PROLOGUE

Jake
Twelve months earlier

She’s here to meet my brother.

The words reverberate around my brain and I stumble through the
crowded restaurant, bumping through the rowdy after-work crowd, to get
back to my dimly lit table where Steven, my best friend is waiting for me.
“Hey man, sorry I’m late.”
I shake my head at him, willing myself not to look back towards the bar.
Towards her.
“Jake? Are you OK?”
Am I OK? My world has just tilted off its axis and I’m unsure whether it
will right itself again.
“I’m fine.”
I manage to get the words out from my clenched jaw, my temples
throbbing with the intensity of what had just occurred. This sort of thing
doesn’t happen to me. I’m never driven to act by emotion, by need. But that’s
exactly what had happened eleven minutes ago when I’d looked up and seen
her walk into the restaurant. She’d appeared in the restaurant's doorway, the
evening sun setting behind her, giving her an ethereal halo and making her
red hair glow, and floated to the bar while the eyes of every man in the place
followed her. Mine included.
And everything’s been hazy ever since.
“Hey, isn’t that your brother?”
Steven nods towards where I know Robby is now sitting with Amelia.
Amelia. I let her name linger in my mind and stifle a groan.
I have to get out of here.
“Yes.” My tone is terse and my friend sends me a concerned glance. “He’s
on a date.”
Date. I’ve never hated a word more.
Steven whistles. “He’s got a beauty there. She’s gorgeous.”
I want to scream at him, “I know!” She’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look
at her. It’s why when she’d sat down at the bar stool, my feet had taken me to
her. Like they were guiding me to exactly where I was supposed to be. Only to
find she’s here to meet my brother. For a blind date, of all things.
“Man, your brother is a lucky guy,” Steven interrupts my internal turmoil
to state the obvious, sitting back in his chair and taking a long sip of his
whiskey. “He’s got no job, no ambition, no personality and he ends up with
someone like her.”
I feel every syllable from my friend’s mouth like a bullet. And it’s all true.
Though he may be my brother and I love him, I also know that he’s a spoilt,
self-involved brat. And now he’s dating Amelia.
No, scratch that. He’s on a first date with her and after meeting the two of
us at the same time (what are the chances?), she chose to be with him. And I
let it happen, because that’s the story of my life. I’m the giver in our
relationship; the older brother willing to do anything to keep his undeserving
younger brother happy.
Even this.
These thoughts sink like lead in my stomach as the leather seat behind me
bites into my back, adding to my growing discomfort. “Can we just get out of
here?”
Steven's mouth drops open. “But we just got here.”
 I fish a wad of cash out of my wallet—more than enough to cover our
drinks—drop it on the table and stand up, not caring whether he follows me.
“Jake? What’s wrong?”
Cutting the distance between our table and the exit, I wave away his
question. It feels too ridiculous to even voice. “I just need to get home.”
He follows, not asking any more questions, shooting me looks out of the
side of his eyes. I ignore him, steeling myself to glance one last time at my
brother. He’s still at the bar, leaning forward, his face alight with laughter as
he charms Amelia. Just like I knew he would.
I force myself to look away and step out into the rain, the bleakness of the
blisteringly cold weather matching my mood. Frigid raindrops run over my
face as I jog to my car, running away from the restaurant, away from where
my brother is on a date with Amelia.
Amelia.
The woman I saw first.
The woman I now must forget.

[Link]
 CHAPTER 1

Amelia
Present day

Here are the five places I’d rather be than standing up on this brightly-
coloured, yellow-themed church altar:

1. At the dentist (root canal, no less)

2. Getting a Bikini wax (Brazilian!)
3. Doing my taxes (numbers—ugh!)
4. Doing a presentation in front of people
5. On a long-haul plane trip (surrounded by only crying babies).

