10
Emily stood on the footpath with her arms crossed, pretending she didn’t care that Leo was exactly on time.
The black car pulled up at eight sharp. Expensive, tinted windows, engine running smooth and quiet.
Then Leo stepped out wearing a white tee and dark jacket with those stupidly clean sneakers.
His hair was doing that messy-on-purpose thing that probably took zero effort.
He looked completely out of place in the harsh Melbourne sun, and somehow that made him even more magnetic.
That smile, careful but genuine. Like he was happy to see her but trying not to show it too much.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
Emily smirked, because what else was she going to do? ‘Look at you. Punctual and smug. Bit of a red flag.’
‘We said eight.’ He glanced back at the car, then at her again. Something flickered across his face. Was it uncertainty? ‘But I can drive around the block until I am suitably late, if that would be preferable?’
It was tempting, but she shook her head.
He gestured to the open door of the car. ‘May we go then?’
That wasn’t happening.
‘I’m not being chauffeured around my own city.’
His eyebrows went up. ‘So we are on foot? But how is your ankle?’
The ankle that had kept her up half the night. She’d wrapped it this morning, but the bruising had spread, purple-green like a storm cloud. It twinged when she stepped down from the footpath, sharper than she expected.
‘It’s sore,’ Emily admitted, ‘but functional. Like the rest of me.’
‘So…car, then?’
She was already pulling out her Myki card. ‘Not a chance. You want to see Melbourne? Then we’re doing it right. The tram is at the end of the street.’
He hesitated, looking between her dodgy ankle and the car. His hand flexed at his side, that nervous gesture she’d already come to recognise. Then he turned to the driver, said something quiet, and the car pulled away.
‘Do you always behave like this?’ he asked as they walked.
‘Only before coffee.’
‘Right. Then perhaps we should find you some coffee.’
‘Bold move. You think you can handle me post-caffeine?’
He started to lean in, then caught himself, staying just outside her space. ‘I am hoping to find out.’
Emily’s stomach flipped. She tried to ignore it.
The 59 tram arrived eventually, and they found a free double seat.
Leo studied everything: the ticket machine, the worn seats, the graffiti scratched into the window, like public transport was some fascinating cultural artefact.
The tram lurched forward. Their shoulders pressed together with the movement.
The warmth of him seeped through her jacket, and Emily had to concentrate on not leaning into it like a cat finding sun.
‘No security detail today?’ Emily asked, looking at him sideways.
His fingers found the edge of his jacket and he fidgeted with the zip. ‘I told them I was going out for breakfast with someone.’
‘With a local?’
‘With the beautiful redhead who tried to infiltrate the VIP tent.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘And they were fine with that?’
‘I do not tell them everything.’ Leo looked out the window, then back at her. ‘I am not used to…do this.’
‘Public transport?’
‘The anonymity.’
The admission landed between them. Morning light caught the edge of his jaw, highlighting a tension she hadn’t noticed yesterday. For a second, he looked younger, less sure of himself.
‘You look like you’re memorising it,’ Emily said, watching him catalogue every detail of the passing streets.
‘I am.’
‘Why?’
Leo took his time answering, fingers drumming lightly on his knee. Three quiet taps before he stilled them. ‘Because I know I will want to remember this.’
Emily’s stomach did a slow, dangerous f lip. The tram clattered through the junction, and the space between them became charged with heightened awareness.
Degraves Street delivered exactly what she wanted to show him: the coffee mecca of the city, at a tiny espresso window with no sign, just a blackboard. Emily ordered Leo a flat white, and herself her usual long black.
The barista asked for names. ‘Emily and Leo,’ she said. Their names sounded good together.
The girl behind the counter, all sleeve tattoos and undercut, practically melted when Leo smiled at her. A spike of possessiveness shot through Emily.
His first sip brought complete reverence. His eyes actually closed.
‘I do not think I can go back,’ he said. ‘That is better than coffee made by the Italians and the Viennese.’
‘That’s Melbourne coffee. I don’t think you can get a flat white anywhere else in the world. We ruin you forever.’
The morning blurred into motion after that. Laneways and city parks, her fingers itching to reach for his. Tension lingered from his lack of a hello kiss after last night. A busker’s bad rendition of ‘Common People’ sparked her next destination.
