He set his lemon squash on the table with a thump. Rather than despair, he should have started troubleshooting—like Neen. He should have been proactive. He was usually so—

Louis’s birthday. He fell into a chair. Today should have been Louis’s birthday, and the knowledge had taunted him from the moment he’d opened his eyes that morning, surrounding him in darkness and a morass of self-loathing.

He jerked in his seat when he found himself the subject of Neen’s scrutiny again.

‘When was the last time you had a decent night’s sleep?’ she asked.

Ten years ago.

The unbidden answer made him flinch. He stared back at her and ferociously cut off that line of thought. ‘I could ask the same of you,’ he said, noting the dark circles under her eyes.

A shadow flitted across her face and he immediately wished the words unsaid. Some jerk was harassing her. Of course that would be playing havoc with her peace of mind. Then there was that dinner of hers last night, which obviously hadn’t gone well. The last thing she needed was to be reminded of her troubles.

‘What happened at dinner last night?’

He couldn’t believe he’d asked. He stiffened, seized his squash and took a gulp, almost choking on it. She raised an eyebrow and he couldn’t tell if she was laughing at him or not.

‘Sorry, none of my business.’

‘It ended in accusations and angry words.’ She shrugged. ‘Which is what I expected. But a girl can hope, can’t she?’

His hand tightened about his glass. Very carefully he set it down. ‘You didn’t entertain that ex who’s—?’

‘What kind of idiot do you think I am?’

Blue eyes flashed at him, easing the tightness in his chest. He frowned when he realised the tightness had threatened to relocate lower. He did what he could to ignore the burn and throb. Louis’s birthday. It had thrown him off kilter the entire day.

‘Sorry, I...’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve had too much experience with women getting caught up in the cycle of domestic violence.’

‘Personal experience?’

‘No.’ He hadn’t watched it from the sidelines growing up. He hadn’t suffered from it himself. He had no such excuse. ‘On-the-job experience.’

She stared into her beer. ‘It’d be awful to see one’s mother go through that.’

It was hard enough watching it in the families of the kids he was trying to help.

‘Remember how I said there was an issue of a contested will?’

He nodded.

‘Dinner last night was with the other interested party.’

And it had ended with angry words and accusations? ‘I’m sorry it didn’t go well.’

She shrugged. ‘Thank you, but it has nothing to do with work. What we need to do is come up with a game plan.’

He was so used to people requesting—demanding—assistance from him that Neen’s take-charge attitude threw him.

In a good way.

‘I see the most pressing concerns as, one: getting the place fumigated, and two: getting in an electrician to check the place over. Rats will gnaw through anything.’

‘I know a good electrician who’ll be happy to help in return for a bit of advertising.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Precisely how big are we going to make our menus, Rico?’

That surprised a laugh out of him. ‘I don’t have any contacts in the pest-control industry.’ Though whichever company he selected he could talk to them about taking on an apprentice or two, couldn’t he? There might just be a silver lining in all of this, after all.

‘You’re obviously worried about the budget.’

She lifted her beer to her lips and it suddenly struck him how pretty she was. Not in a loud, showy way—nobody would ever call her beautiful—but with her fall of thick chestnut hair, pert nose and wide mouth she was most definitely pretty.

And the longer he stared at her the more that weight on his shoulders lifted.

She touched her face. ‘What?’

What was he doing? He didn’t have time to consider a woman’s finer attributes. He didn’t have time for romance. Certainly not with an employee. He was tired, that was all. He brushed a hand across his eyes. He hadn’t had a holiday in...

Ten years.

‘Worry about budgets goes with the territory,’ he bit out.

Behind the blue of her eyes her mind clearly raced. She had lovely eyes—not too big and not too small, but perfectly spaced and—

He dragged his gaze away. This woman didn’t miss a trick, and he would not be caught out staring at her again.

‘Look, this is a charity café, right? It’s a programme to help train disadvantaged youth and place them in the workforce, yes? Then there must be huge scope to get the community behind it.’

‘Every single charity and community service initiative can make that exact same claim.’ He sat back. This was one of the major problems he faced—getting good exposure for his programmes, finding backing and sponsorship. ‘The community is feeling a bit...’ he grimaced ‘...a lot “charitied out”. People only have so much to give.’ And they were asked to give to so many different causes.

He understood that. He even empathised. But if he could just get a few more key players interested... The problem was, his kids weren’t cute and cuddly. They were scowling, slouchy, smart-mouthed teenagers. That didn’t do him any favours in the advertising stakes.

Neen tapped the table with her pen. ‘Earlier in the year there was a family whose home was severely damaged by a storm. Unbeknownst to them it wasn’t covered in their insurance.’

He scowled. Rotten insurance companies.

‘One of the local radio stations put a call out to tradesmen for help and they were flooded with offers. Apparently the advertising the tradesmen received was worth the work they did. We could do something similar. We could create a bewitchingly irresistible press release and send it in to the station of our choice.’

That had potential. ‘I have a contact at one of the radio stations.’ His heart started to thump. If they could get a fumigator and an electrician free...

For a moment he was tempted to seize her face in his hands and kiss her. He took a gulp of his drink instead.

She shimmied in her chair, her eyes bright. ‘Do you have a contact at the local television station?’

Why wasn’t he the one bubbling over with ideas? Once upon a time... He shook the thought off. ‘You’re thinking of getting someone to interview me, you, some of the staff?’

‘I’d prefer to remain in the background.’

He remembered her ex-boyfriend and beneath the table his hand clenched. ‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘Look, I’ve spoken to the press a lot, Neen, and I have no problem with that, but some of the boys are barely articulate.’ If they did a television interview they’d need to show the boys to their advantage or they’d be doing more harm than good.

Her lip curled. ‘Aren’t you sick of all those earnest ad campaigns?’

He shrugged. All he knew was if you stuck a puppy, kitten or a baby in front of a camera you received ten times more funding.

‘Why couldn’t we do something fun? Use humour?’

He recognised the fire in her eyes and momentarily envied it. ‘Like...?’

She suddenly laughed, and it hit him that she smelled of the crisp alpine air that could be found in Tasmania’s Southwest National Park. A place he hadn’t visited in over...

Ten years.

He swallowed and kept his eyes on Neen’s laughing face until the darkness started to dissolve and lose its hold.

‘Why couldn’t we show a motley bunch of teenage boys walking the streets and looking threatening and scary, with a voiceover that says, “Do you want these boys prowling your street?” There could be elderly people rushing into their homes and locking their doors in a really over-the-top way. And then we could pan to the café, with all the boys gainfully employed and serving coffee and scrummy cake to all those previously scared residents. The voiceover could then say something along the lines of, “Help us get them off the streets and gainfully employed”.’