Am I being a tad dramatic? Maybe. But as I look around, absorbing all the
love and romance and gooey feelings of the people surrounding me, I believe
I’m justified in feeling this way.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
A swell of joyous applause erupts around me as I watch my bestie, Bella
Mancini-now Richardson, kiss the love of her life, her new husband Daniel.
My traitorous eyeballs fill with tears despite my previous rebellious thoughts,
and my hands clap vigorously. I can’t help myself. They’re such a beautiful
couple, both inside and out. If I didn’t love them so much, I’d hate them.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
 Daniel leans all the way down and kisses the life out of a beaming Bella
while the rapturous applause continues. I watch, happiness and dread fighting
for pole position in my stomach, because once this overly-long, somewhat
inappropriate for a church setting kiss ends, the spotlight will move to the
bridal party. AKA, me.
Bella laughingly pushes Daniel away, earning one last peck on the lips
from her besotted husband, before they turn hand in hand and face the
congregation, all the people who love them the most. And here we are, this is
it. The time has come, the reason for my earlier dread, the wishing to be
anywhere else but here. Sweat drips down my back as Bella takes her bouquet
of yellow roses from her smiling maid of honour and with her arm looped
through Daniel’s, the two of them start their married life with the short walk
down the aisle towards the now open doors of the church. Following behind
them comes the best man and maid of honour, Lucas and Amy Mancini.
Another disgustingly in love couple, joining together and all but skipping in
the footsteps of the bride and groom. And then? The other bridesmaid, Lilly,
and her groomsman husband, Oliver. Another couple. Linking hands and
making their way out of the church.
And then there’s…me. Just me. Only me. Apparently, Daniel has only two
friends in the entire world and decided, quite rudely if you ask me, to pick
Lucas and Oliver to be his groomsman, while Bella wanted all three of us to be
her bridesmaids. And when you look at those numbers, well the math ain’t
mathing. Leaving me the odd one out. The one who has to walk down the
aisle, behind the happy couples. Alone. All alone.
Deep breath, Amelia. No one is even looking at you.
Except they are. The faces of the hundred-plus congregation—how do
Bella and Daniel know so many people? And again, how could Daniel not find
one person in this crowd to partner with me today?—follow my every step.
And it may be that I’m imagining the pitying looks written on their faces as I
sprint-walk down the aisle, as fast as my heels and the mermaid skirt of this
gorgeous yet restrictive yellow dress will allow me. But it’s like every
furrowed brow and slight head shake is a sad indictment of my single status.
Like I need that kind of reminding.
 Just a few more steps and then freedom.
Except, what awaits me on the other sides of these doors is more couple
time, more playing third—seventh?—wheel in this group of twosomes as we
make a procession line to accept the hugs and kisses from all the well-wishers,
waiting to share their glowing congratulations with the bride and groom.
And the friends of the happy couple. Couple, couple, couple…and then one
lone woman. Wishing I was anywhere but here.
“You must be the friend, the spinster.” I’m startled from my internal panic
at being the odd one out by Bella’s aunty, who had travelled all the way from
Florence, Italy to be here today. To insult me, apparently.
“Not spinster, Zia,” Lucas, Bella’s older brother, gently chides the
confused-looking woman in front of us. He’s standing next to me in this
hellish procession line and has the privilege of witnessing my utter
humiliation. “That’s not quite the English word for what you mean.”
The said aunty looks perplexed, and I mirror her expression. I get English
isn’t her first language—and being unable to speak anything beyond the
tertiary Japanese I learnt in high school, I admire anyone who is bi-lingual—
but come on! A spinster is a spinster in any language.
“You mean, single,” Lucas clarifies with an embarrassed chuckle while my
cheeks flame. “She means you’re the unattached member of the bridal party,”
he continues to try to reassure me while making things worse.
“Ah, ok,” I mutter, happy to see the baffled-looking aunty being moved on
by another kindly family member, who is also shooting me a sympathetic
glance. When did being single become so taboo?
“Smile!”
The bridal party turns in unison at the command of the tiny but mighty
photographer, who according to Bella is the best in the business. She’s
working hard to move us into position and making us pose…all while looking
natural. An oxymoron if you ask me.
“Are you OK?” Amy, Lucas’s wife and Bella’s new sister-in-law asks me
through clenched teeth, as we continue to smile like maniacal evil geniuses.
It’s almost painful holding this smile in place at this point.
 “Sure, I’m fine.” I don’t want any of the focus of today to be on me. This is
Bella’s day and I wish only the most perfect wedding for her.
“Don’t take any notice of Zia Anna. When we last visited Bella and Lucas’s
family in Florence, she called me a young prostitute, when she meant to say
young professional.”
A loud chuckle bursts out of me as I picture the scene and Amy’s giggles
follow mine until we’re both laughing uncontrollably. The rest of the group
stop their enforced smiling for the photographer and turn to us, keen to be
included in the joke.
“I’m just filling Amelia in on the troubles we’ve all faced with the Italian-
to-English language barrier,” Amy gasps out between snorts. “Aunty Anna
just called Amelia a spinster.”
Another laugh escapes me as I try to ignore the sting that word still has in
its tail. It’s just a silly misunderstanding. Why am I letting it get to me so much?
“Amelia, I’m so sorry.” Bella moves away from the arms of her husband
and wraps her own arms around me.
“Don’t be silly,” I mumble into her neck while pulling her closer, drawing
comfort from her nearness. I’ve only known Bella for eighteen months, but it
feels like we were always destined to be best friends. And given Bella moved
from the other side of the world only to stumble into the hair salon where I
work on her third day in the country, it makes finding her even more special.
“It’s fine.”
She pulls back and frowns at me. That’s the trouble with having a bestie
who knows you better than you know yourself. She knows all my sore spots
and she can see straight through my lies. She knows that my single status,
after so many attempts at being part of a couple, is something that bothers me
more than it should.
“Are you sure?” She says this under her breath as we make our way to
where the shiny white stretch limousine is waiting to take us to the reception
venue. I’ve seen the location, having visited it with Bella many months ago,
and I know what awaits us: a beautiful white tented marquee, smothered in
yellow ribbons and flowers, perched just by the ocean.
 I squeeze her arm to my side and wobble a smile in her direction. “You
know me, I’m working on being fine, being on my own. I do not need a man.”
Her eyebrows draw down into an even deeper frown and I use my
forefinger to push them back into place.
“Seriously, Bella. Today is all about you and that hunky man who is now
your husband. My doomed love life is a discussion for another day.”
She opens her mouth, no doubt to argue with me and is interrupted by her
husband winding his muscular arms around her and pulling her back against
him. “Everything alright, Mrs. Richardson?”
I watch Bella melt into him and stifle the pang of longing I feel whenever
I’m near them. Or Lucas and Amy. Or Oliver and Lilly. Three perfect couples.
I could look at them and see what’s possible, but after the disaster that has
been my love life over the years, all I see when I look at them are my own
failures. My inability to find what they’ve found.
“Everything is perfect, Mr. Mancini,” Bella teases her husband, turning to
plant a soft kiss on his lips while he beams down at her. I know Daniel would
go against tradition and happily take Bella’s last name, if that’s what she
wanted. He’s willing to do anything for her.
“Then let’s get this party started!” This comes from Lilly, who’s already in
the limo, an opened champagne bottle in her hand. Oooh, alcohol. Maybe that’s
the ticket to making it through the rest of the day?

