Yes mum.
After that, I make the mistake of swiping down and opening my inbox.
Seventy-three unread emails.
Most of them from work.A few flagged URGENT.I don’t open them.I don’t even skim.I go full nuclear and fire off a message to my boss, telling him that I’m taking a few more days off before I mute the entire app.
A Tinder notification pops up next – some guy holding a fish.Of course.
I swipe it away and open Safari instead.I’m not even sure why.My fingers move before I can overthink it, typing in a series of search terms.
Australian farming grants 2025
Drought co-ops rural NT
Weather forecast Northern Territory
The links load slowly.The pages blur together – jargon, application forms, PDFs with tables and charts.I keep scrolling.
Then my phone vibrates with another text.
Dylan.
I blink.Didn’t expect that.
Hey!
Most of our hemp comes from Tassie, but we’redefinitelylooking for more farmers to join the supply side.
NT’s actually a great climate for hemp – long growing season, loads of sun.
We’ve got someone up there right now going through the licence process.
If Luke wants to talk to them, I can send over the guy’s details?
I chew my lip, staring at the screen.Part of me feels a pinch of guilt – as if he’s clocked that I’m still hanging around the guy he found me hooking up with in a kitchen.Yet there’s no bitterness in the message.It’s just Dylan being … perfect.Earnest.Helpful.Maybe relieved that my chaos is now at arm’s length.
I type back quickly, before I can spiral.
Thanks.I’ll keep you posted.
Then a shadow falls across my shoulder.
I jolt, looking up to find Luke leaning in the doorway, damp hair curling slightly around his ears, clean shirt clinging to his collarbone.
He’s holding a VB.His face is all sunshine and playful smugness.
‘What’re you looking at, Wikipedia?’
I slam my phone face down on the counter as if it’s contraband.‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
I nod.
He sips his beer.‘You trying to start a farm?’
‘No.’
