‘Yes,’ I say, trailing a finger down his bicep.‘I don’t hate it.’
His cheeks flush.Behind me, I feel the burn of Luke’s stare.I can sense his gaze like a heat lamp on the back of my neck.I don’t turn.I lean into Dylan and laugh at something he hasn’t said yet.
‘Jamie?’Lauren’s voice floats over, silky and sweet and unmistakably country.
I turn with a smile so tight it could legally qualify as a threat.‘Lauren.Hi.’
‘You look … rested,’ she says, eyes flicking to Dylan.‘This must be Dylan.I’ve heard so much.’
‘Have you?’I ask, looping my arm through his.‘I guess good news travels fast.’
Dylan, bless him and his scruffy brown hair, smiles proudly, unaware that I’m weaponising him.
Lauren’s polite expression doesn’t move.‘We were just talking about the drought.Luke’s been helping Darcy plan the feed runs.It’s been brutal.’
‘Oh yeah?’Dylan chimes in.‘I mean, not to bethat guy, but … you know industrial farming’s a major environmental issue.’
Ah.Shit.
Lauren tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, not quite able to mask how her calm smile flickers at the comment.I don’t have to look to know Luke stiffened behind us.
‘Right?’Dylan continues, oblivious to the tension.‘I mean, when you factor in the emissions, the land degradation – it’s a lot.’
Luke cuts in.‘Thanks for the insight, mate.I’ll let the starving cattle know.’
Then he stalks off towards the drinks table, shoulders tight, jaw tighter.Lauren watches him, then turns back to us with a breezy sigh.‘Don’t mind him.He’s in a mood.’
I raise an eyebrow.‘I thought he was always like that.’
Lauren smirks.‘No, this is the deluxe edition.Comes with a side of brooding silence and unprovoked sass.’
I snort.‘Noted.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ she says, meeting my eyes over her glass.‘You don’t earn the full storm-cloud routine unless something’s really eating at him.’
Glancing towards the drinks table, I watch as Luke fights with the esky lid.‘I’ll be sure to keep a wide berth.’
‘Just don’t talk about anything progressive within earshot of his working boots.’We both chuckle at that.She hesitates, then says, ‘His dad’s sick.Late-stage leukaemia.Turned down his chemo treatment last week.’
My stomach dips.‘What?’
‘He hasn’t got long left,’ she adds softly.‘Wants to die at home by his wife’s grave.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Dylan exhales.
Lauren nods.‘Luke won’t admit it, but he’s scared.And he’ll be all alone on that property …’
Ella claps her hands, all radiant joy and unknowing great timing.‘Group photo time!Everyone over here!’
People shuffle into place on the lawn.I let myself be dragged towards the crowd, still hearing Lauren’s voice echo in my head.He’ll be all alone.
I catch Luke rejoining the group, a cold beer in hand, his face unreadable.Somehow – cosmic joke or twisted fate – he ends up behind me for the photo.
Dylan loops an arm around my waist, but it feels … off.Misaligned.Still, I let it happen, because this is the performance I signed up for.And I thrive under pressure.
I lean into Dylan, tipping my head against his shoulder, facing the camera with a too-perfect smile.
I don’t turn around.I don’t need to.
