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“What?” Sam laughed.

Hazel swallowed and tried again. “That was insane.”

“Like it?”

“Love it. I think that might be the best bread I have ever had. More, more, more.” Ripping more, she dunked and chewed, like a little cave woman. “I’m sorry,” she said between mouthfuls. “I’m sure this is really attractive.”

“You like my food. I don’t care how you eat it.” Sam laughed. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to take you home soon. It would be nice to spend the day together, but I’m fixing a fence at the Kilroy farm.”

“No problems. Thank you for the delicious bread, and for last night. Thanks for looking out for me.” Hazel gave Sam a tiny smile. She could see that he blushed a little, but seemed a bit bashful about it.

Before they left, Sam took her outside to show her around the garden. There were lots of tropical plants and flowers, and he had managed to create a peaceful sanctuary. While she waited for him to get ready to leave, Hazel sat in a big egg chair that was hanging on the patio. She gazed out at the view and gardens. He’d really done an amazing job.

“Ready?” Sam stood next to the chair, his hand held out to help her gracefully exit the swinging egg.

She took his hand. “Yes. I have to say it again. Your house is amazing. I love everything you chose.”

Sam didn’t drop her hand. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers as they walked over to his truck. He grinned at the compliment. “Thank you. I’m quite proud of it.” Opening the door for her, he helped her up into the seat.

“You should be!” Hazel called as she buckled her seatbelt.

Sam turned the key in the ignition and pulled the truck into drive.

The sky was cloudless, a bright blue. The windows were down, and music played softly as they discussed their favourite songs and musicians. Sam loved Tame Impala and had recently gone to Sydney with a few friends to see him play at the Sydney Opera House.

Hazel was a true country fan. She listed off her favourite artists to Sam, who had no idea who any of them were except for Keith Urban and The Chicks.

“Somebody Like You is my favourite Keith song,” she said wistfully, a slow smile on her face.

“I’ll have to listen to it.”

“I also really love Carter Faith. She’s been around for a while, but exploded recently. Her new album is so good. Betty is my favourite. But my all time favourite song is There’s Your Trouble by the Chicks.”

“I wouldn’t have picked you for a country girl.”

“Really? I grew up in the country.”

“Is Bells Bay the country? I would have thought country was… west.”

“I’m pretty sure country is like, wherever a city is not. I like other genres too, but country music just heals something in me. I remember hearing my first Keith Urban song. I felt like I’d arrived home.”

“Like I felt when I moved here,” Sam mused.

“Yeah,” Hazel agreed. She tried not to feel the disappointment of being reminded that they probably didn’t have a future. You decided on casual, remember? Her brain flashed the thought in her mind like a neon light in Times Square.

But nothing about them felt casual. Every time Hazel looked at Sam, she felt something. Something like the way she felt when she heard her first Keith Urban song. Something grounding. Something whole. Something lovely.

But she couldn’t feel like that. She’d worked too damn hard to get out of this town once, and she wasn’t going to let herself get stuck here again.

The bell jingled as Hazel and Molly entered the front door of The Craft Studio. Set in the small industrial area of Bells Bay, The Craft Studio was located in a tiny weatherboard house on a plot of land pinned between small commercial units. Wild and unruly, the gardens surrounding the rose pink coloured studio were filled with overgrown vines, entangling various objects that Molly advised Hazel were ‘art installations’. An ancient looking clawfoot tub was filled with large plastic iridescent balls, meant to resemble bubbles. A steel sculpture that Hazel thought was a car was apparently the ‘exotic shape of woman’ according to Molly. Hazel was about to query her further when she almost stumbled over a bright orange cat that was sleeping in the middle of the pathway.

“Oscar likes to nap in the sun,” Molly said, as if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why the cat had strewn himself all over the path and thus turned himself into a tripping hazard.

Inside, the old timber cottage opened up into one large room, with baby blue walls and a candy pink ceiling. Rows of shelving lined one wall, which held various craft supplies, bundles of brightly coloured yarn, boxes of clay and baskets of scrap fabric.

Molly guided Hazel to one of the large tables set up in the middle of the room.

Hazel took a seat next to her mother.