‘Bunnings,’ she announced, because the thought of this polished European in a hardware warehouse was too delicious to resist. At Flinders Street, finding a train leaving in one minute from platform twelve meant grabbing his hand without thinking, running together.
All she could think of was how warm his hand was. How he didn’t let go. How her pulse kicked up and stayed there, thrumming under her skin like she’d had three espressos.
On the trip, Melbourne started peeling back its polish. Street art gave way to weatherboard houses, craft beer bars to mechanics and shops. Emily pressed her forehead to the cold glass as it all slid past.
She asked Leo questions about Eurofest, his accent, where he was from. He would start to answer, then deflect. Smooth but noticeable. So Emily told him her stories.
‘I grew up in a tiny country town,’ she said. ‘A one-pub town, with a sad main street with more vacant shops than anything else. Mum and I drove to Ballarat every day for work and school. I remember long days and cold mornings.’
‘Just the two of you?’
‘Just us, after the divorce when I was about nine. We had a big farmhouse kitchen that looked like it belonged to a real family. But it was always just…quiet. And there weren’t many local kids my age.’
He went still beside her. When she looked over, he was staring at their linked hands.
‘I did not have siblings either,’ he said finally. ‘But I grew up with a lot of cousins in a big traditional family.’
‘That sounds…less lonely.’
He shrugged, but there was something tight in the gesture. ‘Sometimes. But it was…structured. Formal.’
The silence between them was full of things unsaid.
Then they were off the tram at Bunnings, that temple to suburban dreams, complete with its sausage-sizzle altar.
The smell hit them first: onions, sizzling meat, weekend nostalgia. Leo stared at the setup.
‘It smells so…unexpectedly appealing,’ he said.
‘Because it is kind of amazing. You can’t buy lightbulbs without getting sauce on your chin. It’s law.’
Emily ordered two sausages with onion and watched him inspect his like it might be poisoned. He took a bite, then his eyes widened.
‘That is disturbingly good.’
‘Told you.’
Inside the store they hit sensory overload.
Fluorescent lights, squeaky trolleys being pushed past them, some kid having a meltdown in aisle twelve.
Emily led Leo straight to the kitchen displays, all faux marble and flat-pack aspirations.
She caught herself imagining the two of them in their own kitchen…
His hand found hers again as they wandered on.
They passed the bathroom displays. ‘May I ask, are you a bath or shower person?’ he said.
‘Shower. But baths for breakups and tax time.’
‘I think that is an excellent answer.’
‘And you?’
A strange look crossed his face. ‘I prefer a shower. To me, baths are just your own personal broth.’
Emily snorted at his beautiful attempt at humour. It was nice to see him like this, unguarded, funny.
Back outside, Leo glanced at the sausage sizzle. ‘Could we perhaps have another for the journey?’
Emily grinned. ‘Now you’re getting it.’
They each got one, and because the universe has a sense of humour, the sauce splattered right down Emily’s shirt.
‘Oh, brilliant.’ She dabbed uselessly at the stain. ‘I’ll have to go home and change.’
‘Are you trying to cut our date short?’ He stopped himself, glancing away. ‘Or may I escort you there?’
‘Oh, was today a date, or a guided tour of the city and all its culinary delights?’
‘Can it not be both?’ he answered smoothly.
‘Well, I can’t be on a date covered in sauce, so if you’re happy to swing by mine?’
He nodded, but she caught the way his hand tightened around hers. Like he was nervous about something as simple as seeing where she lived.
The train back was quieter. Emily watched him in the window’s reflection, how he kept glancing at her, then away, like he was trying to figure something out.
They walked from Moonee Ponds station through familiar streets. Past the old fish and chip shop, the Vietnamese bakery, ordinary things that caught his attention in a way that made her see them differently.
As they headed towards the supermarket, he raised a speculative eyebrow.
‘It’s on the way, and I thought it’s best to continue your education into Australia’s finest cuisine,’ Emily explained.
At Woolworths, she grabbed a basket and threw it into his arms like it was a rite of passage.