*****

Maybe not.
I’m on my fifth glass of champagne and have almost given up looking for
the numbing effects a good bottle of champagne can offer. Sure, after the first
glass went down and the crisp bubbles went straight to my head, things had
been looking up. But then we’d arrived at this magical venue, the marquee lit
with fairy-lights and candles, and filled with the light fragrance of vases upon
vases of yellow roses, adding to the sensual vibe Bella was hoping to achieve,
and I had halted at the seating arrangements of the bridal table.
 Here’s what it’s like: you know when you go to a dinner party that has just
enough room at the table to fit the invited guests? Say, in this case, three
happy couples? And then someone brings an extra stray person along, so the
hosts have to find a fold-out table, stick it on the end, slap on a tablecloth and
hope no one will notice where the real table ends and the add-on table begins?
Well, that’s where I am today, at the end of the table, the extra part that’s not
supposed to be there. I feel like my mere presence is making everything
lopsided and slightly wrong. And I know I’m being overly sensitive and this
perception of my role today is most likely all in my head, but I can’t get over
the notion that my being here without a partner is throwing the entire bridal
party off.
“Aren’t they the most beautiful couple?” Lilly’s slightly slurred words draw
my attention away from my unhinged internal monologue about seating
arrangements and direct it back to the dancefloor where the bride and groom
are sharing their first dance. The haunting notes of Etta James’s “At Last” fill
the air and goosebumps pop up along each of my arms as my attention is glued
to the two of them gliding across the floor, lost in each other’s gaze, their
utter devotion to each other palpable.
I swallow hard. “They are.”
“Do you want to get married?”
My head turns sharply to look at Lilly, wondering where this question
came from. Since becoming friends with Bella all those months ago, I’d been
adopted into her friendship group, which comprises Amy and her best friend
Lilly, who is also Bella’s business partner. We’d spent enough time together
for Lilly to know that love and romance are not a popular topic of
conversation for me.
“What about me makes you think I’m the marrying kind?”
She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at me like she’s attempting to peer
into my soul. And it’s working. Her intense inspection of me has my hands
sweating.
“I think you’re totally the marrying kind.” She nods her head firmly after
she says this, like the decision has been made.
 “Lilly,” I start, keeping my voice firm like I would if I were talking to an
unruly toddler. “You know I don’t want a relationship, that I’ve given up on
love.”
Her expression softens as she looks from the happy couple back to me.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right man yet?”
I snort. “Well, I’ve met enough wrong men to know when to give up. It’s
just not in the cards for me.”
“You haven’t met anyone who you’d want to settle down with?”
A pair of emerald green eyes flash in my mind without permission, and I
promptly shoo them away.
“Nope. Not a single one.”
Lilly opens her mouth—to argue? to console me?—and is interrupted by
the MC of the night, a role taken seriously by the fire station captain from
where Daniel works. His deep commanding voice makes him perfect for the
job, asking for the members of the bridal party to join the newlywed couple
on the dance floor.
What fresh hell is this?
My mind races as Lucas leads Amy to the dance floor, followed by Oliver
and Lilly. No, no, no. This can’t be happening! I’d been prepared for the awkward
walk down the aisle, the uncomfortable photo shoot, the uneven numbers of
this seating arrangement, but this? This is too much.
I’m rooted in my seat, staving off a panic attack, when my blurry vision
stumbles on a large figure coming towards me. Daniel, the groom.
“Come dance with us,” he says with a dimpled smile and an offer of his
hand. “We’re all dancing together.”
It’s only now that I focus on the dancefloor. I can see the six of them in a
circle, arms around each other, dancing as one. Not as three separate couples.
My breath rushes out of my lungs and those pesky tears tremble on my lashes.
“You know Bella would never do anything to make you feel left out,”
Daniel says as he tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and walks us to
where our friends are waiting. “I know you’ve been dreading being the ‘odd
number’ today, but it’s just that, we could never have had our wedding
without you being right by our sides.”
 My insides flood with warmth; Daniel isn’t typically very effusive with his
words. Except for when he’s with his love, Bella. With her, he’s a walking love
sonnet.
“Thanks, Daniel.” My hand squeezes his arm as I’m filled with affection for
the people in front of me. So what if I’m alone, the spinster of the group?
Who needs a boyfriend when you have friends just like these?

*****

A boyfriend wouldn’t be the worst at a time like this.

