12
Sunday evening, Emily’s Moonee Ponds sharehouse. She was standing in her kitchen, back against the bench, nipples doing their best lighthouse impression through her white tee. The black lace underneath wasn’t helping. Every nerve awake, electric, and Leo just…standing there. Steady. Waiting.
God, he was good at the waiting thing.
He hadn’t moved. Still holding his coffee like they were discussing the weather, but his attention was entirely on her. His eyes dropped once to her chest. Deliberate. Unashamed. When they came back up, he held her gaze.
Her whole body buzzed.
Emily turned to the fridge, desperate for a distraction.
Cold air hit her flushed skin. She wasn’t even pretending to look for anything, she just needed a second to cool the heat in her face, her chest, everywhere she couldn’t afford to think about with him less than two metres away.
Her mind raced. What next? She couldn’t just stand here all afternoon letting him look at her like that.
But she didn’t want this to end. Didn’t want him to check his watch and make polite excuses about wherever someone like him was supposed to be on a Sunday evening.
‘What’s next?’ he asked.
She kept her face in the fridge. ‘You don’t have anywhere else to be?’
‘Not if I’ve got the option to stay here.’
He paused.
‘With you.’
Emily felt mild panic rising. She needed something, anything, to keep him here longer.
Make him fall in love with Melbourne, with Australia, with…
She spotted the answer, a white envelope on top of the fridge.
Her dumping ground for everything she didn’t want to deal with.
Junk mail, expired vouchers, unpaid bills.
But she knew what was in this one. Radio-station promo footy passes.
She grabbed the envelope, reached into the fridge for two beers. Tossed him one.
‘All right. Let’s go,’ she announced.
He caught it one-handed, already cracking it open. ‘Where are we going?’
She grabbed a scarf by the door, a black-and-white tangle from seasons past. She tossed another one to Leo, slung hers around her neck.
‘The G. Pies are playing.’
He looked at her like she’d switched languages. ‘You just said five words and I understood nothing.’
That made her laugh, relieved, flustered, still trying not to combust. Perfect. He needed to understand Melbourne, really understand it. Not just the coffee and laneways, but the tribal institution of footy. The thing that made grown men cry and grandmothers swear at umpires.
‘MCG. Melbourne Cricket Ground. It’s a massive stadium. The Pies are Collingwood. The team. Your footy baptism coming up.’
He studied the scarf. ‘And I’m supporting…the Pies?’
‘Magpies. And yes, if you want any Australian cred.’
He looped the scarf around his neck. No protest. Just that smile. ‘Do you always take your dates to sporting events?’
Emily snorted. ‘This isn’t really a date thing. It’s more…’ She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Barracking for Collingwood’s the only thing I inherited from my dad. After the divorce, footy was all we had.’
He watched her with something unreadable in his eyes. Not pity. Not discomfort. Just…seeing her. His fingers found the edge of the scarf, adjusting it with the same care she’d noticed when he’d handled everything today. Even this borrowed team allegiance deserved proper attention.
So Emily did what she always did when things got too real. Ploughed ahead.
‘It’s more than a match.’ The grin came back, sharp and hers. ‘It’s a religion. And I’m about to take you to church.’
‘I am sure you said that about the chocolate-coated biscuits and flat whites. I am already converted,’ he said, an eyebrow raised.
They hit the Duke first, a pub on Flinders Street that every Pies fan knew like their own living room. The place was chaos when they arrived. Black and white everywhere, tragic face paint, and the holy trinity of beer, sauce and ancient carpet creating that signature pub odour.
Emily wove through the crowd like she’d done it a thousand times. Leo followed, taking it in.
‘This is…’ he started.
‘Melbourne pre-game. Welcome.’
They squeezed into a high table, practically in strangers’ laps. A waiter arrived immediately.
‘Do you trust me?’ Emily asked.
Leo leaned forward, warm and amused. ‘Yes. Implicitly.’
‘Good answer. Two pot-and-parma specials,’ she said to the waiter.
‘I know what’s good. And I get twitchy when people order salads here.’
Beers arrived.
Leo inspected his. ‘This is…small?’
‘It’s a pot. It’s a Victorian thing, it’s different in every state. I think they call it a middy in Sydney.’
He laughed. ‘And I studied English.’