‘Okay,’ she said, tossing in a packet of Tim Tams. ‘This is the gold standard. These are a national treasure.’
‘Dessert?’
‘Religion.’
Next went in Mint Slices, then Caramello Koalas, and a small jar of Vegemite.
‘Approach with caution,’ she said. ‘Less is more.’
Twisties went in next. Leo picked up the packet, studying it.
‘Cheese?’ he asked doubtfully.
‘Allegedly,’ Emily said.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘And you eat this by choice?’
She grinned. ‘Try it and you’ll see.’
When he asked about dinners when she was a kid, Emily told him about the cheap, efficient meals. Microwave lasagne and eating in front of the TV in that big empty kitchen.
‘I didn’t realise how sad it was until I moved out,’ she said, staring at the cereal aisle. ‘But I was always waiting. For Mum to come home. For someone to talk to. For things to feel…full.’
‘That must have been very hard for a young teenage girl.’
His voice was so quiet she almost missed it. When Emily looked at him, he was studying a box of Weet-Bix with intense focus.
‘Yeah, well,’ she said, trying to deflect. ‘We all have our stuff, right?’
He set the box down carefully. ‘Yes. We do.’
The way he said it, she knew he understood. Really understood.
At her place, the gate creaked, and Emily wished she’d picked up some WD40 at Bunnings.
The hallway felt narrow. Behind her, he was tall, warm, uncomfortably close in the best possible way.
She could feel him there, the heat of him, the space he took up.
Emily sent him to the kitchen to make coffee while she went to change.
Her room was exactly as messy as she’d left it, the IKEA loft bed looming overhead. She glanced up at it and winced, picturing Leo climbing up there, his broad shoulders, the creaking frame, his head hitting the ceiling. Her thighs tightened at the thought.
Emily pulled off her stained shirt, grabbed a clean white tee, then paused. A black lace bra sat crumpled in her drawer.
She couldn’t resist swapping out her plain T-shirt bra for it. The feel of the lace against her skin, the possibility of him noticing. As the bra boning settled against her, her nipples peaked into hard little buds. Her body had already decided what it wanted.
‘Emily?’ he called from the kitchen.
‘Two secs!’
She found him with coffee ready, Tim Tams opened, looking oddly at home in her tiny kitchen. He’d pushed his sleeves up, revealing forearms that had no business being that distracting.
He looked solid. Too solid. His height made the space feel smaller, like the room couldn’t contain him. He belonged here about as much as she belonged in a castle. And yet…
It didn’t feel wrong.
It felt right.
And that terrified her.
‘Your shirt appears to be inside out,’ he said, voice rougher than before.
‘Shit.’
Emily turned her back, pulled it off, and flipped it. When she faced him again, he was flushed but he didn’t look away. The air between them shifted, charged.
She showed him the Tim Tam Slam, bite both ends and use it as a straw in the coffee, quickly before it all collapsed. Emily demonstrated first, the chocolate melting perfectly. She nearly moaned at the taste.
His attempt was a complete disaster, chocolate melting everywhere. Hers wasn’t much better on the second go, though she’d managed not to drip it down her fresh shirt.
‘You have a little something…’ he said, stepping closer, lingering.
His thumb came to her lips before she could react, wiping chocolate from the corner. It lingered there. His eyes met hers, darker now, focused.
Then, holding her gaze, he brought his thumb to his own mouth.
The way he tasted that chocolate, deliberate, unhurried, sent heat spreading from Emily’s chest down to her belly. Her legs felt unsteady. The kitchen shrank to just him, his mouth, his eyes on her, the space between them electric.
He hadn’t just touched her. He’d devoured the moment. Claimed it. Took the thread of her desire and pulled.
Her whole body hummed with it.
For a moment after, they just stood there. His chest rose and fell a little faster. His fingers drummed once against the counter, three taps, before he caught himself.
‘I should apologise,’ he said, voice rough. ‘That was…’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Emily whispered.
Something changed in his expression. It was darker. Hungrier. He stepped closer, and she had nowhere to go, the counter at her back.
‘Emily,’ he said, and the way he said her name made her knees weak.
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and Emily saw it, the same need that was turning her inside out. They were both completely lost in desire, and they knew it.