This thought is playing on a loop in my mind, as I find myself several
hours later, after the festivities are over, hobbling down the gravel path away
from the magical fairyland wedding reception venue, towards where a car was
supposed to be waiting for me. The rest of the bridal party had all left in
groups of two (very Noah’s ark of them), only leaving me alone once I’d given
them several dozen reassurances that I had a ride home. And I thought I had,
except now it’s dark and my feet really hurt and the silver Subaru, licence plate
TKO065, is nowhere in sight.
“Come on,” I mutter at my phone, which is refusing to find 4G (or is it 5G
now? Or is that the bad G that is trying to take over the human race?). “How
am I supposed to order an Uber without the internet?”
My phone remains stoic in its non-answer and I huff out a breath. Which
I can now see in front of me. Thank you, frosty spring nights in Melbourne.
The day had been so blindingly sunny, that I hadn’t given one single thought
to bringing a jacket. Or a shawl or anything to cover my naked shoulders, left
bare thanks to the flattering deep sweetheart neckline of this strapless lemon-
coloured bridesmaid’s dress.
“It’s going to be OK.” I say this into the darkness because the only person
I’m reassuring with these words is me. And I’m not doing a great job at it, if I
do say so myself.
With a sigh that I feel from the depths of my soul, I force my tired, aching
feet to walk back up the hill to the reception venue, where, hopefully, there is
a phone I can use. Surely these places still have landlines?
 “Are you able to order me a taxi?” I ask the first person I stumble upon,
who is busily clearing the tables we’d just vacated.
A blank stare greets this request.
“Do you have a phone?”
Nothing.
“Do you speak English?”
A slight shake of the head. Great. My night keeps getting better and better.
I reach into my impractically small clutch purse and pull out my phone.
Holding it up and pointing to it, I ask again in a loud voice, “Do you have a
phone I can use?”
Now, I know speaking louder will not get her to understand me, but my
tired, slightly intoxicated brain is working off fumes at the moment, so I’m
hoping this will excuse my culturally insensitive behaviour. Just this once.
“Here.” My new non-English-speaking friend hands over her phone and
with a grateful smile, I take it from her, happy to see her service provider has
granted her network privileges, and use it to call for a taxi. A taxi that will
take thirty-five minutes to get to me. Wonderful.
“Thank you,” I say, this time keeping my voice at a normal decibel, as I
give her back her phone, hoping that she can understand the gratitude on my
face and in my tone, if not my words themselves.
“Welcome.” She gives me a timid smile and gets back to work, leaving me
alone. Again. Geez, talk about a theme for the entire day.
The blister on my right toe takes this opportunity to burst, and this is my
cue to take the sparkly, so pretty, silver torture devices off my throbbing feet
and brave the walk back down the gravel path to the roadside, to wait for my
taxi. Leaving a small trail of blood in my wake, I limp away from the warmth
of the building into the night.
“Ouch,” I hiss, walking on my tippy toes and debating with each step into
the stones coating the pathway whether I should put my shoes back on. This is
just a perfect end to what has been a really trying day.
Reaching the end of the driveway, I sink down into the grass, wincing at
the grass stains I’m inevitably inflicting on this beautiful dress and blink
furiously. I’ve made it through the day without giving in to the tears that have
had my throat tightening every fifteen minutes. I’m not letting one little
(enormous) blister and a missed Uber ride break me now.
A partner to share some of these burdens wouldn’t be the worst thing.
I’m too emotionally spent to squash this annoying voice in my head that
always seems to pop up when I’m feeling at my lowest. I hate this voice. It
makes me feel weak and useless, like I can’t be a fully-fledged, fully-
functioning person without a boyfriend. But then, at times like these, when all
my friends disappear into the night as couples, entwined and happy, I can’t
stifle the idea that things would be easier, better even, with someone by my
side.
“You are a strong, independent woman, who doesn’t need anyone to get
you through this life. You have the tools to be successful and whole, all on
your own.”
I repeat this mantra out loud because there’s literally not a single person
nearby to hear me, until the taxi driver approaches, offering me a way to
bring this day to an end. A ride home to bed. To sleep and then start
tomorrow without this sense of loneliness dripping over me.
“Miss? You need a taxi?”
I slowly bring myself up to a standing position and gingerly walk to the
car.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“You ready to go?”
Am I ever! “Yes, I’m so ready to go.”
I sink gratefully back into the soft leather car seat, letting the rambling,
running sentences of this particularly chatty taxi driver wash over me, only
inserting the occasional “aha” and “yep” when it seemed appropriate.
“This is you, Miss.”
I open my eyes, wondering if I’d actually fallen asleep and see my
apartment building through the fogged-up car window.
“Thank you.” I pay the exorbitant fare—geez, my savings are taking a hit
with this one taxi ride—and, looping my fingers through the straps of my shoes,
I walk the final few steps through the front door of my building.
 “Stupid staircase!” I curse this older, elevator-free building, as I do daily,
and gripping the handrail tightly, I pull my heavy legs up the one, two, three
flights of stairs, summoning the last of my energy to trudge down the final
hallway to my apartment. 3F.
“What in the mother of all that is holy is this?”
I say this out loud, out very loud, as I stare at the note taped haphazardly
to my front door.
“Oh no, not today, Satan!”
With a burst of energy that would have seemed impossible to find a mere
thirty seconds ago, I wrench the note off my door, crumple it in my hand,
throw it down on the floor and using my foot—the bleeding one—I stomp on
it.
“How dare he!?”
My angry words bounce off the walls in the silent corridor and when no
answers are forthcoming, I use my phone to order an Uber (thank you, 4G)
and run—no sprint—back down the three flights of stairs, to wait for it. It
may be one o’clock in the morning, and this may be an overreaction, but this
is not happening. Not today.
The car I ordered has barely screeched to a halt when I vault inside, telling
the driver to step on it. He shoots me a startled glance in his rear-view mirror
before doing as I ask and taking off at high speed. The force of this pins me
back against the back of my seat and it’s only after I’ve found my balance again
that I’m able to look at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand. It’s from my
ex-boyfriend Robby. The ex-boyfriend who dumped me unceremoniously six
months ago and then disappeared without a trace. And the note has the nerve
to say:
“I miss you and I want you back.”
I. Don’t. Think. So!
Oh Robby, you’re in for a world of pain. And I’m so in the right mood to
inflict it on you.