‘Australian is barely English. ’
Then the parmas arrived. Massive. Drowning in sauce and cheese. Mountains of golden chips.
He took one bite of the parma and groaned. Actually groaned.
‘That good?’ she asked.
Eyes wide, he nodded. ‘This is the best thing since I arrived.’
‘Excuse you, that’s an insult to the Bunnings sausages you had for lunch. But it is solid. Not that you can get a proper parma in the city. Not really. The pub in my hometown makes the best in the country. Hands down.’
He watched her talk about her hometown like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all day. ‘Do you travel home often?’
She shrugged and picked up a chip. ‘Not really. Mum’s still there, but…’ Then the words came easier than expected. ‘I think I’ve mentioned, Dad left when I was about nine. But we used to come here for dinner when we were in the city before a game.’
‘Is he still around?’ Leo asked.
‘Who knows. I haven’t really seen him since I was in high school and he sold the farm.’
‘I am sorry your relationship has not remained. I never really had that,’ he said. Voice dropping low.
‘Footy?’
‘A relationship with my father with something in common.’ He looked up. ‘Do you think you will try to connect with your father again? It must be a great loss for him not to have you in his life.’
Emily nodded, then shook her head and leaned back. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. I think it goes both ways, he knows how to find me. Anyhoo, that concludes my therapy session for today. Daddy issues, abandonment, generational footy trauma. Tick, tick, tick.’
He raised his glass, smile returning. ‘To full disclosure.’
She clinked his. ‘To footy, the Pies, and comparatively average parmas.’
The walk to the MCG was a river of black and white. His hand found hers somewhere in the crowd. Natural. Easy. Right.
Then Emily spotted two women queuing at the ticket booth. They were in matching black-and-white tulle tutus. One kept touching the other’s arm, both had that new-love energy that made you want to protect it.
She broke away from Leo and jogged over. ‘Hey! Heading in?’
They looked up, hopeful.
‘I’ve got two spare press passes,’ Emily said, pulling out the envelope. ‘Work perks. Behind the goals. Best seats outside a box.’
The shorter one lit up. ‘Wait, I know you! Don’t you hand out prizes and’—her eyes locked with her partner’s—‘icy cold cans of Coke,’ they said in unison, laughing.
Emily flushed. ‘Guilty. Street-team life. Bribing listeners with fresh hits and sweet treats since 2009.’
The taller one studied her. ‘I’ve heard you on the radio. The crosses to the breakfast show?’
‘That’s me.’
‘You’re really good.’
Emily wasn’t used to being recognised, let alone receiving compliments about her work.
She flushed deeper, felt Leo’s eyes on her, and when she turned, he was smiling. Proud. Like he’d known all along.
Tash and Mel introduced themselves.
Leo held out his hand. ‘Hello, I am Leo. This is my first football match in Australia. Do you have any advice for me?’ His accent was charming.
‘Yell ‘Ball!’ even if you don’t know why,’ Tash said. ‘And spilled beer’s a blessing.’
‘Eat pies fast,’ Mel added. ‘They go nuclear inside. That’s a ripper accent. Where are ya from?’
‘I am travelling with the Eurofest tour,’ he said.
His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on Emily’s.
Something flickered across his face, that same look from earlier when she’d asked about his security.
Gone before she could catch it properly.
Maybe he was enjoying not being recognised or asked for autographs.
Emily thought back to his anonymity comment on the tram.
Tash’s brows shot up. ‘No way. Our place backs on to the showgrounds. We’ve seen some wild outfits.’ She looked him over. ‘You’re suspiciously normal.’
He grinned. ‘Undercover.’
The loudspeakers crackled to life. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the teams are preparing for their banner run. Please make your way to your seats.’
‘See you in there,’ Mel said, holding up the tickets. ‘We owe you a beer.’
Leo’s fingers laced through Emily’s as they walked on. Still looking at her like he was seeing something unexpected.
‘What?’ she asked him.
‘You are exactly the woman every man hopes he will encounter.’ Voice soft, like he’d just worked something out. ‘You make people feel like they are exactly where they are supposed to be.’
She blinked. ‘Why?’
He shrugged, still looking at her with eyes that saw too much. ‘Around you, I forget to be anyone except myself.’
The MCG opened up like a cathedral.
The noise had its own heartbeat. Rows of seats curving towards the sky, floodlights turning everything gold.
