The lift doors slid shut and Fern pressed the button for her floor.
Daniel raised an eyebrow, watching the numbers glow. ‘The penthouse,’ he remarked, his voice light with surprise.
Fern tilted her head, offering him a playful, almost conspiratorial smile. ‘Only the best.’ She grinned as the lift began its smooth, silent ascent.
‘Here we are,’ Fern said as she pushed open the door to her apartment a few moments later, stepping aside so Daniel could follow her in. She caught the way his eyes swept over the place, knowing exactly what he was going to say.
‘Do you actually live here?’ he asked, eyebrows raised as he wandered further inside. ‘Because, honestly, there’s more personality in a dentist’s waiting room.’
Fern let out a dry laugh as she slid her keys into the dish on the otherwise bare console table. ‘I don’t like clutter.’
Daniel grinned. ‘Says the woman who’s just inherited an antique shop. Bit of a plot twist, that one.’
She pulled off her jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, the weight of his words sinking in more than she expected. She’d always been proud of this flat, the clean lines, the calm, the order. It was her safe little bubble, her grown-up badge of honour. But standing here now, with Daniel’s familiar, easy energy filling the room, the place suddenly felt… dull. Cold, even.
The home at No. 17 Curiosity Lane was the complete opposite– mismatched, a bit battered around the edges, and cluttered with the ghosts of someone else’s life. But after the initial shock of the place, she had found she loved waking up there. It all felt warm and cosy in a weird kind of way. Lived in. Real.
She glanced over at Daniel, who was now poking around her bookshelf, no doubt judging the alphabetised spines.
‘I hate to admit it…’ she said, surprising even herself. ‘But it does feel a bit… empty.’
He looked back at her, one eyebrow raised, playful as ever. ‘Careful, you’ll ruin your reputation. Next thing you know, you’ll be leaving mugs out and buying scatter cushions with actual colours.’
She nudged him gently as she passed. ‘Let’s not get carried away.’
But deep down, she couldn’t help thinking: maybe a little mess or chaos wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
‘You must have at least a dodgy candle?’ he said, running a hand over the spotless kitchen counter before his eyes landed on a single potted plant sitting by the window. ‘Wait. Is that… a plant?’
‘That’s Leonard,’ Fern said matter-of-factly.
Daniel raised an eyebrow. ‘You named your plant Leonard?’
‘He seemed like a Leonard,’ she replied with a small shrug.
Shaking his head with an amused grin, Daniel wandered over to her fridge and pulled it open. ‘All right, let’s see what culinary delights—’ He stopped short, then laughed. ‘Fern. There is nothing in here but wine and a tub of butter.’
‘Essentials,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m about to add Chinese takeaway to the mix. Are you hungry?’
Daniel leaned against the counter as she handed him her phone with a menu on the screen from her favourite takeaway. After a few minutes of scrolling, they both pointed at the same dish at the exact same time.
‘Sweet and sour chicken?’ Daniel asked, looking mildly impressed.
‘It’s the only correct choice,’ Fern confirmed. ‘Looks like you have decent taste after all.’
Twenty minutes later, they were curled up on Fern’s spotless grey sofa, the coffee table transformed into a makeshift dining space covered in cartons of noodles, sticky ribs, and enough prawn crackers to feed a small army. The scent of soy sauce and sweet chilli hung in the air as Fern balanced her laptop on her knees, scrolling through her notes for tonight’s interview.
Daniel sat with chopsticks in hand at the other end of the sofa, twirling them between his fingers. She could feel his gaze flicking from her screen to her face, his curiosity impossible to ignore.
‘You actually prepare for the interviews?’ he asked, leaning in a little closer. ‘I thought you just waltzed in, flashed that smile and asked whatever popped into your head.’
Fern crunched a prawn cracker, smirked and pointed a finger towards the shelf. ‘Contrary to popular belief, I do take my job seriously. See those?’
Daniel followed her gesture to the neatly stacked pile of music magazines, arranged– like everything else in her apartment– in perfect order, spines aligned, not a corner bent. He reached across, swiping the top few copies off the pile then flipping through them.
Page after page, her name stared back at him in bold print, alongside glossy photographs of gigs, album reviews and exclusive interviews with bands that had filled stadiums and topped charts. His fingers paused on a double-page spread, the photo catching his attention before the headline did.
‘Lust Theory,’ he read aloud, angling the page so she could see, even though she didn’t need to look. She knew the photo by heart. ‘You’ve been hanging out with the big boys, then. Look at you, standing there next to Jax Devlin, looking like a proper rock chick.’