[Link]
 CHAPTER 2

Amelia

“ROBBY!” I scream, banging my fist on the hard wooden door loud enough to
wake the dead. But not Robby, apparently. After my Uber driver—turned
would-be therapist who listened to me rant for the entirety of our fifteen-
minute journey together—dropped me at the front door of the note-writing-
douche-bag, I’ve been standing here for what feels like hours (probably less
than two minutes) waiting for my ex-boyfriend, Robby the Ridiculous, to
open the door. With absolutely zero luck. It’s like he’s not even home.
“I know you’re in there!” I continue to scream at the un-answering timber
door in front of me. “I’m not leaving, so you’ll just have to open up and face
me.”
My heart races and a trail of sweat trickles down my back even though the
middle-of-the-night air around me is verging on icy cold. I’m in such a state
that my anger is keeping me warm, even as my toes are getting frostbite. I
really should have stopped to put on sneakers before charging out into the dead of
night, I think as I ponder my sore, sorry bare feet.
“Robby!” I give the door one more, most likely futile, thump, before
stepping back to assess the situation. My loser-ex-boyfriend had left an
impassioned note on my door after six months of silence and then doesn’t
even have the courtesy to be home when I want—no need—to respond!
 “Amelia?”
The deep baritone of a man’s—his—voice startles me and I stumble
backwards, away from the house I’d just been desperate to get into.
“Is that you?”
I scan the man standing in front of me, taking in his dishevelled
appearance (pyjama pants only, and a large expanse of bare, bronzed chest),
messy jet-black hair, square jawline covered in what looks like designer
stubble but is unlikely to be anything but natural, and tired emerald green
eyes. Oh boy, those eyes.
“Where is he?” I go on the offence, demanding answers while willing
myself to not take off running. “I know he’s in there!”
The half-naked man in front of me gives me what can only be described as
a look of pure bewilderment, before reaching up and putting on his glasses.
God save me from this man in glasses.
“Robby? You’re here for Robby?”
I push past him, my shoulder bumping his biceps as I flounce into the
house, determined to complete my mission. My mission to find Robby and
then kick him in the butt for being a gigantic jerk.
“Who else would I be here for?”
I turn to see him staring at me, pale like he’d seen a ghost.
“But, he’s not here.”
The air deflates from my lungs and I only just hold myself back from
slumping to the ground. He’s not here.
I rally. “Don’t you cover for him, Jake Johnson. I know he lives here.”
My breathing speeds up and the anger that only a moment ago had been
downgraded to simmering is now back to boiling again. If I don’t get to
unleash it on somebody soon, I’m going to explode.
“He does live here,” Jake, Robby’s older brother and roommate, tells me,
his voice slow and deliberate. Like he’s explaining the laws of physics to a six-
year-old. “But he isn’t here now.”
For reasons I will examine later, I decide not to believe him. “Robby?” I
take off down the hallway away from the open plan living room and kitchen
area, towards where I know his bedroom is. “Get your sorry butt out here!”
 “Seriously, Amelia.” Jake’s voice is right behind me, following so close I
can feel the heat from his body on my back. And for some strange reason, I
want to stop and sink into it. “He just left. He’s taken his new girlfriend and
gone on tour with the band.”
I screech to a halt for a variety of reasons. The words girlfriend and band
being the most obvious.
“What?” I spin on the heels of my feet and come face to face with Jake’s
chest. Or face to chest, as the case may be.
“Are you OK?” The concern in his voice has me looking up and then up
some more into his worried expression.
“Robby—what?” I can’t find the words to continue and instead allow
myself to be led by Jake’s gentle hand on my upper arm, guiding me back to
their beige overstuffed couch.
“Was he supposed to be here?”
I sink down into the couch cushions, the narrow skirt of this bridesmaid’s
dress (how am I still wearing this thing?) crinkling as I do.
“Hmmmph.” I’ve run out of words. This day, all the good and the bad of it,
has officially left me speechless. How is Robby not here when I desperately
need him to be so I can tell him to get lost?
“Want to tell me what happened?” Jake is crouched in front of me, so his
eyes, worried behind the lenses of his trendy black glasses frames, are level
with mine.
“He’s really not here?” My voice sounds as defeated as I feel and I startle
when Jake takes my hands in his much larger hands, squeezing them like he’s
offering comfort. And also trying to get me to concentrate.
“No, he’s really not.”
We sit in silence. Me trying to gather my thoughts. Jake trying to read
them.
“So, again, what’s this all about?”
He asks this at the same time as letting go of my hand (shame), rising and
walking to the kitchen where I watch through a haze of tiredness, as he puts
the kettle on.
“Melbourne breakfast tea? One sugar and a splash of milk?”
 How does he remember the way I take my tea?
“Sounds perfect,” I sigh. “Absolutely perfect.”
Melbourne Breakfast tea is the cousin, the superior cousin in my opinion,
to the more popular English Breakfast tea. The two are very similar, except as
with all things made in Melbourne, our version is better.
“Here.” I open my eyes, which I don’t remember closing, to a steaming cup
of tea in front of me. And Jake, with a long-sleeve navy blue Henley shirt on.
Did I fall asleep? “Drink this.”
My hands are shaking slightly as I take the cup from Jake and absorb the
heat radiating from the ceramic cup. Now that the initial surge of energy that
had driven me here, urging me on, has diminished, I just feel cold. And oh-so-
tired.
“Amelia?”
I blow on the steaming teacup in my hands and avoid his gaze. My
thoughts are muddled enough without having to look at that face.
“What happened?”
Well, I think, it started when I met your brother and was stupid enough to
actually date him for six months. And then he ghosted me, only to leave this stupid
note on my door out of nowhere.
The note!
I pull the crumpled piece of paper from my tiny golden purse and throw it
at Jake, wishing I was throwing it at Robby’s head instead.
“What’s this?”
“The reason I’m here.” My voice sounds as exhausted as I feel and I lean
back against the couch cushion, taking a much-needed sip from my cup.
“I miss you and I want you back,” he reads out loud, his voice confused
with a tinge of something else. Anger? Disgust? “This is from Robby?”
Huh. I’d never stopped to question if it could be from anyone else. There’s
been no one in my life for so long; that it had to be from Robby was clear as
day in my mind.
“Look at the handwriting,” I say, my eyelids drooping shut. “That childlike
scrawl is unmistakable.”
 We sit in silence as I absorb the darkness of my closed eyelids and Jake
