TWELVE
By the time we land back at the station, the sun’s dipping low, throwing long shadows over dusty paddocks and bright golden wattles. A strong breeze kicks up the smell of smoke and charred meat – someone’s got the barbecue going.
As soon as we step out of the chopper, I’m handed a cold beer, and I momentarily consider never leaving the outback again. Until a fly lands directly on my lip and I remember who I am.
We all peel off to shower and change. I scrub the glow-worm cave and croc dust off my body, tug on a clean dress, and find my way back to the patio where strings of lights cast a golden haze over the long dinner table full of Ella and Darcy’s extended family.
I settle beside Abbey’s empty chair – unsurprising, considering she mumbled something earlier about being ‘too tired to eat’ and ‘not feeling up to it’, which sounded suspiciously like a lie coming from someone whose social battery never dips below forty per cent.
The rest of us dig into chargrilled corn, lamb skewers and beetroot salad. Darcy’s parents are halfway through a bottle of red, while Gloria, in full story-time mode, holds court – a queen with an iPad.
‘She was the cutest little thing,’ Gloria says, gesturing at Ella with her wineglass. ‘Tutus and curls, always dancing in the lounge room. Wouldn’t take off the damn ballet shoes, even in the bath.’
Ella groans, cheeks pink. ‘Mum.’
Gloria ignores her. ‘And now you’re married! I swear, you and Darcy are going to make beautiful babies.’
Ella almost chokes on her roasted potato. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, you know I’m just playing around,’ Gloria says in singsong, delight still in her voice.
Ella catches my eye across the table, but I assure her that no one has picked up on the exchange. She’s always wanted to be a mum. Even back in high school, she was the one remembering birthdays and forcing me to drink water between rounds of underage tequila shots.
Me? I prefer the ‘cool aunt’ lane. Presents and chaos and zero commitment.
No bedtime tantrums. No morning school runs.
Just a cute outfit, the occasional treat or fun activity, then a clean getaway.
My parents made it very clear that work came first, even before their own kids.
By the time they noticed I’d raised myself, I’d already taught Issy how to plait her own hair and lie convincingly about what we had for dinner.
Watching my sister now – two kids, no job, a husband who considers emptying the dishwasher to be emotional labour – I’m still not sold on the family dream.
I push my half-empty plate away and scan the crowd. No Abbey. And no Luke.
Maybe that’s for the best.
Tidy endings are good. And walking back to my cabin alone means no awkward goodbye. No ‘This was fun’ or ‘Have a good life’. Just me, my suitcase and the self-respect that comes from leaving before you’re left.
I stretch and fake a yawn. ‘I think I’m going to call it.’
Ella kisses my cheek. ‘Thanks for today.’
‘Anytime.’ I smile, soft and honest, because I mean it. ‘See you in the morning.’
The night air is cool now, crisp with the scent of eucalyptus and the insistent buzz of cicadas. I tiptoe down the path to my cabin, shoes in hand, moonlight silvering the dry grass and brittle shrubs.
I approach the door and pause. A moan echoes from the other side.
Oh no.
I freeze. Another moan. Then a breathless, ‘Yes – right there – oh my god, Dax.’
I give a long, heroic sigh.
Not wanting to head back to the dinner table, I linger on the porch steps and once again tilt my head up to the sky.
The stars are stupidly bright out here. The Emu. The Saucepan. The Southern Cross. I even see a shooting star streaking across the black sky, fast and bright.
I close my eyes, about to make a wish—
‘Please tell me you’re not out here charging your crystals.’
I open one eye.
Luke’s leaning against the porch post, hands in his pockets, hair still wet from his shower. I sigh because the universe loves an encore.
‘You’re dangerously close to sounding like a man who has a “Live, Laugh, Love” plaque in his kitchen.’
He laughs, slow and easy. The sound tugs at something deep in my stomach.
We fall into silence broken only by another moan echoing from inside my cabin.
Luke’s eyes flick up. ‘Locked out?’
I nod, lips pressed together.
He hesitates. ‘You can crash in my room, if you want?’
That earns him a raised eyebrow.
He holds up both hands. ‘I’ll sleep in Dax’s room. Promise.’ I stare at him for a beat too long. He takes a seat beside me and adds, ‘Or you can sit here until Abbey finishes screaming her heart out.’
A laugh escapes me. ‘I’m considering it.’
He glances over at me, an arm resting on one knee, his fingers picking at a thread on his jeans. ‘I could sit with you. If you want.’
‘Until what? We both dissolve into mist?’
‘Until you make a decision,’ he says. ‘About the whole … sleeping arrangement.’
‘I have a very strict no-second-hook-up policy. It’s part of my cold-blooded city persona.’
