Tamsyn whimpered. This was not camping. This wasn’t even glamping. This was the type of place where people got engaged.
A private wooden deck stretched outward, the planks running lengthwise toward a rectangular pool with water so blue it looked fake. Beyond the pool were ancient, ribbed mountains folding into one another in layers of copper, mauve, and ash-blue. Tamsyn could make out the curve of Wilpena Pound in the distance.
“This is fantastic,” she said, stepping toward the wooden loungers positioned side by side. A small side table sat between them, holding a sweating bottle of sparkling wine and two tall glasses. Beside it was a plate piled high with sliced strawberries, peaches, and purple grapes, and nestled among the fruit were thin slices of prosciutto, a wheel of creamy brie, and a small dish of dark chocolate chunks.
Isla joined her on the other one, and Tamsyn wasted no time. She popped a strawberry into her mouth and poured each of them a glass of wine.
“Cheers,” she said, lifting her glass toward Isla. “To winning.”
“To winning,” Isla repeated.
Their glasses clinked. Tamsyn brought the glass to her lips at the same time Isla did. Then their eyes met over the rim, and for a second, then two, then three, they just stared. But then Tamsyn remembered the camera crew and became painfully aware of how awkward this must seem. Two contestants staring at each other for no reason. Except therewasa reason. Tamsyn couldn’t help but think she’d made a mistake suggesting they should be friends. She didn’t think she could be friends with Isla because all she wanted to do was kiss her.
As if Isla read her mind, she jumped up from the lounger, her wineglass still in her hand, the contents sloshing to the side before announcing, “I think I’m going for a shower.”
She’d already rounded the lounger and was halfway to the door before Tamsyn said, “Good idea.” It was a good idea. But it would be an even better idea if she could somehow join her. If they could forget all about their friendship for a few glorious minutes while their naked soap-clad bodies rubbed against each other under a cool spray of water. The thought made Tamsyn’s legs tremble. She didn’t look back at Isla as she vanished through the sliding doors in case her control waned. Instead, she retreated into the pool.
Tamsyn let the water rise over her shoulders as she took in the view. The setting sun bled low over the ranges. Somewhere beyond the deck, a wedge-tailed eagle—Tamsyn recognized it from the survival workshop they’d done prior to startingOutlast Her—drifted lazily in the thermals. The air smelled like eucalyptus plants and sunbaked stone, and she barely even noticed the camera crew tucked into the edges of the deck.
By the time Isla walked back out on the deck with a satin robe tied at the waist and her dark hair hanging wet over her shoulders, Tamsyn had poured herself a third glass of wine, snacked on an entire wheel of brie she’d rolled up in slices of prosciutto, and proceeded to float on her back in the pool.
“How was that?” Tamsyn asked, tilting her head up just enough to see Isla. In one hand she held the glass above her chest, and the other drifted in the water. Her veins thrummed pleasantly from the alcohol. She wasn’t drunk, but she wasn’t sober either. If she weren’t already floating, she’d feel like she was floating.
“I’ve only ever had one shower better than that,” Isla said, picking at what was left of the platter before she meandered over to the pool, where Tamsyn frowned at her.
“It was after a photo shoot I did for Terra Luxe,” Isla muttered, her mouth still half full of strawberry. “A travel magazine,” she then quickly added when Tamsyn’s brows furrowed even more. The alcohol was making things considerably difficult to process. “We were in the Scottish Highlands during the wet season. My gown was silk and chiffon, and by the end of the day, it looked like I’d wrestled a bog monster. That hotel room shower made me feel like I’d been reborn.” Then she laughed at the memory, and Tamsyn wished she could somehow climb into Isla’s head. Not to see the memory, but to know if Isla was thinking about her too. She was dying to know if Isla was also wishing they’d showered together and that they were alone without cameras.
Tamsyn swallowed hard and pretended to focus on the sky. Not that she could. The last gold of the sun was touching Isla’s dark hair and for just a heartbeat Tamsyn let herself imagine what it would feel like if space didn’t exist between them at all, if she could slip her fingers through those strands and pull her face closer.
“Good evening, ladies!” a voice called suddenly from the sliding doors. Tamsyn snapped her head up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing chef’s whites. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”
BY THE TIME DINNERended, the sky had deepened into a velvet black expanse scattered with millions of stars. To Tamsyn’s surprise, the camera crew had retreated. She wasn’t sure why she’d expected them to film everything, from climbing into bed to every toss and turn in the dark, but she had. Reality television didn’t care one bit about privacy.
But fortunately, they were gone. And she was alone with Isla. Completely alone.
Isla leaned back in her seat and patted her stomach contentedly. “Okay, I might slip into a food coma any minute,” she said, yawning so wide Tamsyn could see her uvula.
“I’m not carrying you inside,” Tamsyn said, laughing. She reached for the bottle of wine and poured what was left into their glasses. The buzz from earlier was still there, but only at the edges. The food had soaked up most of the alcohol, leaving behind a warm yet manageable hum.
The chef had seriously outdone himself. They’d started with grilled steak drizzled in bush honey and scattered with toasted macadamias alongside a bright salad of heirloom tomatoes and basil. Then came the slow-roasted barramundi resting on lemon myrtle-infused butter, accompanied by charred broccolini and roasted fingerling potatoes. Dessert had been a delicate quandong tart with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.
Tamsyn had eaten slowly at first, trying to pace herself, but by the end, she’d given up and eaten every morsel on her plate. They’d barely even spoken. Not until the dessert arrived,when they’d debated whether to keep the Red Gum Rebel alliance intact for another vote or to fracture it quietly. Isla had suggested including Frankie in their alliance. She couldn’t vote in the next Sending, but including her would give them an advantage on the vote after that. The only problem would be convincing Petra, who was convinced Frankie couldn’t be trusted because she’d once caught Frankie secretly scooping double helpings of rice.
“I will at least throw a blanket over you just because I’m nice,” Tamsyn said, taking a slow, savoring sip now that there was an end to the amount of wine left.
“Thank you,” Isla said. “I’m glad chivalry isn’t dead.”
Tamsyn laughed and was surprised to hear it echo off the rocks. “Well, I’m glad my finishing classes paid off,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table.
“Wait, seriously?” Isla’s eyebrows shot up at the same time her jaw dropped. She looked entirely shocked, and for good reason. “Did you seriously take finishing classes?”
“Had to,” Tamsyn said. “My parents forced me. They were very particular about my manners.” She laughed, then added, “I was a debutante. I wore a poufy white gown and long white gloves and learned how to curtsy.”
Isla laughed so loudly that Tamsyn could feel the vibration in her bones. Then she sank a few inches into her chair and stared at Tamsyn, who felt her cheeks go hot. Real hot. It was getting late. Tamsyn didn’t know how late it was, but it felt like a good time to go to bed.
Except she didn’t go to bed. Or even suggest it.
Instead, Tamsyn tipped the last sip of wine back and let her head fall against the chair. Her eyes drifted to the sky. The stars were so clear, so close she felt like she could reach out and snag the Southern Cross from the heavens.
