‘Where’s Abbey?’Ella asks, scanning the crowd with a worried expression.
‘She’s on a mission,’ I say and point to where Abbey has already become the gravitational centre of a circle of tall, tanned men.Ella follows my gaze and lets out a low whistle.
‘Wow.That didn’t take long.’
Abbey is a chaos magnet.If that chaos comes in the shape of several handsome men in denim and polished boots, who am I to judge?
‘Typical Abbey,’ Ella says playfully.
I grunt in agreement, taking in the scene: the low buzz of chatter, the smell of lemon myrtle, the barbecue and the buzz of young love.
‘So?’Ella prompts, waving at the vast golden bushland stretching out around us.‘What do you think?’
I shrug.‘Silk was a bad choice.’
Ella laughs, bright and effortless.‘You’ll get used to it.’
‘I don’t think I want to.’
She leans in conspiratorially.‘Oh, don’t be so closed off.You might change your mind when they propose with rings like this.’
She lifts her hand and I gasp.‘Ella.That’s—’
‘Huge?Yep.’She turns her hand, admiring the antique diamond ring.‘I told you the camera didn’t do it justice.’
I raise a brow.‘That’s what he said.’
Ella cackles and grabs my arm.‘Come on.It’s time you met Darcy.’
Technically, I have met him – several times.Through a screen.While trying to pretend the wi-fi wasn’t lagging and my camera hadn’t frozen on my double chin.But sure, let’s pretend this is our grand introduction.
I twist out of Ella’s grasp.‘I’m gonna grab a drink first.I’ll come find you.’
She nods and is immediately swallowed by a pack of glowing, linen-clad mothers gushing over her.Godspeed, my little butterfly.
I turn to the bar – and slam into something solid.My body ricochets back and my heel catches on nothing, sending me crashing to the ground in agonising slow motion.
Death by humiliation.Cue the blackout screen.
My hands hit the dirt in time to save my face, though my confidence is in tatters.I’m one breath away from being the main characterin a Hallmark movie, minus the festive soundtrack and snow.Just a scorched lawn and my inner monologue screaming,NO NO NO.
Before I can assess the damage (emotional, physical, spiritual), strong hands wrap around my waist and haul me up like I weigh nothing more than an overwatered succulent.
‘You good?’a low, gravelly voice asks in my ear, the words slow and smug and wildly inappropriate.
I glance up and meet blue eyes.Unfairly blue.The kind of blue you’d assign a fictional boyfriend in a morally questionable fantasy novel.The kind of blue girls on TikTok go crazy for.Trust fund, six five, et cetera.Except, judging by his callused hands and off- duty farmer aesthetic, this one’s probably allergic to suits and thinks crypto is a disease.The kind of man who thinks drinking oat milk is a character flaw.
His unfairly blue eyes crinkle in amusement.
‘I’m fine,’ I lie, brushing dust from my dress and what remains of my dignity.‘Thanks for the save.’
He shrugs.‘Didn’t want you scaring the livestock.’
‘Okay.So, chivalry’s dead and buried then?’
‘Just resting.’
‘What’s your name, cowboy?’
