Shelby #2
Taking the bag from my shoulder, he gestured for me to follow, and I stepped in front, only for him to halt my steps with a gentle grip of my wrist .
“Welcome home, Shelbs.” His smile was soft and if I wasn’t covered in someone else’s vomit, I would have wrapped my arms around him and thanked him.
“Wild Watermelon,” I announced, walking into the kitchen to find Corbin sitting at the table on his laptop. I’d showered, taken a nap and was feeling a little more like a human and he was still sitting in the same spot I left him hours ago.
“Fluorescent?” He replied with a raised brow and a smirk I’d noticed a couple of times since arriving.
“I think it’s because of the little welcome pack you made,” I said with a thumb over my shoulder, my bracelets rattling down my arm.
On arrival, I’d discovered a freshly made bed with a bottle of water, a colouring-in book, a pack of crayons, a watermelon lip balm and a Caramello Koala left on the pillow. “You’re thoughtful, Corbin Chambers.”
“Mixed Veggies over here,” he said, brushing past my compliment and I grimaced.
“Gross. One of the absolute worst. What’s wrong,” I sat opposite him, placing Mum’s journal in front of me on the table.
“Just reading work emails.”
“I thought you were on forced leave,” I challenged with a slightly sarcastic lilt. One of his most predictable features was his obsession with his job.
In the trip from the airport, he’d told me he didn’t like his routine disrupted and wasn’t even sure what he was going to do while he was on break.
Being away from work was new for him and it was obvious he found the idea uncomfortable.
Especially given it was his first day and he’d spent the entire morning working.
“I am,” he sighed, standing and turning on the kettle.
“But I have a habit of checking my emails pretty regularly and I don’t remember the last time I took a day off, let alone an indeterminate amount of time,” he admitted.
“What if I get bored, return to work early and then everyone realises their suspicions of my lack of social life are not in fact just a rumour?” He asked with another one of those smirks which made my tummy flip.
The laugh tumbled out of me.
He was funny. Unintentionally funny. And damn I loved his accent. Our accents had faded over the years, but Corbin’s was native and broad, and it was appetisingly inviting.
It was a shame he didn’t speak anywhere near as much as I did because I could listen to him all day and had asked many questions just to hear that local drawl. Laid back yet intentional. A compelling infusion for lonely old Shelby.
I should have been better prepared for this. Not that the photo Aunty Ash sent did him any kind of justice, but I was most definitely not expecting to find him as attractive as I did.
Corbin had always been an intellectual sex dream.
He was bright, articulate and his knowledge base was eclectic.
He could tell you the plumage development of a magpie, the science behind the 100 Monkey Effect or contrastingly how the light and colour spectrums worked. It was both fascinating and hilarious.
He also enjoyed a research task so if he didn’t know something, he took the time to learn with a patience I was yet to master.
When I’d asked him why a day on Venus was longer than an entire year on Earth – a fact I learnt from a female sanitation wrapper – he told me he wasn’t sure before returning an hour later and explaining it in terms he knew I would understand .
But oddly, through all the years, I’d never actually pictured him in a setting like this. Moving through the mundanity of life with an open laptop and the kettle notifying us of its conclusion with a sharp click.
He was always just Corbin, my little friend who cried just as much as I did when we left for Canada all those years ago.
The boy who stood before me and dared me to kiss him the night before the upheaval of my entire world.
The boy whose lips were soft and wet and exactly what I never knew I wanted in my first kiss.
I may not have ever been brave enough to do it if he didn’t call Evermore.
It was a game we made up, named after our street – just a silly thing where you had to do whatever the other dared, for thirty seconds of laughter and maybe a little mischief.
Until that night we’d been doing it all wrong.
I’d call Evermore when I couldn’t be bothered to go get us an ice block, or when one of our parents wanted help bringing in the groceries.
Forcing Corbin to be my slave or risk the lifelong torture of hearing you were a loser who backed out of a challenge.
