Turning, Kate gripped the back of a kitchen chair. Stumped, she looked to Tilly.

Tilly swallowed. “So Jim is going to stay with us tonight so we can take him to Mornington train station tomorrow morning before mass.”

Kate blinked twice. “Oh?” She paused. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head, needing to clarify. “You’ve met before tonight?”

A pink flush crept up Tilly’s neck. “No.”

Kate’s jaw set hard as she fixed Tilly with a piercing glare. She’d met a stranger crossing the bay and invited him to dinner and a sleepover? Had she lost her goddamn mind? Who was this person? Was she looking to be butchered in her sleep?

“So.” Tilly shifted to lean a hip against the arm of the lounge. “It’s just for tonight.”

Over my dead body it is. No way in hell was he staying. He’d be on the next ferry out, no doubt about that. What kind of psychopath accepted a young woman’s invitation to stay in her home overnight? A serial killer, that was who. As Jim leaned forward to place the mug on the coffee table, Kate shook her head at Tilly so fiercely she almost jarred it.

Tilly ignored it. She sank into the corner of the lounge and plastered on a smile for Jim.

“I’ve organised for Jim to stay with St. Matthew’s House in the city for a few weeks.”

Kate stiffened. St. Matthew’s House? Oh God…Tilly, what have you done?

Jim turned to face Kate. “I was lucky enough to meet Matilda. Like a guardian angel she is. I tried that St. Vincent’s last night. They had the old shed behind the church and the minister there used to let me roll out my swag overnight, but the new minister wasn’t too keen on that, sent me away…” He sighed. “What can you do? Can’t just expect things of people.”

Kate swallowed.

Tilly turned to her. “I rang ahead to St. Matthew’s and they had a resident move out just this morning.”

“Like fate,” Jim inserted. He pointed a finger at Tilly, jabbed it playfully into the air between them. “I’ll tell you what, they need more Catholics up in Canberra.”

Tilly blushed.

As they both looked to her for a reaction, Kate forced a smile. Her gaze flickered to the pile of blankets by the lounge. Matilda Wattle: solving Australia’s housing crisis one step at a time.

If the Archangel Gabriel had shown up in her office that evening and told Kate that she’d spend her Saturday night watching a DVR’d episode of The Bachelor with Tilly and a homeless stranger, she would have called his bluff.

From her place on the recliner, Kate glanced across the lounge, watching as Tilly explained to Jim the intricate politics of rose ceremonies and eliminations. Subtly, she let her gaze track Tilly’s body. Tilly usually looked stylish and put together—even if the girls thought it dowdy—but tonight she looked flustered, frazzled. The collar of her highly-buttoned shirt poked over the neckline of the grey university jumper that swallowed her up. Paired with her long, matronly skirt and ankle-grazing slippers it was certainly a look.