Page 26 of Third Time’s a Charm

“I was thinking more along the lines of connoisseur. Or gourmand,” I say as the laughter dies away.

“Right. Well, how about we workshop that later?” Grahame’s tone conveys what he thinks of my suggestion, which is not much. “For now, let’s go and look at some vines.”

We stack our plates for the staff to take care of, pull on our gumboots and head off to climb into the little tractor Grahame is going to transport us in.

As we bounce along the lines of vines, the remaining knot of anxiety and unhappiness that’s been inside me since I arrived in Australia unravels.

I know it’s unfair to have connected the whole of Australia to the worst time of my life, but logic and heartbreak aren’t generally good bedfellows. What I’m realising is that while Sydney is still a painful place for me to be, this wide, welcoming land outside the city seems to have healing properties I’ve been in need of for a very long time.

We lie on the grass after an amazing dinner of slow-cooked lamb.

Louise insisted we do without a rug because, according to someone, somewhere, it’s important to feel the earth. I was sceptical at first, but the cushion of the well-tended grass, still slightly warm from a day of sun, has me melting almost immediately.

“So, what are we looking at?” I ask, my voice hushed so as not to break the spell the earth and the heavens seem to be weaving.

“Stars,” she responds.

“Clearly. But which ones?” She was keen to show me the stars, so I assumed she’d be pointing out all the southern hemisphere constellations I’m not familiar with.

“No idea.” She raises an arm and points. “That might be the Southern Cross. Maybe. Or not.”

There’s no doubt the sky is beautiful. You don’t get skies like this in England. It’s enormous. The Milky Way glows and what seems like hundreds of shooting stars streak across the darkness.

But none of it is as captivating as Louise’s profile. It’s very dark out here since the moon is barely a sliver and there’s no ambient light from a town. But there’s enough light that when I turn my head, I can see her eyes glittering and a small, content smile on her lush lips.

“And here I thought I was going to get an astronomy lesson.”

“Hmm. Maybe the lesson is you don’t need to understand something to appreciate how beautiful it is.”

It would be true to say I don’t really understand Louise. But I certainly appreciate how beautiful she is.

I sigh and roll onto my side to face her, propping my head on my folded arm. The movement brings me closer to her. Close enough to smell her citrusy perfume over the scent of fresh grass, warm earth and the waft of crushed grapes.

I can’t remember the last time I took a moment to relax. To enjoy the beauty around me. Despite the work drama playing out silently in the background, today—this whole trip, if I’m honest—is like a deep inhalation of peace. Tranquillity.

“You’re very lucky you get to experience these places so often.”

Louise mirrors my position, rolling towards me. We’re so close that if I took a deep breath, her breasts would brush my chest. If they did, would she feel how fast my heart is beating? I jam my fingers into the pocket of my jeans to stop myself from reaching out and tracing the curve of her cheek in the faint moonlight.

Her eyes shine and her smile widens.

“I know. There’s magic in the Australian bush.” Her voice, her expression, are full of wonder.

Our bodies drift closer as if the stars have spun a silvery thread around us and are drawing it tight.

Her lips part. My hand slides out of my pocket. A pulse beats strong and fast at the base of her throat. My fingers brush a whisp of hair from her forehead. Our gazes lock. The whole world seems to be holding its breath.

I’m going to kiss her. She’s going to kiss me.

I lean closer. Our lips brush, the barest whisper of a touch. And again.

Above us, a cockatoo screeches.

Wild and loud and sudden through the night’s silence. Wings thwump. Branches crunch. We jump apart. The spell is broken.

I should be relieved.

But I’m not.