presumably absorbs the idiocy of his younger brother.
“But…why would he leave this? He has a new girlfriend.”
I shrug. “Who knows why Robby does anything?”
“I’m sorry, Amelia. He shouldn’t have done this.” The sincerity in his voice
has me prying open my eyelids to look at him. And then wishing I hadn’t.
“Don’t you feel sorry for me, Jake. I didn’t come here to take him back.”
Jake’s cheeks flush, and he gets up to pace the room. Back and forth, I
watch him prowl, like an animal in a cage. It’s quite a sight to behold. The
buttoned-up and normally restrained Jake, all angry and growly.
“Of course you wouldn’t take him back.”
Good, we agree.
“But the whole thing makes no sense. You haven’t seen each other in six
months.”
So Jake has been paying attention.
“I know this. Don’t ask me. Ask the man you share DNA with.”
“Humph.”
More silence. This time I’m more alert, fascinated by this display in front
of me. During my time with Robby, I’d only seen Jake on a handful of
occasions and our interactions had never been more than polite small talk, so
seeing him all huffy and annoyed is quite delightful indeed.
“When did he leave the note?”
I shrug again. “I haven’t been home since Friday. Bella got married today.” I
sweep my hand along the side of my body, hoping this will explain my
appearance in this oh-so-fancy lemon-yellow dress. “So I’ve been staying with
her the last two nights.”
He gives me a soft look, his eyes unfocussed as he takes in my dress and
what remains of my elegant up-do, before shaking himself slightly. “That
means my idiot brother put this note on your door and then promptly took
off with his girlfriend.”
I snort at the absolute absurdity of it all. And then I chuckle, and when I
can’t hold that in, I just let it all out. I laugh until tears run down my face and a
stitch forms in my side. Who does that? And why do I attract only the type of men
who would do something like that?
“Millie?”
My laughter stops abruptly at the use of this nickname.
“Yes?” My voice quivers and I hate myself for it.
“Are you really OK?”
Jake sits back down. This time he’s right next to me, so close that I’m
absorbing the heat from his thigh pressed against mine.
“Nope.”
I let my one-word answer sit between us as I examine the painting on the
wall. It’s a Melbourne city landscape, and it looks familiar.
“How can I help?”
I turn my head, alarmed to find his face close to mine. So close I can see
the flecks of gold around the irises of his startling green eyes, and the
smattering of grey hair at his temple. Jake is seven years older than me and
Robby and is very much a grown-up in every sense of the word. Grey hairs
and all.
“I don’t need help.” The lie falls easily from my lips, having repeated it so
often over the years that it comes naturally to me. Maybe one day when I say
it, I’ll actually mean it. “Tell me a bit about this tour Robby is going on,” I say
when it looks like Jake is gearing up to call me on my bullshit.
He grimaces and lets out a dismissive-sounding snort. “I use the word tour
loosely. He got a call from that band he sometimes gigs with, ‘Raging Inferno’.
Apparently, they have a few venues booked for over the summer and they
asked him to come along.”
I recall Robby had sometimes played with these guys when we were
together, and that they weren’t very good at all.
“People are going to pay to see them?” Scepticism drips from my voice.
Jake laughs, his deep chuckle warming my belly. “No, don’t be ridiculous.
You’ve heard them. They’re awful!”
A memory of exactly how awful surfaces and I wince. Like a fool in love,
I’d attended several of their ‘jamming’ sessions and, after the first time, had
smartly taken to wearing earplugs.
 “So, they’re just playing for free?”
Jake runs his hand over his stubbled jaw, a rueful gesture. “I tried to talk
him out of it, but you know Robby. He thinks it will be his big break.”
“But…what?” The whole thing makes no sense. Maybe my tired brain is just not
processing it all properly? “You’re telling me the band is going to play gigs for
free and Robby thinks this will lead to something…more?”
Jake’s lips tip up at one side, giving me that lopsided grin that I’d tried to
avoid looking at when I was dating his brother. “And get this…” He pauses to
build the anticipation.
“What?!” I demand.
“Robby is the back-up drummer! He’s only going to play if something
happens to the actual drummer.”
A gleeful laugh bursts out of me and I’m filled with the kind of joy that
comes only when bad things happen to bad people.
“He’s not even the real drummer?” I gasp out between chuckles. “And he’s
gone with them, anyway?”
He sighs and runs his hand through that thick mop of black hair. “You
know Robby…always chasing a dream.”
My laughter abruptly stops. Again. This impulsive behaviour, the ‘always
chasing the impossible dream’ mentality is what had drawn me to Robby in
the first place. To all my boyfriends, now that I think about it. They all seem to
have a boyish enthusiasm for life, but it’s really just masking an inability to
actually grow up and get a proper job. It’s a pattern that I’ve identified and am
determined to break. If I ever decide to give dating another go. Which, let’s
face it, seems pretty doubtful.
“How are the two of you even related? You’re so different.” When I’d first
met Robby, I’d thought that maybe this was an insult to Jake, that he was
merely stuffy and boring, but once again, my terrible judgement had led me
down the wrong path. Straight to the guy who’d ultimately be careless with
my heart.
“I’m the older brother,” he shrugs. “My parents expected more from me.
And they spoilt Robby. We all did.”
 That had been very clear since the early days of our relationship. Robby
was always a child in the body of a man. And treated as such by his family,
who adored him.
“Well, good luck to him.” I run my hands over my satin-covered thighs,
summoning the energy to get up off this marshmallow-soft couch and find my
way home.
“What are you going to do about this?” He holds up the crumpled note, his
eyebrows drawn down into a frown.
“Nothing. Robby’s had six months to contact me. That note is just part of
some twisted game to him.”
He squashes the paper in his hand, flattening it like a pancake. “You just
came here to tell him to get lost?”
There’s a hint of something in this question that I can’t quite place. It
sounds like hope, but that makes no sense. Why would he want me to reject his
brother?
“I actually came to kick his butt.” This earns me another lopsided smile
and I look away. “But essentially, yes, I came to reject him. And I’m bummed
to have missed the chance.”
“I’m more than happy to pass on the message,” he says, his voice serious
and gravelly. Like he’d relish the chance to tell his brother that I was rejecting
him. “He shouldn’t have done this to you. Any of it.”
I agree and am grateful he’s taking my side on this. Come to think of it,
although our paths barely crossed during the months I was with Robby, he
always managed to have my back. “I just feel sorry for his new girlfriend.”
