‘You’re just like Isabelle.’

It had been said in an instinctive reaction when he hadn’t got his way. Yes, it was born of his need to protect Bailey, but it had been unfair and untrue. He thought of Misty’s face when he’d said it and he felt appalling.

‘We miss her,’ Bailey said, looking at pages linked to the item at the top of her list, at the advertisements for hot air ballooning over Paris, at the lists of castles on the Dordogne, at photographs of a tiny chateau hotel at Sarlat, at underground cellars, miles and miles of cellars where they kept the world’s great Burgundies. Paris in springtime. France. ‘She’ll be there now,’ he said. ‘Is hot air ballooning dangerous?’

Yes, was his instinctive response. After the terrors Bailey had been exposed to…

But he knew it wasn’t.

‘No,’ he told his son. ‘It can be uncomfortable. Often noisy.’

‘It doesn’t look noisy,’ Bailey said doubtfully.

‘The gas burners are really loud.’

‘I don’t think Misty likes noise. Do you think we should ring her and tell her not to do it?’

He picked up the list and read it. Drinking Kir at sunset on the Left Bank. Wandering through the Louvre. Standing on top of the Arc de Triomphe and watching the crazy traffic underneath.

What was this? Hiring a motor scooter and riding round the Arc de Triomphe? Should he ring and tell her how crazy that was?

No.

He thought of her sailing, wearing a life vest. He and Bailey had watched her from the clubhouse before the race, practising and practising. Pushing herself to the limit, but her little boat was fine.

He’d accused her of being just like Isabelle. Was he mad?

‘I think Misty wants to find out all by herself,’ he said, and he knew part of it was true-she did want to find out-but the rest…

Bailey went to bed and he returned to Misty’s side of the house-with scrapbooks. Misty was here on these pages, a girl’s dreams followed by a woman’s serious commitment.

He’d given her a choice. Himself and his son-or her dreams. Would he want her to give this up?

He’d asked her to.

What to do?

He had clients arriving in Banksia Bay now. His international clients were talking to him about their boats, about their dreams. They were finding out where he was based and saying, ‘You know what? We’ll come talk to you in person.’

They loved it. Banksia Bay was beautiful. He never had to leave.

Bailey was safe.

But these scrapbooks…

Her list…

Twelve months.

The dogs sighed. They lay at his feet but they looked at the door.

‘She’ll be back in a year,’ he told them.

But if there’s someone else in her balloon…some guy who sees what Misty really is…how beautiful…

How could they not? He flicked through the list, thinking if she found someone to do these with her…

It was an amazing list.

He hadn’t done some of the stuff on this list.

Bailey was asleep. Here. Safe. But maybe…maybe…

He read the list again. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

This was not Isabelle.

Maybe dreams were made to be shared?

He turned to the dogs, considering. It was his responsibility to care for these two. Kennels?

No. He knew where they’d come from. If he and Bailey were to be free…

‘Sorry, guys, but I think tomorrow morning we need to go see Fred.’

Fred the vet.


She’d been away for six weeks. She was loving every minute of it. Sort of.

Number three on her list was cruising the Greek islands. It’d be magic. She’d pinned pictures up on her study wall at home. Whitewashed villas with blue-painted windows. Caiques bobbing at anchor. Greek fishermen stripped to the waist, hauling in their nets. Santorini, Mykonos, the Cyclades islands. It was all before her.

She climbed off the bus at the harbour in Athens. Her boat was due to leave in two hours. Two emotions…

After so much planning, it was impossible not to feel exhilarated as dreams became real.

It was also impossible to block the thought that back home was Nick. Nick and Bailey and Ketchup and Took, learning to live in Banksia Bay without her.

She couldn’t think about them now. She mustn’t. To follow her dreams with regret-what sort of compromise was that? She lifted her back pack and trudged down to the departure point, telling herself firmly to think ahead.

But the boat at anchor wasn’t what she’d expected. In the pamphlets it had been shown as a graceful old schooner, wooden planking, sails, lovely.

The boat before her was huge, white, fibreglass. There were tourists filing up the gangplank already. Many tourists. This was far bigger than she’d imagined.

Her heart sank-but she was getting used to this. Adjusting dreams to fit reality. She would not be disappointed. She’d looked forward to this for so long. Sailing on the Aegean…

But still… No sails. So many tourists.

A hand on her shoulder.

‘It’s not the same as your pictures. Maybe we can offer you an alternative?

She almost jumped out of her skin.

She whirled-and he was there.

