I chuckle.‘I’m sorry.That sucks.’
‘It does suck.But enough about me.’She leans in, fork poised.‘How’s the man ban?’
Luke flashes through my brain in quick, sharp bursts – his hand brushing mine while saddling Banjo, that crooked smile on his face when he stood wedged between my legs, the sound of his laugh in the ute and the way it hollowed me out like a pumpkin.
‘I’m fine,’ I say too quickly.‘Really.I’ve been going horseriding once a week, and I’m shockingly into it.Fully converted.The same Jamie who used to roll her eyes at the horse girls in school is now one of them.I’m unapologetically galloping into my equestrian era.’
Abbey gives me a suspicious squint.‘And you get along with your instructor?’
‘Ava?’I nod.‘She’s great.She’s seventy-five and terrifying in the best way.She made me clean out Stella’s stall last week and said if I could survive that, I could survive anything.I believed her.’
Abbey tilts her head.‘Okay, I feel a “but” coming.’
‘There’s no “but”.’
‘Jamie.’
‘Abbey.’
She raises an eyebrow.The one that says,You’re lying and you know you’re lying and we both know you know you’re lying.
I sigh.‘It’s nothing.’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘It’s …’ I fiddle with the corner of my napkin.‘It’s been great.Really.But there’s a part of me that misses the speed.The wildness.Stella’s wonderful, but we don’t gallop through paddocks.We trot past joggers and hope an ambulance siren doesn’t set her off.’
Abbey softens.‘You miss the feeling you had on the farm.’
I nod, and then I change the subject before Luke can carve any deeper into the space between us.‘What about you?What’s happening in your dating world?’
Abbey instantly lights up in that I’m-about-to-pretend-it’s-no-big-deal-but-it-totally-is way.‘Okay.So … my boss.’
My fork stops halfway to my mouth.‘Yourboss?’
‘He’s hot, he’s emotionally unavailable in a weirdly poetic way, and he eats apples in meetings like he’s running out of time.’
‘You’ve always had a type.’
She shrugs, unapologetic.‘We’ve been … casual.’
‘Emotionally?Physically?’
‘Jamie,’ she says, eyes wide, ‘I work in PR.I don’tdoemotional clarity.’
I snort.‘So, is it a situationship or something else?’
‘It’s two consenting adults with an aggressive amount of work stress and a shared Google Calendar.’
I laugh.‘Wow.And they say romance is dead.’
Abbey grins.‘Exactly.We’re having fun.No expectations.No drama.No, “Let’s define this over wine and an email to HR.”’
‘Well,’ I say, raising my glass of sparkling water, ‘to meaningless flirtations and surviving tallow cream scandals.’
She clinks her glass against mine.‘And to horse girls and man bans.’I smile.And I mean it.Because for now, that’s enough.
FORTY
