Down Under (Aussies, #2)

by Donna Alam

I’d trade a lifetime of cold beer and hot women to keep him and his twin sister safe.

‘I said no,’ I growl . . . even though I promised myself I’d growl less this week.

‘Can’t say I’ve ever tasted your stuff—your wine,’ I qualify, lest he think I’m talking about tasting other things. ‘I mean, I haven’t seen it around.’ Probably because I mostly buy my wine by the box. That and Walmart probably isn’t his market.

So much for giving up wine with dinner. Tomorrow morning may find me pouring it on my cereal as well.

There’s something about coming home to the smell of baking. Something welcoming. Something that fills holes you didn’t know were there, and I’m not talking about filling the holes in your stomach but maybe the battle-worn patches of your soul.

This morning you’re happy because you’ve realised you have a connection beyond the bits of the pair of you that fit together. You know, your dangly bits?’ ‘Thanks, Mum. I’m pretty sure I know how it works.’

If you don’t ask, you never get.