‘We came to find you,’ Nick said before she could even kick-start her heart. ‘Me and Bailey.’ He smiled down at her, a smile that made her heart stop even trying to kick-start-and he put on the voice of a spruiker, the guys who pushed tourists to change their minds.

‘Madam wishes to sail the Greek islands? On this?’ He gestured contemptuously to the fibreglass cruiser. ‘My Mahelkee is a much smaller boat, but she’s infinitely more beautiful. There’s four aboard now. A crew of four, whose only wish is to keep madam happy. You come with us, madam, and we will make you happy. You come with us, madam, and we intend to make you happy for the rest of your life.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

YOU didn’t travel alone for long without learning to avoid spruikers. Misty was very good at saying, ‘No, thank you,’ and walking away without looking back.

But this was some spruiker.

For a start, he wasn’t alone. He was working as one of a pair. For as well as Nick with his heart-stopping smile, there was also Bailey. Bailey wasn’t smiling. He was a little behind his father, gazing up at her as if he wasn’t quite sure he still knew her. Anxious. Pleading? Nick. Bailey.

How to get her heart beating like it should again? She wasn’t sure she could.

‘H…How…?’ she managed. ‘How did…?’

‘Lots of work,’ Nick said. He’d removed his hand from her shoulder. He was no longer touching her. He was just…smiling. If she wanted to back away and head up the gangplank to her cruiser, she still could.

Turn away? A girl would be mad.

‘W…work?’ she managed. ‘You’ve worked to get here?’

‘We just got on an aeroplane,’ Bailey said from behind his father. ‘It was easy.’

‘So no work.’

‘We would have worked if we had to,’ Nick said. Virtuous. ‘To reach you. And I had to make a whole lot of phone calls.’

‘Dad slept on the aeroplane,’ Bailey said.

‘First class, huh,’ she said and somehow she managed a smile.

‘Of course,’ Nick said, and his smile deepened and strengthened, a caress all by itself. ‘If it’s to reach you, then only the best will do.’

‘Nick…’

‘We have your list.’ Bailey was clutching his father’s hand but his eyes were on Misty. Desperately anxious. ‘Dad and I have your list. We want to do it, too. If you let us.’

There was a statement to take a girl’s breath away. We want to do it, too…

‘I believe I’ve made a mistake,’ Nick said gravely. Around them, passengers were streaming up onto the gangplank. They were having to divert around this couple and child, plus one very large backpack. Misty didn’t notice. ‘I believe I made the biggest mistake of my life. I’m hoping…Bailey and I are hoping…that it’s not too late to fix it.’

She was having trouble breathing. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she whispered.

‘We mean your list is part of you,’ Nick said, and still he didn’t touch her. He was holding back, leaving her be, outlining the facts and allowing her space to absorb. ‘After you left, Bailey and I read your scrapbooks.’

‘You read…’

‘We hope you don’t mind.’

‘No, but…’

‘But they’re part of who you are,’ he said. ‘Part of the whole. Misty, we tried to love only the part of you that I wanted. That was so dumb it doesn’t bear thinking of. I’m hoping against hope that it’s not too late to let me repair the damage. I’m hoping it’s not too late to tell you that I love all of you, without reservations. That Bailey and I fell in love with Misty the schoolteacher, Misty the dog-lover, Misty the sailor. But we want more. We want Misty the traveller. Misty the adventurer.’ He hesitated. ‘And… And Misty, my wife?’

‘Oh, Nick…’

‘And Misty the mother,’ Bailey piped up from behind. ‘When we talked about this at home…Dad, you said Misty the mother. You said let’s come over here and see if we can make Misty love us. Let’s come over here and see if we can get Misty to teach me how to make scrapbooks. But I’ve already started,’ he said proudly. ‘I have a picture of a motorbike on the first page.’

‘A motorbike,’ Misty said faintly. ‘Aren’t they dangerous?’

‘Yes,’ Bailey said, peeping a smile. ‘And they’re noisy. Like balloons.’

She smiled back. She wasn’t sure how she managed to smile. She believed there were tears slipping down her cheeks.

Tears? Who felt like crying now?

‘We have a tour mapped out,’ Nick said. He reached a hand towards her and then pulled it back again. As if he was afraid to touch-as if she might turn and flee if he did. ‘Santorini, Mykonos, the Cyclades Islands.’

‘They’re the ones on your list but Dad says we can do more,’ Bailey said. ’Cos Mahelkee is a smaller boat. She can go into lots of places big boats can’t go. Dad showed me on the Internet-there’s beaches and beaches and beaches. There’s even places where Ketchup and Took can get off. They can’t get off here because of…qu… Dad, what is it?’