A Kiss For Carter Read online

  Also by Davina Stone

  The Laws of Love

  The Alice Equation

  The Polly Principle

  A Kiss For Carter (Coming Soon)

  Watch for more at Davina Stone’s site.

  A Kiss for Carter

  Sometimes love is a tall story

  Davina Stone

  Copyright © 2021 by Davina Stone

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-6450065-4-4

  Print ISBN: 978-0-6450065-5-1

  * * *

  Cover design by Bailey McGinn, Bailey Designs Books

  Edited by Vanessa Lanaway, Red Dot Scribble

  This book is dedicated to

  anyone who once sat

  alone in the playground.

  * * *

  A Kiss for Carter is set in a Covid-free parallel universe. Please relax and enjoy!

  Contents

  Play List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  The Felicity Theory (Available early 2022)

  About the Author

  Play List

  Walking On Sunshine—Katrina and The Waves.

  Gold—Spandau Ballet.

  Baby I Love You—The Ramones.

  Tainted Love—Soft Cell

  Sexual Healing—Marvin Gaye

  Relax (don’t do it)—Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

  Vienna‚—Ultravox.

  Like A Virgin—Madonna

  Manic Monday—The Bangles

  Money For Nothing—Dire Straits

  Fields of Gold—Sting

  I’m Gonna Be (Walk 500 miles)—The Proclaimers.

  It Must have Been Love—Roxette.

  Up Where We Belong—Jennifer Warnes/Joe Cocker

  Imagine—John Lennon

  L’Apres midi d’un faune—Claude Debussy

  Concerto for Flute and Harp in C Major—Mozart

  Flute Sonata in B-Flat Major, K. 10, Op. 3 No. 1: I. Allegro—Mozart

  Chapter 1

  The guy in the menswear department eyed Carts’ ankles with a polite smile.

  Carts was used to it, the slightly pitying look that said, “these are the longest pants we stock, dude”.

  He’d already sussed the guy out as one of those trendy buffed nuggets who probably spent all his free time pumping iron. His slicked back, product-filled hair topped a head that barely skimmed Carts’ shoulder. What he lacked in height he certainly made up for in muscle.

  The guy— Baz, he’d introduced himself as—stepped back, crossed his arms and rubbed the designer stubble on his chin. Carts wished he hadn’t grabbed the first threadbare pair of socks he’d found in his drawer this morning.

  Baz narrowed his eyes. Which did nothing to help the situation.

  Tomorrow. The thought made his heart sputter behind his ribs. By tomorrow evening he had to be spruced to the max. And that meant pant hems that didn’t flap around the ends of his calf bones, and no wrists showing below his cuffs.

  Baz wagged an enthusiastic finger in the air. “I think I may have a suit in the back with extra leg length.”

  Carts peered out from under his fringe. “Designer brand?”

  “Of course, mate, of course. I hear you.” Baz tugged at his earlobe. Carts stifled a sigh. Buying clothes when you were 6’6” (and a half) was sheer hell. Not only the change rooms, which near enough exposed your nipples over the top of the curtain, but the pitying looks, the suggestions that maybe if he wore a pair of boots instead of shoes the hem discrepancy wouldn’t show. And as for the jacket. “Buy yourself a pair of trendy cufflinks” a nice motherly woman had said once, “that’ll draw attention away from the shortfall in the sleeves, love.”

  Sometimes it felt like the whole menswear industry of Perth saw him coming and had their lines rehearsed. Which was a dumb-arsed thought, because up until two weeks ago he only went clothes shopping when absolutely essential, which added up to twice a year at most.

  By now, Baz had sped off to the stock cupboard and Carts flicked a look at his phone. His shoulders sagged. No message from Polly.

  He’d sent her an urgent text to let her know he was shopping for suits and needed her advice. No reply. Since his thirtieth birthday party last Saturday Polly had gone to ground. It didn’t make sense; she’d been so helpful the week before, helping him decide which shirt to buy to impress Judith. Carts sighed and pocketed his phone. Even though he’d known her since uni, sometimes sussing out Polly’s moods was like trying to find a golf ball in a blizzard.

  Then he thought about Judith, and his heart fluttered like it had grown wings. Judith. Wow! He was smitten, wasn’t he? Every time he thought of her his insides melted like gooey caramel.

  He’d kissed her.

  She’d kissed him back.

  In the dim light of the street after all the other guests had left and the moon hung like a golden crescent backlit by a zillion southern hemisphere stars, he’d freakin’ kissed her. He was a born romantic, so of course he’d noticed the sky show. And when he’d circled her tentatively with his arms and pointed out the Southern Cross, Judith’s eyes had shone like the two most radiant stars of all.

  He’d bitten his lip and swallowed the words that formed on his tongue. He’d told women things like that before only to get kicked in the balls. Metaphorically, not literally of course. Even though Judith didn’t strike him as the ball-kicking type.