Jake rolls his eyes. “Don’t. She knows exactly who he is, and she’s with
him, anyway.”
My hackles rise, and I huff out a breath. “Do you think I should have seen
Robby and known he’d hurt me? That I deserved what I got?”
The blood drains from his face. “Amelia, of course I don’t.” He sounds so
sincere, so tortured I believe him. “I could have killed Robby for the way he
treated you.”
These words echo between us, and the air fills with tension. Time to go,
Amelia. You do not want to get caught up in any of the warm and fuzzy feelings this
man evokes in you.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Your brother is the jerk in this
story.” My words are snarky, but my tone is not. Jake doesn’t deserve my
anger. He’s not the bad guy here. He never could be. He’s just not built that
way.
“He is.”
Again, the complete sincerity in his voice has me longing to lay my head
on his broad shoulder and have him tell me that everything is going to be OK.
And this has me jumping to my feet.
Time to go, Amelia.
“I’d better go.” I smooth down the front of my dress and try to hike up the
top at the same time. It’s been almost sixteen hours since I put it on this
morning (or was that yesterday now?), and I’m dying to take it off.
“You have no shoes.”
We both look down at my bloodied toes.
“Excellent powers of observation.”
“You came here with no shoes on?”
I point to where I’d dropped my stunning, but torturous strappy heels by
the door. “They hurt.”
He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes and I feel bad. The poor guy has
to work tomorrow, and I’ve kept him up with my childish ranting and raving.
“I’m sorry to have woken you.” I say these words now, feeling terrible for
not saying them sooner. “You’ve got work tomorrow, right?”
His lips twist into a smile. “It’s Monday tomorrow, Millie. Everyone has
work.”
“Not me!” I point out. The hair salon where I work is closed on Sundays
and Mondays and I can’t wait to spend the entirety of my day off tomorrow in
bed, binge-watching Gilmore Girls to soothe my battered soul.
“That’s right, Mondays are a day off for you,” he says like a person who
knows my schedule.
Strange.
“Yes,” I mutter, flustered, but unsure exactly why. “But I’d better let you get
some sleep. You probably have a big court case or something tomorrow? A
closing argument to the jury, perhaps?” When I’d learnt that Jake was a
lawyer, I’d imagined his daily life to be like that of Matthew McConaughey in
A Time to Kill or Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird, filled with courtroom
drama.
“I’m not a trial lawyer, Millie,” he reminds me, effectively crushing my
fantasy. “I spend my days filing motions and negotiating across a boardroom
table.”
Ooof. Maybe I was right? That sounds boring.
My thoughts must have flashed across my face because he gives me an
amused look and ruffles my hair, like I’m a six-year-old child. “Too boring for
you?” he teases. “Not as glamorous as, say, a drummer in a band?”
I laugh. “An under-study for a drummer in a band! You can’t get more
glamorous than that.”
“You know how to pick the good ones.” This douses my merriment and
has the pesky tears threatening to re-emerge. It’s definitely time to leave.
“I’ve got to go.” I half stumble away from him, seeing a flash of regret on
his face before I turn away.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice urgent. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You’re fine,” I lie. “I just need to get home.”
“Let me drive you,” he offers, trying and failing to catch my gaze. “It’s too
late to be calling an Uber.”
I limp to where my shoes are waiting for me. “It’s how I got here.”
“Well, I’m here now.” His words hit a spot in me, stopping my forward
march to the front door. “Let me drive you home. It’s the least I can do…you
know, to apologise for my brother.”
I look at him. He seems upset and genuinely remorseful—for what? The
actions of his brother? Or his own words, which were like a knife to the gut?
I decide to accept his offer. It’s just one ride home after all, and then we
won’t have a reason to see each other again.
Huh, a strangely sad thought.
“OK.”
“OK?” he repeats, like I’ve given him a gift instead of just accepting a ride
home. “Wait here.”
 I watch his long legs take him towards his bedroom and chastise myself
silently. Get a grip, Amelia. This is Robby’s much older, more mature, out-of-
your-league BROTHER. You can’t be having any feelings for him.
“Here.”
A soft-looking grey sweater is waved in front of my face and I take it
before it drops on the floor.
“Put that on. It’s freezing outside.”
He doesn’t need to ask me twice. In addition to my frost-bitten toes, my
arms are also covered in goosebumps and the cold is making my bones ache. I
long for a hot bath and my softest, most comfortable pyjamas.
“Thanks.” I pull the sweatshirt over my head, laughing when it reaches the
tops of my knees. At five-foot-four inches, I’m not miniature like my tiny
friends Bella and Lilly; I never need to have the hem of my pants taken up. But
wearing the clothes of the six-foot, three-inch giant next to me makes me feel
like a kid wearing her mum’s clothes as dress-up.
“Better?” The throaty quality in Jake’s voice forces me to look up and then
I immediately look down again. The heat in the way he’s watching me
wearing his clothes must be something I’m conjuring up in my sleep-
deprived, alcohol-ridden, desperately lonely state of mind.
“Much.”
We stand in silence; me looking at my feet, Jake looking at the top of my
head, if the burning sensation in my skull is anything to go by.
“Then let’s get you home.”
I follow him to the front door, picking up my shoes as I go.
“You’re not putting them on?” He’s frowning at my shoes and then my bare
feet, where they’re peeking out from under the hem of my dress.
“You could offer me a million dollars to put them on, and I’d still say no.”
He frowns some more. “You can’t walk outside without shoes.”
I stomp my foot. “I can and I will.”
We stare at each other. Another stand-off. Which is broken when Jake
bends down and swings me up into his arms.
“Problem solved.” He cradles me against him and, without even a hitch in
his breath to show that he’s carrying a whole other human being in his arms,
he walks us out the front door.
What is happening? And why is there not one single thing in me that wants to
make it stop?
“Um, Jake?” I tug on his sleeve to bring his attention down to me,
regretting it immediately when I see his green eyes closer than they’ve ever
been. “Whatcha doing?” My voice is breathless and I’m not the one exerting
any energy. This is not good.
He stops and smiles down at me. “I’m taking you home, Millie. So just
hang on and enjoy the ride.”
I do as he asks, guilt-ridden by the knowledge that I’m enjoying the ride
just a little too much.
He’s your ex-boyfriend’s brother, I repeat in my mind in time with each
footstep Jake takes. He’s off-limits.
He’s your ex-boyfriend’s brother.

