The December morning had dawned humid and warm, so it was a relief to walk into the air-conditioned café, the smell of coffee and warm muffins making her mouth water even as she walked through the door. Dion was already there, sitting at a table with a latte, looking out of the window at the bustling town, but he turned as she approached. He stood, and her heart rate increased at the sight of him in beige cargo shorts and one of the new tight-fitting All Blacks rugby tops that showed off the sculpted muscles of his torso. Sean had told her Dion had asked to go shopping to Whangarei the day before, the nearest city an hour away, and he’d bought some more casual clothing. They suited him—he looked younger, a little less awkward than he had the moment he’d walked into Sean’s house, dressed like an Italian businessman on holiday. She stomped on her feelings, though, conscious of the fact that he wasn’t smiling, his eyes still hard. That bird’s long flown, she told herself firmly.
