Page 19 of Outback Hearts

Something shifted in Jake’s expression—approval, maybe, or at least respect. ‘Alright then. But you do exactly what I say, when I say it. If I tell you to move or stop or get out, you move immediately. Understood?’

‘Understood.’

‘Then let’s go.’

He returned to his ute, pulling out a professional toolbox and inspection equipment. As he gathered what he needed, Amelia noticed the efficiency of his movements, the way he knew exactly where everything was, the careful organisation that spoke of someone who took his work seriously.

‘Ready?’ he asked, and there was a hint of challenge in it. Testing whether she’d actually follow through.

‘Ready,’ Amelia confirmed.

The interior of the pub was dim after the bright sunlight, dust motes dancing in the shafts of light that came through gaps in the boards. The smell hit Amelia first—musty, old, with undertones of decay and eucalyptus and something else she couldn’t place. The ground floor was a disaster—debris everywhere, sections of floor missing, parts of the ceiling sagging ominously.

But Jake seemed completely unfazed. He moved carefully but confidently, testing each floorboard before putting his weight on it. Amelia followed in his footsteps—literally stepping exactly where he’d stepped—trying to see what he was seeing.

‘Here,’ Jake said, crouching beside a support beam. ‘Look at this join. See how the timber’s weathered but not rotted? That’s good quality wood, properly treated. They built to last back then.’

Amelia crouched beside him, very aware of how close they were in the confined space. She could smell sawdust and sweat and something clean—soap maybe, or just him.

‘I see it,’ she said, focusing on the beam because looking at him felt too dangerous.

‘Now look here—’ He shifted, his shoulder brushing hers as he pointed to another section. ‘See the difference? This is water damage. The grain’s raised, the colour’s off. This section would need to be replaced.’

His voice when he explained things was different—softer, more patient, as if he genuinely wanted her to understand rather than simply going through the motions of explanation.

They worked their way through the ground floor, Jake examining every structural element whilst Amelia held his torch or took photos with his phone at specific angles. Every so often, he’d explain something—why a particular beam was important, what signs indicated failing versus stable timber, how to read the story of a building’s history in its construction.

Amelia found herself genuinely fascinated. Not just by Jake—though she was acutely aware of him constantly, of every accidental brush of contact, every moment when he stood too close whilst pointing something out—but by the building itself. The way he read it like a book, seeing past the decay to the structure underneath, understanding its strengths and weaknesses.

‘You’re good at this,’ Jake said suddenly, making her look up from the photograph she was taking.

‘At holding a torch?’ Amelia asked, confused.

‘At seeing what I’m seeing,’ Jake corrected. ‘Most people look at a building like this and see a ruin. You’re seeing the potential. The bones underneath. That’s—’ He paused, choosing words. ‘That’s rare. And valuable.’

Something warm unfurled in Amelia’s chest at the praise. ‘I like understanding how things work. How they’re put together. What makes them stand up.’

‘Have you ever considered architecture? Or building?’ Jake asked, surprising her with the question.

‘I’m supposed to start architecture at university,’ Amelia admitted. ‘Deferred for this gap year. But lately I’ve been wondering if—’ She stopped, not sure how to finish.

‘If you want something more hands-on?’ Jake suggested. ‘More practical than theoretical?’

‘Maybe,’ Amelia said. ‘Is that wrong? Everyone expects me to do the degree, have a respectable career. But the idea of spending four years in lecture halls when I could be actually building things—’

‘It’s not wrong,’ Jake said firmly. ‘Architecture and building are two sides of the same discipline. Both valuable. But if your instinct is towards the practical side, trust that. Good builders are worth their weight in gold, and we need more of them.’

The conversation felt unexpectedly intimate—not flirtatious, exactly, but personal in a way that made Amelia’s heart race.

‘Come on,’ Jake said, breaking the moment. ‘Let’s check the upstairs. Carefully.’

The stairs were treacherous, several steps missing entirely. Jake went first, testing each step thoroughly before trusting his weight to it. Amelia followed, hyper-aware of the drop to one side, the way the remaining steps creaked ominously.

Halfway up, a step cracked under her foot. She gasped, her balance shifting, and suddenly Jake’s hand was there—strong and sure, gripping her arm, steadying her against him.

‘Careful,’ he said, his voice close to her ear. ‘I’ve got you.’

They stood frozen for a moment, Amelia’s back against Jake’s chest, his arm around her waist, both breathing faster than the near-fall warranted. She could feel his heart beating against her shoulder blade—or maybe that was hers. Everything felt electric, heightened, dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with unstable stairs.