I’d rather pull my own toenails out than suffer through a family Easter with everyone knowing Adrian and I were over, all of them speculating about the ins and outs of our separation.

For this reason, I’d politely declined, suggesting I hand over the house and the kids to Adrian a day early, which also meant I could drive up to the Point earlier than usual. This wasn’t something I planned on making a habit of, but now that I’d made arrangements with Wei and Meili to make my stay in the shack temporarily permanent, I couldn’t wait to get there and start making the place feel like home—for when the kids came to stay, but also for myself. The only thing about the house in Perth that felt like home anymore was the kids and Charlie; everywhere I looked there were memories of a life that hadn’t been what I’d imagined it to be. Being there made me feel like a fool and a failure.

‘Ashling!’

Lost in my thoughts of the past, present and what the future might hold, I jumped out of my skin at the sound of my name, then glanced up to see Dan on the balcony of his big glass monstrosity.

‘Stay there,’ he shouted and then disappeared inside.

Less than thirty seconds later, he reappeared round the side of the house and headed towards me. He wore black shorts, a blue Lobster Factory polo shirt, no shoes, and his damp hair suggested he’d either been for an early morning swim or just come from the shower. The shadow of dark stubble on his jawline only added to his casual attractiveness.

Not used to thinking about strange men naked in showers, guilt swamped me. But hang on! I was a free woman. I could think illicit thoughts about whoever I wanted. Whenever I wanted. Hell, I could even sleep with them if the opportunity arose. My insides tingled as I contemplated what it might be like to sleep with Daniel Emerson, but I almost instantly berated myself. Sex, especially of the rebound variety, should be the last thing on my mind right now.

I wouldn’t even know how to go about it!

Quite aside from being ill-prepared mentally to fall into bed with another man, such an occasion would require intense physical preparation. Like leg waxing, fancy underwear purchasing—my current bras and knickers were suitable for married eyes only—toenail painting, exfoliating, and, most vital of all, bikini waxing. I’d been hugely lax in that department. No one aside from Adrian and the doctor who performed my bi-annual pap smear had been anywhere near my nether regions in the last few years, never mind anyone with hot wax.

Eek. I’d probably have to go the full shebang and get a Brazilian—wasn’t that what men expected these days?