He leans back on his palms and looks up at the stars. ‘Technically, you wouldn’t be sleeping with me. I’d be elsewhere. You’d be solo. In a bed. Fully within the policy rules.’
‘Hmm.’ I glance sideways at him. ‘You’re good at loopholes. I don’t like it.’
He grins, slowly. ‘Yes, you do.’
Er, yes. I kind of do.
I go quiet again, tugging my knees up to my chest, feeling the cool night air on my bare legs.
We sit side by side, the night stretching before us as if it’s got nowhere else to be.
The sky is littered with stars, and the only sound now is the occasional chirp of crickets and the frequent moans of Abbey.
‘She always this loud?’ Luke asks.
‘Yes and no,’ I say, smiling despite myself. ‘She’s a walking contradiction. That’s her charm.’
There’s a beat of silence. Then, as if he’s turning a page I’m not sure I want him reading, he asks, ‘Are you guys close?’
I nod. ‘The three of us have been inseparable since high school. Until Ella left for’ – I smile and wave at the sprawling darkness – ‘whatever this is.’
‘And you grew up in the city?’
It’s not a hard question, but it feels like one. My stomach tightens, guarded. ‘Yeah,’ I say after a pause, frowning more at myself than at him but refusing to divulge any further information.
He doesn’t press, but I can feel the way his question lingers, an open door I refuse to walk through. He’s prying – gently, carefully, trying not to spook me. I know this trick. I’ve used it on others.
‘What about you?’ I ask, deflecting with ease. ‘Do you work with Darcy?’
Luke’s brows knit. ‘No. I’ve got my own place – family cattle station a couple hours east.’
‘Oh.’ I wince. ‘Sorry. You mentioned that last night. I blame the rosé.’
He looks at his rolled-up sleeves and gives a faint grin. ‘It’s all good. I should’ve known you were a lightweight.’
‘I am not.’ My eyes trail across his chest before remembering I’m still pretending to have self-control. ‘You said it’s just you and your dad?’
He nods, eyes fixed on something in the sky I can’t see. ‘Me, the old man and a few contractors. My dad hasn’t been well for a while, so he spends most of his time in hospital.’
Something tugs uncomfortably in my chest. I know that feeling. The one where life decides you’re next in line for the hard stuff.
‘That must get lonely.’
‘Sometimes,’ he admits. ‘But I don’t think I could do anything else.’
‘You ever thought about living in the city?’
He turns to me slightly. ‘I did. Three years in Sydney. Studied agriculture science at uni. Lived in a shitty share house with four other guys.’
I laugh. ‘And you came back out here willingly?’
‘Yeah. I liked the city. The ocean. The food. The people.’ His eyes soften. ‘But it’s not for me. Not really.’
‘Because you’re a rugged cattle baron with a tragic backstory?’ I tease, though my voice dips a little at the end.
He doesn’t smile. ‘Because my mum got sick. And someone had to come back and take over.’
The silence that follows is painful.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly, meeting his eyes.
‘Me too.’
The stars don’t blink. They watch us as Luke leans in, his lips hovering millimetres from mine.
‘You know I leave tomorrow,’ I whisper, a last-ditch disclaimer. A reminder to us both about what this is.
He kisses me in answer.
It’s tender at first – testing a theory. Then deeper, firmer – now he’s proving one. His hand comes up, cradling my jaw, and I let myself kiss him back. Let myself sink into it.
This isn’t part of the plan. I don’t kiss people after the first date. I don’t stay the night. I don’t get attached to men who smell of earth and sweat and responsibility.
‘Luke,’ I murmur against his mouth.
‘Mm?’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ he says, and kisses me again, his tongue sliding against mine, pulling a gasp from my throat.
‘We really shouldn’t—’
‘For once in your life,’ he mutters, mouth trailing to my neck, ‘just be quiet.’
His voice is rough and fond and infuriating. I sigh, my whole body relaxing under his touch. I should push him away. I should go inside and sleep like a normal person, content with my little rule book.
But when have I ever done what’s best for me?
I shift and swing one leg over his lap to straddle him. His eyes flash briefly before I lean in and kiss him again – deeper this time, slower.
Screw it.
Luke’s mouth is still on mine as his hands slide under my thighs.
And then I’m weightless. He lifts me with zero effort and my legs wrap around him instinctively, my mouth dragging across his neck, teeth grazing his skin.
He opens his cabin door and kicks it shut behind us. I’m still panting when my legs hit the edge of the bed and he leans into me, all heat and barely-there restraint.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ I repeat, my fingers fumbling with his belt.
His laugh is low and ragged. ‘You’ve got a funny way of saying no.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I say as I pull his belt loose, ‘I’m hoping you’re more responsible than I am.’
His hands bracket my hips as he steps back, giving me a once- over that should be illegal. His eyes land on my mouth, my chest, my legs.