Allie sighed. “And so are you.”
Phyll huffed a laugh. “Maybe not for much longer. Got my eye on a chicken farmer up the valley. You and Tarryn, though. Could be a match.”
Allie’s left eye started to twitch. How could Phyll possibly think that? She held up her hands. “Please don’t go there. We’re working together, that’s all. And I’ll be back in Sydney soon. Let’s not complicate things.” She took a deep breath, willing her nervous twitch away. It just flickered faster. “Now, I want to talk about the on-the-day running of things. Please don’t take this wrong, Phyll, but I think you might be spreading yourself a bit thin. You’re the point of contact for the wedding fair, and now you’re very involved with the parade as well. If Tarryn and I were to be voted as the fake couple, there’s no way you could also take that on.”
Phyll hmphed. “Someone’s got to do it. Kirra was organising the parade, but she’s on the lead float as well, so someone needs to corral the participants, get them ready to go in the staging area, that sort of thing.”
“Tarryn can do it.”
“I don’t think so.” Phyll’s chin jutted forward in a gesture that reminded Allie of Tarryn. “The wedding fair will mainly be organised the day before—that’s the main fair day. And the wedding attire catwalk finishes before the parade starts.”
“Still. There’s not much time between the two. I think it best if Tarryn organises the staging area for the parade.”
“Okay.” Phyll capitulated with surprising ease. “Unless, of course”—her beady eyes nailed Allie—“Tarryn is half of the fake couple. If that’s the case, I’ll do the staging area. My assistant can handle the finish of the catwalk.”
“I’m still concerned you’re taking on too much.” Allie laid a hand on Phyll’s arm. “Why not let your assistant take over the catwalk anyway? It will give her a chance to come into her own.”
Phyll’s jaw pushed up. “I suppose she could manage. And if you and Tarryn are voted in, she’ll have to.”
“I’m sure it won’t be us.” Allie’s pulse beat an erratic tattoo. Phyll seemed so sure. She wouldn’t rig the vote, would she? But no. Tarryn was the second counter. Phyll would never get away with it.
“But it might be. That’s settled, then. Now, I’ve arranged for the Irish dancers in the parade to do a quick turn on the catwalk. They’ll dance in some of the younger, trendier clothes.”
“That sounds fine,” Allie said faintly. It seemed there was no besting Phyll.
Chapter 12
Tarryn blew a kiss toAlly and Elly, snug in their stalls, and went out to her truck. After Sophie had left, she’d returned to finish welding the final few feathers on her emu, but her mind wasn’t on it. The feathers drooped as if the emu were moulting.
Instead, she’d taken the yard signs to people she thought might display them. That had gone well until, when returning home, she’d found a couple of them pulled out and thrown onto the road. Obviously, not everyone in Quandong supported Gay Bells.
She’d made a point of talking to as many people as she could, reminding them to vote for the fake couple. And she’d been cheerleading for Garrett and Will and how they’d be fantastic and exuberant representatives for same-sex marriage.
“Not as pretty as a couple of lasses,” one person said. Tarryn rolled her eyes at the old-fashioned sexism but offered a smile nonetheless. And, worryingly, another person said, “I thought you and the event woman from Sydney would be perfect. You’ve got a lot of support.” Tarryn had tried to close that down but didn’t know how convincing she’d been.
For a moment, irritation beat a tattoo in her head. Why the hell did people think she and Sophie would be good? They’d beterrible. Sophie as stiff as a soldier on parade; herself awkward and uncomfortable.
She pulled open the door of the fridge to figure what she could rustle up for dinner.
The morning had been strange, with Sophie in her space, cooing over the alpacas, apologising for her mistake, and talking about the last woman she’d kissed. There’d been a strange, unsettling sort of intimacy about the conversation, as if they were dancing around the elephant in the room, as if they were sizing each other up for something. Tarryn snorted. It could only be for the fake wedding, if, against all odds, she and Sophie were voted as the couple. But Sophie had looked at Tarryn’s lips. Not just a glance; her look lingered. As if she were imagining kissing them.
In your dreams, Sophie.
Or in Tarryn’s.
Kissing Sophie would be no hardship at all. Tarryn could all too easily imagine what her slender body would feel like in her arms. Like a sapling, like a wand, something pliable that would not break. Sophie had a fierce, strong core to her. And Tarryn was sure she would kiss like fire, with passion, with delight.
It was a pity she wouldn’t find out.
Thoughts of kissing Sophie had driven her from contemplation of the contents of her fridge out to her car. Tonight was burger night at The Hollowman, and a thick, home-made burger with bacon and beetroot and chunky chips was just what she needed. Add in a couple of schooners of beer and someone to chat with who wasn’t a tousle-haired event planner and her day would end well. Maybe she’d find an interesting woman to flirt with. A buzz rumbled through her lower body at the thought.
The carpark at The Hollowman was half empty. Tarryn entered through the back door and went up to the counter. Seth, the barman, served her beer, and she meandered her way to her usual seat at the counter.
A slim shape caught her eye. The woman had her back to Tarryn and was deep in conversation with Jason. The woman flicked back her hair and with a jolt, Tarryn realised it was Sophie.
Hell’s bells and buckets of blood. Was there no escaping her? If she wasn’t at Tarryn’s home, she was in her head or she had to listen to others talk about her.
Jason caught her eye and nodded at her over Sophie’s shoulder. He said something to Sophie, and she whipped around, meeting Tarryn’s eyes with a smile.
