“However, who, in this entire town of fifteen hundred people, has got the job of assistant to the event planner and therefore should be at tomorrow’s planning meeting, if only to meet her boss and make a good impression.” He pointed with both hands. “Tarryn Harris should.”
Tarryn scrunched her lips. “I’ll meet her soon enough. I’m only her glorified gofer—I won’t be doing anything important. I don’t need to ooh and aah over frills, balloons, and wedding favours any sooner than I have to.” She guessed the planner would be prissy and insist that every tiny detail be exactly just-so: the perfect shade of lavender, the stalls lined up to the centimetre, the music the exact volume allowed by the council. Event planning didn’t seem like a job where you could wing it. And that meant she and this perfect event planner were polar opposites.
“If Garrett and I ever get married, we won’t be having frills. The Gay Bells Festival isn’t just for the girls.”
“I don’t want to coo over matching bow ties and poodle ringbearers any more than I do over floral bouquets and white dresses. What an impractical colour!”
“I went to a wedding once where the couple’s spaniel was the ringbearer. The dog jumped into the lilypond and emerged to shake itself over all the nearby guests. At least the rings were still on its back. You look good in white, by the way, with your gorgeous olive skin. Not all clothing has to be practical.”
“You’re the perfect person to be on the planning committee.”
“Which is why I am. And you need to show your face tomorrow afternoon.” Will made puppy-dog eyes. “Please say you will. It’s such a pretty face.” He laughed at Tarryn’s horrified expression. “So, are you coming?”
“I really can’t. I have to go to Kyogle to weld a truck tray for one of my regular customers. I’ll call Phyll and let her know, and I can call in to the planner later to say hi. I might not agree with the purpose of the festival, but I hope it brings business into the town. I’ll do a good job, just as long as I don’t have to embrace the ideals of the festival.”
“I know you will, hon. You always do your brilliant best. And this might not be as bad as you think—Kirra’s met Sophie and says she’s okay. And of course, she’s community.” He edged closer and fingered the high-vis jacket she wore. “Fluorescent yellow really isn’t your colour—it’s too harsh for you. Does this come in purple?”
She rolled her eyes. “Purple is not a high-vis colour. And it’s good the event planner’s queer. Some things need to be kept close.”
“I’ll drop you a text if there’s anything you need to know that comes out of the meeting before you go see Sophie.” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Pray for me. With Phyll in the chair, this could go on all night.”
“If it goes on too long, pull out your phone and stare at it, make a horrified face, then hurry out the room looking anxious. They’ll assume it’s a family emergency.” She shrugged. “It’s worked for me.”
“Sometimes, you have the best ideas.” Will winked.
“That’s not what you said when I asked you to come bungee jumping.”
“That’s not a good idea; that’s an ambulance ride to the hospital to have your eyeballs put back in their sockets.”
She pointed at her face. “Eyeballs. Two of them. Still in place.”
“For you maybe. I think mine would have ended up drifting down the river.” Will pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “Now that I’ve fulfilled my committee duty by asking you, I’ll see you around.”
“I’m sure you will.” Tarryn kissed his cheek and screwed up her face. “Ew, stubble.”
“I’m embracing my masculine side.” He stroked his pale cheeks. “Bye.”
Tarryn replaced her safety gear and turned the welder back on. The assistant’s job had sounded like an easy few weeks’ work when Phyll had suggested it. Now she wasn’t so sure.
It all depended on how this Sophie was.
Chapter 3
The community hall was buzzingwith people when Allie climbed the wooden steps to the entrance at one minute to four. Butterflies twirled in her stomach. She stopped at the top of the steps and smoothed a hand over her hair, pushing the wayward strands back from her face. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably. She cursed the roadworks that meant the journey from Sydney had taken longer than expected. She was always punctual, and worry she might be late had her on edge. At least she’d arrived on time—just. She took a deep breath.Oh, Sophie, I hope I don’t mess up.
She stood in the doorway and looked around. A knot of people chatted in a corner, and an older white woman with precision-cut grey hair directed a skinny guy in the tightest jeans Allie had ever seen to set chairs out in rows. The older woman must be Phyllis—or Phyll as she preferred to be called—the chairwoman of the festival committee and overall busybody.
A tall, brown-skinned person with wildly frizzy hair and dressed in a black shirt with white dragonflies printed on it was talking with a petite woman with a long auburn plait. The brown-skinned woman matched Sophie’s description of Kirra—the owner of the Airbnb where she was staying. Sophie’s email jumped into Allie’s head:I’ve met Kirra—she’s a proud Bundjalung sistergirl, pronouns she/her. She’s one of the organisers. The town is on Bundjalung country.
Allie licked her lips. Who to approach first? Walking into a roomful of people feeling unprepared was so not her thing. She owned the room when she talked about accountancy, but this? Impostor syndrome. This time she warranted it.
She took a steadying breath, pasted on a smile, and entered the hall. The woman talking to Kirra moved away, so Sophie went across. Her first test. “Hi, Kirra.” Her palms were instantly clammy, and she wiped them surreptitiously down the sides of her pants. What if Kirra took one look and asked who she was? What if she proclaimed, “You’re not Sophie!” to the entire hall?
Kirra flashed a wide grin showing crooked, white teeth. “Sophie, how lovely to see you again.” She frowned. “What happened to your hair?”
Allie put a self-conscious hand to her new ear-length bob, which feathered and curled around her head. She and Sophie had agreed there was no way anyone would believe Sophie’s hair had grown six centimetres in as many weeks, so Allie had agreed to the cut. She was still trying to get used to the lightness of it. “I dyed it back to my natural colour.”
Kirra studied her with pursed lips. “It suits you. But I did like the blue.”
