moving as one.

    She gave herself up to the sensations washing over her. This wasn’t real and couldn’t last, but for now it was nice—yes, nice, she thought, remembering the word she’d scribbled on her desk pad—to have at her side someone who was good‐looking and desirable.
    Someone who cared, someone admiring, someone protective. She thought of all those growing‐up years she’d gone through without a dad there when she needed him, or even a big brother or an uncle.

    But Ben had been there, right beside her, standing up for her when the other kids at school teased her in those early days of her father’s trouble. He’d got into a few fights on her behalf, too.

    She squeezed on his hand and sighed.

    “What are you thinking, Kelly?” He turned to look at her, frowning as he studied her face.

    “Nothing in particular.” She plastered on a smile, looked away from too‐knowing eyes and kept walking.

    “I believe you are thinking about something in particular. You’ve got that sad look A Father at Last
    you used to get when you had to think about your father.”

    She shot him an involuntary look. Was this man a mind reader? “Do I?”

    “Mm, you certainly do.”

    Annoyed, she tried to shift her hand from his, but he was holding tight. She’d been happy enough enjoying the tranquillity of the gardens, and okay, she had thought about her father, but Ben didn’t have to go spoiling the moment by mentioning him.

    The shell path they’d been following through a quiet woodland of lush ferns and taller trees turned a corner and opened out in front of a large pond, pretty with water lilies and tall, furry‐flower‐spiked raupo.

    He steered her towards a weathered wooden park bench, set back from the edge a little, under a big old oak tree.

    “Want to talk about it?”

    He sat down, and, because he still had hold of her hand and she didn’t have much choice without making a fuss, she sat on the bench beside him, but made sure there was a good gap between them.

    “Nope. There’s no need.”

    “I think there’s every need.” His eyes were holding hers, steady, golden, unrelenting.

    She shrugged.

    “What’s there to tell, anyway? You know what happened—all the gory details. What else do you want to know?”

    He said nothing, just kept watching her patiently, and she knew she sounded like a petulant, defiant child.

    She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I don’t see how dragging up the past ever helps anybody. He stopped being a father to me when I was ten.” She