Chapter 3
THREE
Brooke
Brooke clicked “send” on her latest job application—a customer service officer at the airport. She sat back on the bed, snapping her laptop shut. That was enough for this morning. If she did get the airport job, maybe it could lead to cheaper travel? Oh! Maybe she should apply to be an air hostess?
She yawned, took off her headphones and stretched her arms overhead. Shower time. She slipped out of her room and across the hall, trudging to the bathroom door and swinging it open—
SMACK!
It stopped a quarter of the way.
Weird. Was it stuck on something? She shoved harder, trying to stick her head around to see the obstruction.
“What the hell?” she said, hitting the door with her shoulder. No luck.
“Hey!” a voice shouted. That wasn’t Hayley. Or Marie.
Oh shit.
The person grunted, shuffling on the other side.
Brooke slammed the door shut before they got any closer.
She gripped the handle with both hands, knuckles white, heart hammering.
In all her time overseas, she’d never experienced an intruder in her accommodation.
Less than a month back in Adelaide and now this!
Fuck. Okay, breathe, Brooke. Should she yell or stay quiet? She glanced around. Should she run? Wait, Hayley should still be downstairs.
“Help!” she yelled. “Hayley!”
The door wrenched from her grip. A woman stood on the other side with wide eyes, big headphones on and one arm in the air in surrender.
“Hey, hey,” the woman said. “Hang on.” She held up a finger and took her phone out, jabbing at the screen then slipping her headphones off. “I’m the painter—for Marie and Hayley? Is everything okay?”
Brooke could now see the woman wasn’t an armed burglar.
She was about the same height, with a similar shade of blonde to her own, but where Brooke’s hair was over halfway down her back, the painter rocked a side fade and a pixie cut.
Painters didn’t usually look this cool. Or muscular.
Those were some very toned arms. Curious brown eyes waited for Brooke to respond.
Her overalls were extremely clean for a painter.
Brooke’s eyes narrowed. Just as she opened her mouth to question her, Hayley made it to the top of the stairs, out of breath, head swinging between them.
“What’s going on?” Hayley asked.
The painter’s face burned crimson. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you had anyone else in the house. My ladder was against the door.” She pointed to the ladder, now moved out of the way and propped up against the wall of the bathroom.
Hayley faced Brooke, eyes imploring. “Bee, I told you Precision Painting was starting this week.”
Brooke had no recollection of that. At all.
And she’d continue to spend the rest of the week avoiding those conversations.
Anything to keep away from more sisterly chats where she just froze like a fool.
The sooner she got a job, the better. Especially with Hayley’s recent line of questioning, it was becoming obvious they didn’t like her staying with them any more than Brooke did.
She was just another annoyance in their busy lives.
“I forgot.” Brooke shrugged and moved past Hayley to the top of the stairs, heading to the kitchen. Her face heated with each step, flashes of her overreaction fuelling the flush until she was steaming by the time she turned on the coffee machine, her attempt to have a shower long forgotten.
She scoffed. “So embarrassing,” she mouthed. Travelling alone for so long, Brooke was used to being on guard in hostels, BnB’s, and the occasional seedy locations. She really needed to work on her fight or flight response now she wasn’t travelling.
“Are you okay?”
Brooke jumped, then bristled as she grabbed her mug and shoved it into the coffee machine. Hayley checking on her was the last thing she wanted. It was bad enough Brooke had called out to her for help. She shouldn’t be relying on her family like that. Shouldn’t need to.
“Fine,” she responded, eyes on the machine as it whirred loudly and sputtered an intense espresso into her mug. Hayley’s footsteps faded behind her. She grabbed the cup and held it to her nose. Fuel of the gods. She took a sip, and her shoulders dropped.
The bitterness mirrored her mood as Brooke sat on the perfect couples’ disdainful velvet couch.
Leaving home at nineteen, she’d felt real freedom, finally away from her parents’ expectations.
The places she’d been, the things she’d done—ten years worth of memories.
Yet sitting here and seeing everything Hayley had built with her life, it felt like Brooke’s own life meant nothing.
They weren’t real achievements in her family’s eyes.
You couldn’t invest memories or buy a house with travel experience.
Why had she resorted to coming back here?
She took out her phone. Maybe a few minutes mindlessly scrolling social media would help her forget this moment?
Unfortunately, it was filled with friends and acquaintances; on boats, tuk-tuks, skis and even husky-pulled snow sleds.
Her heart ached to be in any one of those places.
She pictured being back in one of her favourite spots—Thailand.
Memories rushed back to her. The amazing small islands, being on her motorbike exploring lush rainforest-like winding roads, sailing past pristine beaches, breeze whipping in her hair.
Oh, and the food. The local street stalls with their plates of pad thai and khao pad piled high.
“You look a little happier now,” the painter said as she walked through the lounge carrying two very large paint tins.
Brooke’s smile pulled tight. “Just wishing I was anywhere but here.” She waved her phone screen at the woman, showing her current newsfeed: a sunset photo of palm trees framing an ocean so still, it looked like a mirror.
The painter paused mid-stride, changing her grip on the paint as she took a closer look at the screen.
“Oh? Me too.” She placed the heavy tins on the floor. “Any travel plans?”
The painter’s smile tweaked the smallest of guilt in Brooke at the earlier shrug off.
Brooke assessed the professionally-presented painter.
She didn’t know anything about this woman, but she didn’t look like a traveller.
