I whisper a prayer to the moon or whoever’s on shift tonight and step into the bushes.I’ve got no clue what kind of tree I’ve chosen.Possibly sacred.Possibly poisonous.Whatever.I hoist my dress, yank down my Spanx – which arenotdesigned for speed – and let sweet, glorious relief wash over me.
If Abbey could see me now, she’d take a picture and use it for my next birthday slideshow.I’d deserve it.
The relief is short-lived.
Voices.Footsteps.
I fumble with the Spanx and pee on my own hand – let’s not dwell on it – haul my dress back down, retrieve my half-empty glass of rosé, then stumble out of the bushes, aiming for a casual ‘I’ve just been out for an evening stroll’ vibe – but slam into someone solid and male.
Of course, it’s Luke.
Because the universe doesn’t just hate me – it wants to watch.
He looks down at me, then back to the bushes where I’d emerged from.His mouth twitches as if he’s trying hard not to smile and failing gloriously at it.
‘Where did you come from?’he asks, voice low, teasing and far too attractive for someone I just peed near.Behind him, three friends eye me with mild interest, as if I’m an animal in a wildlife documentary and they’re waiting to see what noise I make.
‘I—’ I start, then change tack.‘I was looking for the bathroom.’One of the friends snorts into his beer.
Luke doesn’t laugh, but the glint in his eye makes it worse.‘You’re a bit off course, sweetheart.’
I glare at him.‘Thank you.I hadn’t noticed, what with the wilderness and all.’
Luke turns to his friends.‘You guys go ahead.’
They glance between us, knowing they’re leaving right before something juicy happens, then disappear down the road, heading back to the reception.
‘You coming, or what?’
I look over at Luke, who’s clearly waiting for me to follow him in the other direction.I cross my arms.‘It’s 2025.I don’t need a chaperone.’
That look.Thatlookin his eyes – amused, smug, curious – is infuriating.He knows.He knows I peed in the bush.He’s waiting for me to admit it; what he doesn’t know is that I am petty and stubborn and still need to wash my hands.
Jamie, two.Luke, one.
‘I know.’His grin is lethal.It should be studied in labs.‘But I can’t have you getting lost out here.You might disappear into the bush or start talking to trees.’
I take a step back.‘How convenient.You get to play hero, and I get to star in a true crime podcast.Handsome Man Questioned in the Disappearance of Jamie Hayes.’
He arches a brow.‘You think I’m handsome?’
Yes.‘No.’
He laughs.Actually laughs.The sound makes my body vibrate and I’m not mad about it.
‘Are we walking or not?’
I toss back the last of my rosé like it’s a battle cry.‘Lead the way,’
I say and follow him into the dark, a woman with no shame and suspiciously damp hands.
We reach the cabins, I quickly let myself in to ‘pee’.Satisfied my hands are clean, I walk back out to where Luke is leaning over the verandah railing, staring up at the stars.The moonlight skims his jaw, casting shadows I have the sudden, idiotic urge to trace with my fingers.
He doesn’t look over, but I know he hears me.
‘The stars here are better than anything we get in Sydney,’ I say as I come to stand beside him, our arms grazing, and tilt my head back.Out here, without high-rises or traffic lights or soul-crushing burnout, the sky shimmers.
‘Have you ever seen the Emu?’
