Page 34 of Third Time’s a Charm

This is a new one for me. I turn towards Louise.

“What the hell is fairy smut?” I whisper.

“You know, romantasy. Think Lord of the Rings but with sex,” she whispers back with a salacious grin. “Lots and lots of sex.”

I’m still trying to formulate a response to this when the author’s friend looks me up and down.

“You know, you look just like the main character in one of Helen’s books.”

All eyes turn to me, assessing. Heat rises. I wouldn’t be surprised if my hair were blushing.

“I’ll bet he doesn’t need any coaching, does he, sweetheart?” Janey directs at Louise with what can only be described as a lascivious wink.

Never mind blushing. I just might combust. I can’t believe perfect strangers are talking like this in a dusty old general store.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Helen adds with a sage nod. “I don’t suppose you’d be open to a little modelling? I’m always looking for cover models.”

“Ah, hmm.” I croak. “Thank you, but no.”

Helen and her friend heave disappointed sighs.

“Oh, well, it was worth a try.”

Louise shakes her head and gives them a smirk that lands somewhere between coy and suggestive. A look that hits me right where a steamy romance book might. As if she senses me watching her, she turns, nose scrunched up, lips pursed, a wicked gleam in her eye. The romance book that just hit me must have been a big one.

Armed with what must surely be questionable coffee, the women leave the store and it’s our turn to take our lives into our hands.

As Janey gets to work on our order, Wally shifts position and settles against the post boxes lined up opposite the coffee station

He crosses one worn-out sheepskin-booted ankle across the other and moves on from the subject of romance with what seems like the same level of relief as me.

“Where ya headed?”

“Mount Barker,” Louise answers, leaning on the counter in a way that makes her arse pop in the jeans she’s wearing. It’s alluring and disturbing. I snap my mouth shut to ensure I’m not drooling.

“Got any contraband?” Wally asks.

“What do you mean by contraband?” I respond, slightly alarmed. That seems like an odd thing to ask.

“You know. Fruits. Vegetables. You’re crossing the border in a bit. They’ll check your car.”

Louise just smiles and shakes her head.

“Really?” This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing.

“Yep. My brother crosses the border just about every day and they always check,” Wally says proudly, as if it’s some kind of badge of honour.

“I don’t think we have any fruit.” I’m assuming Louise doesn’t have any, but who knows with all those lollies.

“Well, you’d better make sure. They’ll go through your car like a dose of salts. Gives my brother and his mates the screaming shits.” He barks out a smoker’s-cough-laced laugh and settles into his storytelling. “So, what they do is, before they get there, they take off all their clothes. Right down to their jocks. Then they get out and stand there at the side of the road like that, bold as brass, while the border officer blokes check their cars. Gonna get themselves arrested one day, I reckon.”

Louise and I laugh. I suspect for different reasons. My laugh is incredulous. Hers amused.

“Is your brother worth looking at in his jocks?” she asks.

Wally shrugs. “Don’t know about that. But that’s what they do.”

“Maybe we’ll be in luck and see them,” Louise offers.