  She was so beautiful, with her long blonde hair and dove grey eyes. When she listened, she really listened. And she had the sweetest laugh that made him want to smile until his face split in half. What’s more, she laughed at his jokes, which were on record as the worst in the world. Laughed like they were the best thing she’d heard in months. And finally, when he’d whispered, “May I kiss you?” and she’d nodded, all it had taken was a dip of his chin to touch his mouth to her soft, enticing lips. In her high heels she was barely an inch or two shorter than him.

  And crickets, could she kiss!

  He’d just started to hum “Walking on Sunshine” when Baz appeared brandishing a rather spunky looking charcoal grey suit.

  “Calvin Klein. Mega long legs.”

  “Cool.” Carts flicked the hair out of his eyes and, taking the suit, held the pants against his body. Relief surged through him as he saw that the legs almost hit the ground.

  “Looks like you’ve found me a winner.” He grinned. “Baz, you’re the man.”

  Baz looked chuffed and Carts decided he wasn’t a bad bloke, after all.

  A short while later, having tried on the pants, ensured the jacket wasn’t flapping around his butt cheeks and the cuffs weren’t midway to his elbows, a happy Carts strode out of Myer, swinging his bag, which also contained
a new tie, courtesy of Baz. Out in the shopping mall, he sent the photo Baz had taken of him wearing it to Polly, with the message, 007 eat your heart out.

  Then he went and bought himself a Green Goddess smoothie from the juice bar.

  Sauntering along, looking in the windows of passing shops, he caught sight of his reflection and frowned. His fucking hair needed cutting.

  His fucking hair always needed cutting. Even after a haircut.

  His boss, Ron Towers, had an infuriating habit of looking up from his desk and shouting “Get a haircut, Wells,” as Carts walked past. To which Carts would grit his teeth and mutter under his breath, “get a life, you old tosser”.

  The problem was, Carts’ hair had two quite unique—and seemingly opposing—qualities. It could fly every which way and form tangles simultaneously. Carts wouldn’t be surprised if there was a mathematical equation for it. His hair had been a nightmare since he was a kid; the fights with his mum over combing it, the inevitable trip to Bob the barber for a number 2 cut. The humiliating teasing at school the next day.

  Finally, at the age of seventeen, he’d found that the only way to avoid looking like the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz was to keep the hair almost touching his collar and flopping over his eyes.

  Ergo, haircuts, like new clothes, were something he avoided until he couldn’t see out from under his fringe. But now… Holy hell! How did you gaze lovingly into a woman’s eyes over a candlelit dinner when she couldn’t even see your freakin’ eyes?

  Maybe if Polly answered his messages, he’d go over to her place and get her to trim a teeny bit off the front.

  He sucked up the last of his Green Goddess through the bamboo straw, searched around until he found a recycling bin and dumped the eco-friendly cup into it.

  His phone rang.

  Tugging it out of his pocket he promptly dropped it.

  Shite.

  Picking it up, he turned it over and stared in horror at the cracks that zigzagged across the screen. The case was supposed to be the kind you could drop in water, lob a grenade at, send to Mars and back and it would still remain intact.

  And to top it all off, it wasn’t even Polly calling, he realised. It was Mum.

  Miraculously, despite the ominous cracks, his phone still worked.

  “Carter.”

  “Yes Mum.” He could hear the piano in the background.

  “I’ll be quick because I’m in the middle of teaching.” His mum’s voice sounded strained above a shocking rendition of “Für Elise”. “Can you come over and talk some sense into your sister?”

  “What’s happened?”

  Things had been a bit pear-shaped with his kid sister Avery lately. He got it. She was sixteen. Angst was obligatory.

  His mum paused. Another jangling note made Carts wince. “She—she’s threatening to give up the flute.”

  Give up the flute! Carts felt his mouth slacken. Avery made the flute sound like angels in flight. Her performance of Debussy’s “L’apres midi d’un Faune” had brought the whole audience to tears. “What the fu—ddle.” Niftily he changed the word. Mum hated him swearing. It was a bad habit he’d got off his mates Aaron and Dan at school and still not grown out of.

  Mum let out a big huff. “I’m beside myself—No, no, Bethany, too much fortissimo. More pianissimo, please—Have you finished work? Could you pop over now?”

  “I suppose so.” He’d been thinking of going and buying a small gift for Judith to give her tomorrow night after their meal out. He drew his shoulders back and pulled his lower lip between his teeth. Except… Wasn’t that his usual pattern? Shower a woman with gifts and watch the sheen of interest seep out of her eyes.

  Stop being so keen, Polly had told him a while back. Play it cool. A little uncertainty keeps a woman interested, she’d said. Polly, after all, was an expert on the mysteries of the female psyche.

  He twisted the bag tightly in his fist. “Sure, yep. I’ll come and talk some sense into her.”