Only on that last night, I realised the full potential of that little game and wished I’d been smarter for longer.
Because he’d thrown me for six when he called it and then dared me to kiss him, his big green eyes round as if he couldn’t believe he said it either.
There was a challenge in his stance though.
His eyes slightly narrowed as if he didn’t think I was going to follow through, after all, I was moving the next day so it wouldn’t be as tiresome to be the first not to accept an Evermore dare.
Only I had.
With false bravado I’d stepped right up to him, my fists balled at my sides and pressed my lips to his for three whole Mississippi seconds before pulling away triumphantly. And seeing the man he was today; I was glad that I had.
We’d stayed in contact over the years. He’d written me a few letters before technology was advanced enough to communicate without the elongated wait which only snail mail could elicit.
As we grew, our contact lessened in length but increased in frequency.
A quick question here, a random colour to signify mood there.
An image of spilt coffee to symbolise the day I was having, my iced cappuccino strewn across my kitchen floor, always going to lead to a follow up text with Sepia as the crayon of the day.
I’d caught glimpses in photos from his mum or if he ever posted one online, but since I left, I could probably count on one hand the number of times we had Facetimed and that was usually with our mothers hogging the entire conversation.
But never entire images of us – which now I thought about it, was both strange but also part of the allure.
Corbin was the faceless friend who knew so much about me, yet nothing at all.
And vice versa.
I could tell you he ran in the morning and drank more water than any other human.
That he hated things he couldn’t understand.
That he took nothing on face value – requiring research or fact.
He also despised people in his space which I knew before arriving and hoped meant my being here was okay.
A reflection of my own haste in booking and partially why I was only spending a few nights here.
Possibly also because there was an unspeakable pull drawing me back here.
To a country which felt oddly like home despite being on the other side of the globe.
A silent pull which drew me back not only to Australia, but to him.
Despite that though, there were many things I couldn’t have told you.
Including how my little childhood friend had aesthetically maintained his youthful charm while maturing gracefully.
How, for someone who worked in an office all day, his skin held the kind of tan which could only come from being outside and how those hands didn’t appear to be soft and screen-tapped but rather strong and sinewy.
My tactile heart was running rampant, and it was only then that I realised I hadn’t even hugged him hello.
Something I needed to rectify on the A-SAP.
Heading over to where he was grabbing two mugs from the cupboard, I entered his space and grinned at him.
“It’s really good to see you, Corbs,” I breathed before slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, moved in and wrapped my arms around his waist. He stilled for the slightest second before I felt his chest empty on a deep sigh and his arms came around me too.
“I know you hate people in your bubble, but I’m so glad I made myself an exception,” I admitted.
“I’m glad you showered before you koala’d me,” he chuckled, and I grinned against his chest. “You’re always the exception,” he added quietly.
With a final squeeze I stepped out of his embrace, but the move was forced.
Whether it was the jet lag or that I was returning to a place which felt etched in my soul on an intrinsic level, hugging Corbs was coming back to something deeply familiar, and for the first time since I lost Mum, breathing felt a little easier. The air around me a little lighter.
“You could join me on my trip?” I suggested only half-jokingly.
“What screams social life more than travelling? I was hoping I could give you a list of places and you could help me map the best route to take.” I hadn’t yet told him about my exact plans or purpose.
All he knew was there were a few places I wanted to visit and otherwise I’d been intentionally evasive.
His reaction was as fleeting as a shadow, but his barely-there pause caught my eye.
“I don’t have a concrete plan,” I added quickly before he could ask, tapping Mum’s diary against the table. “But I have this,” I held it up and he looked at it quizzically as he placed a steaming mug in front of me.
“Okay,” he said, reaching for the journal and flicking through. “Are they our mothers?” he asked incredulously, pulling the page closer to examine one of the pictures.
“Yes,” I snickered, looking at the page he was admiring. “And that’s part of why I’m here.”
“I’m listening,” he leaned back resting against the bench, his legs crossed at the ankle .