She was probably one of those people who, if they did travel, went to a resort and had the same buffet food that they ate at home and called it a cultural experience.
Brooke toyed with how to answer the question that brought an ache to her gut. When would she travel again?
“I wish. You?” Might as well make polite conversation.
“I wish,” the painter parroted with another grin, then she grimaced. “Got some time booked off but haven’t done anything about it yet. All I know is I want to see South Australia.”
“But you live here.” Brooke scrunched up her nose. Of anywhere in the entire world, why would anyone choose Adelaide? Not even Melbourne, or Sydney? They were such vibrant cities with a lot more to see and do.
“There isn’t a better place to start than right at home.”
Brooke swallowed down a scoff and swung her feet onto the couch. “Hard disagree.”
The painter’s eyebrows shot up, and Hayley chose that moment to re-enter the lounge.
“My sister is the queen of travel. She’s been everywhere. I’m sure she has a tip or two—”
“Not about Adelaide I don’t.”
Hayley’s expression flattened as she turned away and headed into the kitchen.
The painter looked between them. “I’m sure you know a thing about travelling well though, right? Making itineraries, how to pack…”
“I guess.” Brooke pulled her legs to her chest and gulped her coffee.
Travelling was her life. Was her life. Past tense.
But Brooke could book a flight to Thailand and know what river boat she needed to get on to head to Cambodia—no problem.
Back here, she felt like she didn’t know how to “life” stuck in the one place.
Talking about someone else’s travel was a kick in the teeth.
“Maybe I could pick your brain later?” the painter asked, eyes wide, pleading.
Brooke twisted her bracelets. Not likely. Her entire body ached to be away again. Could she even stomach talking about travel? This moment right now was hard enough. She tried to run a hand through her hair, getting stuck halfway. She shook her hand loose, hair flying everywhere.
Brooke sighed.
“Maybe,” her traitorous mouth said.
Ugh. She couldn’t just leave someone in the lurch like that.
Well, going out could be better than sitting around applying to more jobs all night, and god damn it, she always ended up helping others anyway.
“Thanks,” the painter said, muscles flexing as she hefted the paint tins back up and moved to the stairs.
Cocky thing. Brooke hadn't technically agreed yet.
Brooke hopped off the couch, her limit reached for sitting on the velvet monstrosity, and returned to her room.
She spent the day applying for more jobs than she could count.
Two had already emailed back asking for an interview: one with a local hostel and the other for a nightshift pick packer.
Not the most exciting jobs, but they at least had earning potential.
There was a knock on Brooke’s bedroom door. Her eyes flicked to the time on her laptop—how was it four o’clock already?
Brooke opened her door to the painter pulling off her big headphones again.
“Hi, sorry. Um—is it possible to still pick your brains about travel? My shout. That is, if you want to go for a drink?”
Her hair, face and once-clean overalls were now dusted in a fine white powder; her right arm almost completely white. The woman noticed Brooke looking. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’ve just finished sanding the first couple of rooms.”
“Right. Looks like a messy job.” Brooke smirked.
The painter grinned back. “Being dirty comes with the industry.”
Brooke liked the sass with this one. As for helping her though… it really wasn’t—oh jeez, the woman was giving her puppy dog eyes now. She sighed. “Fine. I suppose I could do drinks this once.”
“Yes!” The painter fist pumped, sending a white cloud into the air. “The Wharf at five? I just need to pack up and grab a shower—clearly.”
“Clearly,” Brooke replied, a slight pull at the edge of her mouth. “And…” She hoped she wouldn’t regret this. “I’ll come, I just need to borrow my sister’s car.”
“Oh. I can drive you if that’s easier?”
“Um—sure. That’d be great.”
The painter nodded once, picked up a few bits and pieces and headed for the stairs.
“What’s your name?” Brooke called out to the incessant blonde, realising she’d never asked.
“JJ.” The woman flashed a grin over her shoulder. “And you’re… Bee?”
“Brooke.” The last thing she wanted was anyone else referencing her childhood nickname.
“Got it.” JJ disappeared down the steps.
Brooke shut her door with a click. She stopped. On the other side, a loud British woman’s voice rang out. Was that a moan? “—she dipped her finger in once, twice, before filling her. ‘So greedy,’ Celine purred, undoing Loretta as each thrust hit her harder than the last.”
Brooke opened her door. Another moan. The source coming from a mobile phone left on top of a paint tin.
Thumping to Brooke’s right ripped her gaze away from the sexual story playing out to the entire house.
JJ leapt the stairs three at a time. She dived for the phone and silenced it, her harsh breaths like a continuation of the explicit scene.
Wide brown eyes met her blues as Brooke pulled in her lips. And waited.
JJ shoved the phone in her back pocket and visibly swallowed.
A laugh caught in her throat. “Sorry—that was—audiobooks. And I…” Her mouth clamped shut as she looked back to the stairs.
She cleared her throat. Red bloomed up the woman’s chest in real time, so deep, no amount of white dust could hide it.
“Umm, they’re Bluetooth. Short range. So…
short.” She lifted the wireless headphones around her neck by way of explanation and nodded once. “Anyway, uh...”
Brooke’s grin widened, eyebrow twitching as she watched JJ squirm.
“See you at five?” JJ asked, an octave higher than usual. She backed away to the stairs.
“Can’t wait for you to come and pick me up.”
Brooke laughed as reddened ears disappeared down the stairs.
Maybe helping the painter with her travel plans wouldn’t be so bad.