Leo stopped dead.
‘Incredible. This is…’ He had no words.
‘Still think you’re undercover?’
‘More than ever.’
He drank it in, processing the scale of it all.
They found their seats, squeezing past knees and bags. Emily immediately started a commentary.
‘There’s Cloke. He’ll kick six or miss by a postcode. And Pendles with ice in his veins. Watch. And Swanny? Built like a fridge, runs like one, but watch him burst. Laws of physics are optional.’
Leo wasn’t watching the field. He was watching her.
Emily rolled her eyes but couldn’t kill her smile.
Two beers later, scores were even and Emily was on her feet, voice hoarse, yelling at umpires, high-fiving strangers. Completely in the game.
She could feel Leo watching. Every lean. Every jump. Every beer tipped back. Not creepy. Not even flirty. Just captivated by her.
And, god help her, Emily loved being watched by him.
Then Swan got the ball in the pocket. The crowd held its breath.
‘Come on, Swanny!’ she shouted.
The ball bent perfect. Straight through.
The ground roared.
Emily lost it. Screamed. Jumped. The crowd surged alive.
She almost turned, flushed, electric, completely alive. For half a heartbeat she hesitated, this would change everything, but she needed to taste him. To feel those lips on hers again, the way she had craved all day. Emily grabbed his scarf and pulled him in.
She kissed him like the world was ending. Like she knew it was their last night together.
There was no hesitation from him. He wanted this too. He kissed her like he’d been holding back all day, waiting for permission to let go. Mouth hot, tongue finding hers, and, god, she’d never been kissed like that.
The crowd shoved them closer together but Emily didn’t care. She was pressed into him from all sides. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, the other skating up, under her top, brushing the side of her breast.
She gasped. He swallowed it. Deeper.
Her hands clutched his jacket, shirt, anything to keep him there. The noise, the lights, the thousands of people around them—everything disappeared.
There was just him.
When they broke apart, Emily couldn’t catch her breath. Her lips were wet, her chest heaving.
His eyes were wild. Dark. Locked on hers.
He leaned close, his voice rough: ‘I have not stopped thinking about that parma.’
She blinked, huffed a breathless laugh. ‘Strange thing to think about while making out.’
‘Not just the parma.’ He pulled back to look at her. For a moment, something uncertain flickered across his face. ‘Your hometown. The way you talked about it. I want to see it. To learn everything about where you are from. About you.’
Emily’s breath caught.
‘Would you take me there?’ The question had none of his usual confidence.
Her mouth subconsciously opened. Closed. His touch at her waist turning all her thoughts to pure mush.
‘Don’t you leave with Eurofest?’ It sounded like an accusation. Too harsh.
He shook his head. ‘They travel to the Gold Coast tomorrow. However, I do not have to fly home until Friday evening. I planned to go with them. But I would rather spend what time I have here. With you. If you will have me.’
The words were raw. Like he’d surprised himself by saying them out loud.
The weight of those words settled in Emily’s chest. Heavy in the best way.
‘Okay,’ she said, her voice barely there.
‘Tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘I can arrive early again? I want to see everything.’
She nodded, not trusting her voice, still trying to work out why someone with a driver and security wanted to see her deadend hometown. But the way he looked at her…
She looked at him under those lights, crowd roaring. His face open, hopeful, like he’d laid everything out waiting to see if she’d take it.
Friday was five days away. Emily’s heart did the maths before her brain could interfere.
‘Friday,’ she repeated, tasting it. ‘That’s not long.’
‘No,’ he said, but he smiled saying it. Like he’d decided whatever time they had would be enough because it had to be.
Something settled in Emily’s chest, finding a frequency she hadn’t known she’d been searching for.
‘Well then.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Better make it count.’
The footy thundered on, but Emily had lost track of the score.
Forgotten everything except his hand in hers and five days stretching ahead.
Was she crazy? Taking some guy she’d known for two days out bush?
She didn’t know what he was expecting from rural western Victoria.
But nothing about this felt like her usual disasters. This was bigger. Scarier.
She had five days to show him her world. Five days to learn his. Five days of him. Five days to make him never want to leave. Emily didn’t want that, did she?
She pushed the thought away. Not now.
For now, there was just this: the lights, the crowd, his hand in hers.
And the terrifying, exhilarating knowledge that she was in too deep to turn back.