‘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 caf'e, 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”.’

Rico had to laugh at the picture she’d created.

‘We wouldn’t show them actually doing anything illegal. There’d just be a whole gang of them, and they’d be pushing and shoving each other and yahooing like teenage boys do. For some reason people seem to find that intimidating.’

But she didn’t?

He remembered the way she’d bellowed at Monty on the beach and shook his head. Of course she didn’t. He frowned, though, when he remembered the way she’d jumped when that car had backfired. Was that just to do with her ex?

‘It’d generate interest.’

‘It’d cost valuable money...and time.’

‘But if it brings attention to your cause...?’

She had a point.

‘Anyway, let’s move on. As far as an advertising campaign goes, that’s your lookout.’

He marvelled at her energy.

‘I think once we have the occupational health and safety approval we should organise a working bee. We could do the whole radio call-out for help, but can you convince your teenagers to work for nothing?’

‘Some of them, yes.’ Some of them desperately wanted work, wanted a chance. More than he could possibly employ this time around.

‘If they help paint and decorate the caf'e I expect they’ll start to feel invested in it. Especially if we reward them with free pizza.’

‘That’s an excellent plan.’

She sipped her beer. ‘And one you’d already thought of, I see.’

It was something of a relief to know she didn’t have a monopoly on good ideas. ‘Promise teenage boys free food and they’ll be there—wherever there is.’

She laughed. ‘This is probably something else you’ve already considered, but...’

‘But?’

‘We will get tradesman who’ll offer us their time free of charge—painters and carpenters—if we put a call out. Are there any likely suspects among your boys who’d welcome an apprenticeship in those areas?’

He was already on it, but... ‘Darn, you’re good.’

‘I also think we need to build up hype for the caf'e’s opening. Could we raffle or auction tickets to attend lunch on our opening day?’

He rested his elbows on the table. ‘I think it’s a great idea, but I still want to open the caf'e a week Wednesday.’

She pursed her lips, and he almost laughed at the way she hauled in a breath.

‘So we’re going to be busy next week, huh?’

‘Flat out. I’d rather advertise a gala event for a couple of months down the track. I’d like to invite restaurateurs, managers of catering firms, hoteliers...anyone who might be interested in hiring our trainees.’

She clapped her hands. ‘We could work towards a Melbourne Cup luncheon. That gives us plenty of time to get the boys up to scratch.’

And it would give them time to create a snowball effect in the local media too, with the clock ticking down the days. ‘Excellent!’

He sat back. Instead of hard work and an endless round of bureaucratic red tape, Rico started to envisage the fun of the project, the satisfaction of achievement...and the knowledge that he could make this project work.

He could get boys with too much time on their hands off the streets. He could give them a sense of direction.

He stared at Neen. Again he had to fight the urge to reach across and kiss her.

He rolled his shoulders. Gratitude. That was all it was.

He drained the rest of his squash. ‘Neen, I’m impressed. I knew the moment you walked into my office that you were the right person for the job.’ Which begged the question, why had he ranked two other applicants higher? Why hadn’t he trusted his gut instinct?