Misty stared up at him, astounded. Her thoughts were whirling.

Extremely expensive was suddenly no cost at all.

No cost except putting her dreams on hold yet again.

How could she not?

Nicholas was looking at her. Her whole class was looking at her.

‘Fine,’ she said weakly. ‘I do need a dog.’

Dreams were just that-dreams.

Frank arrived then, blustering away his absence, playing the School Principal to Nicholas and to Bailey. Misty used the time to excuse herself and phone Dr Cray to say she was accepting Nicholas’s very kind offer.

‘Misty, love, are you out of your mind?’ the vet demanded. ‘You need this dog like a hole in the head. He’s old, neglected and he’ll need ongoing treatment for the rest of his life.’

‘He’s got lovely eyes. His ears… He’s a sweetheart, I know he is.’

‘You can’t save them all. You swore you didn’t want another dog. What about your list?’

‘You know that’s just a dream.’

Of course he did. This was Banksia Bay. The whole town knew everyone else’s brand of toothpaste. So the town knew about her list, and they’d know her chances of achieving it had just taken another nosedive.

She cringed, but she couldn’t back down now. It’d be like tearing away a part of herself-the part that said, Good old Misty; you can always depend on her. The part where her heart was. ‘I’ve fallen for him,’ she said, softly but determinedly. ‘Now that Mr Holt’s paying…’

‘And that’s something else I don’t understand. Who is this guy?’

‘I don’t know. A painter. New to the town.’

A pause. Then… ‘A painter. I wonder how he’d go painting props.’

Fred Cray was head of Banksia Bay Repertory Society. There was a lot more to moving to Banksia Bay than just emptying a moving van. Did Nicholas realise it?