‘What’s going on is that my oldest friend in the world just assaulted me.’ He carefully lifts his wine glass to his lips while I work to unclip the trapped pen.
‘Your hair really is incredible,’ I say, playing with a baby-soft spiral. ‘Do you even know the actual length of your hair if you straightened it?’ I drag my fingers through the curls like a child who’s discovered a new plush toy. When my fingertips brush against his scalp, his head tilts back, inviting me to keep going.
‘I need a massage so bad,’ he moans, his eyes sinking shut. From this angle, his long lashes rest like little black fans over his skin. Feeling my years of affection for him reignite, I dig a little harder with my fingers, releasing a faint waft of mint-scented shampoo. His lips part, all pink and full, as I keep working his scalp like my hairdresser does. It’s been a long time since I’ve stared at Zac quite this closely, and I’m a little whiplashed by how handsome he is.
Bloody hell, Josie, what are you even doing?
His ringtone blasts from the table, and I jerk backwards.
‘Sorry,’ he says, reaching for his phone. ‘It’s Ross.’
‘Oh, say hi from me,’ I blurt and retreat to the kitchen, clutching the pen in my slightly clammy fingers. Ross isZac’s cousin; he lives locally and is undoubtedly one of the biggest reasons Zac moved to Newcastle.
Zac fiddles with his hair, restyling it, as he slips outside onto the patio with his phone at his ear. Our gazes catch through the glass, and I turn away, wondering why my stomach feels so whipped up.
When Zac resurfaces, the dishes are dry, and I’m wiping the last section of countertop.
‘Ross wants to see you,’ he says with a half-smile, dropping his phone onto the table.
‘Absolutely, I’d love to see him.’
‘You know he’s engaged, right? They’re getting married in a few months. I’m the best man.’
‘Yeah, I saw it on Facebook.’
He nods once, and our gazes drift apart. It should’ve been Zac who told me about his cousin’s engagement, not a dumb social media page.
‘I’ll set up drinks so you can meet his fiancée, Holly,’ he murmurs. ‘She’s awesome.’
‘Sounds good.’
I refill our glasses, and we head outside to the patio so we can gawk through the trees at what feels like the darkest, deadest street on earth.
‘Is Newcastle always this quiet?’ I ask as I light a citronella candle.
‘Isn’t it the best?’ Zac smiles through the flickering glow as I drop into the plastic chair beside his.
‘Mmm, not sure yet,’ I reply diplomatically. I can’t say I hate the tranquil mood of this place, but I feel a pang for the familiar buzz of traffic and the steady hum of voices outside my city apartment.
‘Do you miss Sydney?’ I ask.
‘Not even one iota.’
‘Oh god, that bad? OK.’ I pin my gaze to the knobbly tree roots erupting through the footpath beyond the patio.
‘I don’t mean you,’ he says quickly. ‘Of course I missyou.’
A lump grows in my throat. ‘I miss you too.’
We both stare straight ahead, like the cloud-shaped silhouette of the rustling tree is the most interesting sight known to humankind.
‘You never came down to visit me,’ I say carefully.
Zac’s breathing slows, and he takes a moment to answer. ‘You never came up here, either.’
‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.’
For what feels like a full minute, we remain in a stand-off of uneasy silence.
