But Stella was looking at him with that expression—the one that reminded him so much of Margo it made his chest hurt. Clear-eyed. Certain. Waiting to see if he’d catch up.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right.”
“I know.”
“We’ll call her tonight.”
Stella blinked. “Tonight?”
“It’s—” Tyler checked his phone. “Almost seven here. That’s noon tomorrow in Sydney. We call now, we catch her in the middle of her day. Or we wait until tomorrow morning our time, catch her late at night.”
“She’s a night owl.”
“I remember.” Tyler pocketed his phone. “Tomorrow morning, then? First thing? It’ll be close to midnight for her, but she’s always up.”
Stella nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“No more stalling.”
“No more stalling.”
They threw away their plates and walked out to the truck. The folder would still be on the counter when they got home. But now it meant something different.
The bungalow lookedthe same as always—faded blue paint, bougainvillea climbing the porch rails, surfboard leaning against the side that Tyler kept meaning to move. But as Tyler pulled into the driveway, Stella didn’t move to get out.
“It’s really small,” she said, looking at the house.
“It’s really small.”
“And we share a bathroom.”
“Also small.”
“And you can’t cook.”
“Demonstrably true.”
Stella turned to look at him. “Are you trying to talk me out of staying?”
“No. I’m trying to make sure you know what you’re signing up for.” Tyler gestured at the bungalow, at the overgrown yard, at all of it. “This isn’t a beach mansion. It’s not your mum’s place with the pool and the view. You’d be giving up a lot to be here.”
“I’d be giving up a pool.”
“And your room. And your friends. And the twins.”
“Half-siblings I mostly babysit and feed chicken dinosaurs to. But they are cute sometimes.”
“Still.”
Stella was quiet. Then she opened the car door and stepped out. Tyler followed, confused, until she stopped on the front walk and turned around.
“So yeah,” Stella said. “I’m sure.”
Tyler nodded slowly.
“Okay then.”
“Okay then.”