  “Oh you are a lovely boy. Thank you.” Mum’s voice flooded with relief. “Where would I be without you, Carter?”

  As he rung off, Carts shook his head at his phone screen. He’d have to get it repaired in his lunch break tomorrow.

  No chance of a haircut now.

  And still no reply from Polly. Not even a thumbs-up emoji.

  Where the fuck-fuddle was she?

  Up the other end of the mall, Judith was busily piling dresses over her arm.

  This one could look cute. It had a nicely nipped in waist.

  And the red one… could she wear this shade of red or was it too close to orange for her skin tone?

  If only she’d been able to persuade Polly to come shopping with her.

  But Polly had been preoccupied since Carts’ birthday party, and quite grumpy. It was like she had a little black cloud over her head the whole time. In all the three years they’d worked together on Echidna Psychiatric ward, Judith had never seen Polly so out of sorts. She was normally so positive. Judith had a hunch it had something to do with the gorgeous psychiatrist, Solo Jakoby, who’d recently started working with them, but she couldn’t get Polly to own up to anything.

  Judith firmed her lips and put the red dress back on the rack, deciding it would make her look washed out. And she absolutely refused to worry about Polly.

  Her motto had always been: care about everyone else first, Judith Mellors second.

  Not anymore. As of last Saturday, that had changed. She’d been kissed—kissed until her feet almost lifted off the ground with delight and little butterflies erupted everywhere.

  Yes, everywhere!

  Cheeks heating, she almost skipped into the change rooms, accompanied by the memory of two beautiful dark eyes gazing at her like she was the most dazzling woman in the world.

  She’d never felt so attractive in her life. Truth was, her ex, Mark, had never made her feel like a real woman. When they’d got together they were still kids really, so the feel like a woman description didn’t really apply, because she hadn’t been a woman then, had she? A tall, gangly, spotty teenager more like.

  And when their clumsy fumbles hadn’t eventuated into a fully satisfactory love life, well, she only had to look around at other girls’ dating woes and their heartbreaks and she thanked her stars she had dependable old Mark.

  Until, as of four weeks ago, she hadn’t.

  Quickly she tugged off her work blouse and skirt and shimmied into the first dress. Smoothed it down her legs, swivelled this way, then that, and flicked her long blonde hair out around her shoulders.

  Pouted at her reflection.

  Then slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes creased mischievously over the top of her fingers.

  Really, she wasn’t prone to pouting, but it felt kind of fun. Out of character, but fun.

  Because since Carts’ kiss she’d felt different. Like suddenly she was visible. In the romantic sense—even—deep breath in, the sexual sense. She’d always felt visible as the good girl, the girl who studied to be an occupational therapist and put her family and boyfriend first. She thought of all the times she’d taken Mark’s dinner to him while he was gaming on his computer. Bought his favourite chocolate to bribe him into sitting with her on a Saturday night to watch a Netflix show. Not to mention the hours spent working in her craft room on some intricate project, pretending that this was how it should be. Comfortable. Like a pair of old slippers when really, like Polly, she should be out dancing in a pair of Jimmy Choos.

  Now, on to the next dress…

  Fifteen minutes later she was at the counter with three dresses over her arm, because she was darned well going to spend her holiday funds on clothes if she felt like it!

  Her planned holiday with Mark had fizzled when he announced he was leaving her. She’d saved six thousand dollars towards air fares and accommodation. In the name of fairness, she’d handed half of that to Mark, but there was still three thousand dollars in her savings account, doing nothing except gaining a
dribble of interest.

  She placed the dresses on the counter and drew out her purse, handed over her debit card to the girl with barely a qualm. She’d always been cautious, but now, to hell with that. She was going to splurge on clothes and… who knew what next? A new sofa maybe, just so she didn’t have to remember Mark sitting there munching through Cadbury’s fruit and nut, shoulders stooped and chin jutting as he stared at the TV.

  “It didn’t go through.” The store assistant’s voice cut through her musings. Judith blinked. The woman was holding the card up like it was a court summons.

  “Oh—no, there must be some mistake.”

  “I’ll try it again, could be our system.” Judith watched the woman’s red shellacked nails as she tapped at the keypad, waved the card over the screen. Beep. Declined.

  This could not be happening.

  “Maybe your card’s damaged.” The woman had a condescending look in her eyes. Judith sensed herself blushing and mustered, “Could you try one more time? There’s plenty of funds in that account.”

  The assistant’s lip curled. “Sure.”

  Judith waited, her fingers drilling a nervous tattoo on the service desk.

  Beep.

  “Would you like to use another payment method?” The woman handed Judith the card.

  Blushing furiously now, Judith flicked through the cards in her purse. She didn’t like using her credit card too often, though she always paid it off each month to avoid accruing fees. Mark never had a clue about finances and always overspent, and each time, they’d had to do a major reckoning and eat sausages and mash for a week until their next pay came through.