[Link]
 CHAPTER 3

Jake

She’s your brother’s ex-girlfriend, I repeat silently as I try to ignore how amazing
Amelia feels in my arms.
Your brother’s ex-girlfriend!
“You saw her first,” a pesky little voice argues back, and I shut it down.
Thoughts like these do nothing to help the reality of the situation: that she’s
not mine and she never will be.
“You can put me down now.” Amelia’s husky voice pulls me out of my
head and I see that I’m in front of my car and have seemingly just been
standing still. Holding her.
“Sorry.” I let go of her legs and keep my arms around her shoulders to hold
her steady.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says, her voice soft, her gaze on the ground
between us.
What made me think picking her up and carrying her like a caveman was a
good idea?
“Let’s get you home.” I hear the defeat in my voice and I try to rally. Amelia
showing up on my doorstep in the dead of night has shaken me to my core,
but she doesn’t need to know that. She needs to remain oblivious, as always.
 I walk away from her, stopping myself from helping her into the
passenger seat and buckling her in like I so desperately want to. Instead, I
make my way to safety, all the way over to the other side of the car.
“Ready?” I ask after we’re both settled into our seats.
“Yup.” She gives me an uncertain look, like she’s trying to figure me out.
Good luck. I can’t figure myself out when she’s around.
“Are you still at the same address? In Richmond?”
She throws me a shocked glance. “How do you know where I live?”
Act cool. “Robby must have told me. I have a pretty good memory.” I tap
my head for good measure and start the engine. Time to wrap up this brief
reunion.
“Oh, that makes sense. You’re also pretty observant.”
“You need to be, in my job,” I tell her, lying because I’m actually not usually
an observant type. She’s just easy to pay attention to. Like right now, in the
dim light of the passing streetlights, I can see how tired she is, how drawn her
features are, how upset Robby’s note has left her. And how beautiful she
looks. How beautiful she always looks.
“For all your non-courtroom negotiations?”
She’s teasing me, but I could see the disappointment on her face when
she’d learnt just how boring my job actually is. Most people think lawyers lead
a fast-paced, main-character-in-a John-Grisham-story kind of existence,
when in reality, I spend my days reading and writing dreary documents.
Compared to the men she dates, I’m old, dull and lifeless.
“And don’t forget the writing of contracts. That can get pretty tense.”
She laughs and my stomach clenches. Amelia’s laugh has a smoky quality
to it, a sexy sound that I’ve been trying to forget for almost twelve months
now.
“It can’t be more exciting than cutting and colouring hair for a living.
That’s really living on the edge.”
Having seen some of the hairstyles and colours that Amelia has created, I
want to argue, but that would once again reveal just how much I know about
her. Not a rabbit hole I want to go down.
 “Tell me about Bella’s wedding.” I’d heard a bit about her best friend over
the handful of times we’d talked, and I know Amelia loves her like a sister.
“It was a beautiful day.”
Her words are sincere, but her tone is sad. What happened here?
“Did it all go smoothly?” I frame the question like a lawyer, not asking her
directly what I want to know, which is why the wedding of her best friend has
made her look so defeated.
“It did. It was perfect.”
We’re stopped at a traffic light, and my gaze is drawn back to her. She’s
wearing my sweatshirt and I will my thoughts away from the body that was
shown in such a perfect way by the daisy-yellow dress underneath. There had
been too many curves on display for my peace of mind.
“The light’s green.”
I press my foot on the pedal and we lurch forward. Apparently, in Amelia’s
presence, I don’t know how to drive. Wonderful.
“So, the day was perfect…” I prod.
“It was…” she trails off, her voice wistful. “Bella looked beautiful. Her
vision of a yellow-themed fairyland came to life perfectly. It’s just that…”
She stops again, and I bite my tongue, hard, to stop from asking more
questions. If she wants to share, she will. It’s not my place to probe any deeper.
“It’s just…now that Bella’s married, things will be different.”
“Different how?” I slow my speed down, just a touch so Amelia won’t
notice, trying to prolong our time together.
I’m pathetic.
“I don’t know.” She sounds frustrated. With herself? With me for asking too
many questions? “We used to do everything together, and now she’s someone’s
wife. And I’m alone…”
Ahhh. So that’s it? She’s lonely?
“Bella sounds like a wonderful friend. I’m sure things won’t change
between you.”
I feel her gaze on the side of my head, and I keep mine facing forward.
Now is not the time to get lost in her big brown eyes.
“You think?” Her voice is both hopeful and doubtful.
 “People get married all the time and don’t lose their friends. You’ll be fine.”
When she doesn’t reply, I hazard a quick look in her direction, seeing she’s
nodding while staring out her window.
“Seriously,” I continue, wanting to make sure she’s feeling better before I
drop her at her front door. And say goodbye. “My best friend got married a
few months back and now I can’t get rid of him. He’s at my place all the time…
I think he’s trying to get away from his wife, nagging him to pick up his
socks.”
This pulls a laugh from her and I feel ten feet tall. Cheering her up,
making her smile. It’s a minor victory for me, but one I’m happy to claim.
“Steven? Your best friend got married?”
I start. She remembers my best friend? Maybe I wasn’t the only one paying
attention.
“Yeah, he and Jasmine got married in June. A winter wedding. They
wanted a winter wonderland theme, and they got it. The day was freezing
cold, so cold that the bride could have been her own ‘something blue’.”
She laughs again—victory!—and asks me to tell her more. I oblige, telling
stories of lost rings and drunken speeches gone wrong.
“But through it all, Steven and Jasmine were oblivious. They were just
thrilled to be husband and wife.”
“That’s how it should be.” Her voice is wistful again. “The wedding is just
one day. It’s the relationship that comes after it that counts the most. My
parents didn’t have the best relationship…”
She trails off again and I leave her words to sit between us. Silently willing
her to open up to me.
“My dad left when I was sixteen.” Her words drop like a heavy stone. “For
most of my life, he travelled for work and was away more than he was at
home. My mum raised me pretty much on her own anyway.”
I say nothing, my stomach clenching at the bitterness in her tone.
“I could never understand why my dad loved his job more than me, why he
chose his career over his family.” She stumbles on the word career and a few
things fall into place. Namely, her attraction to men like Robby, who wouldn’t
know a career if it bit him in the face.
 “So, what happened?” I prompt into the silence.
“Well, one day, he didn’t come back from his trip. And pretty soon after
that, he started another family with another woman, had a couple more kids
and I became an afterthought.”
My heart hurts at the pain I hear in her voice and I’m inextricably angry at
this man—her father—for ever making her feel this way.
“Anyway, that’s it. My sad story. It’s not even that unique really, just
another tale of a man who can’t keep himself from straying …”
I want to argue, to tell her there are men out there who would cherish her
and protect her heart. Men—a man like me, who’d do anything for a chance
with a woman like her. But I don’t. Because I’m not the man she wanted, the
one she chose to be with all those months ago.
“I’m sorry that happened to you. And your mum.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her wipe away tears, and it takes every
ounce of willpower not to pull over and take her into my arms. To offer her
comfort. But I’m merely a stranger to her. That’s not what she’d want from
me. Right?
“It was a long time ago,” she shrugs, pulling herself upright and back
together. “I’m over it. I should be over it…”
We are silent for the remaining three-minute drive home. A mere handful
of seconds that fly by all too quickly.
“I’m sorry for waking you up,” she says again as I park the car in front of
her apartment building. “And for yelling at you. And dragging you out in the
dead of night.”
I shake my head at her. She has nothing to apologise for.
“It’s me who’s sorry. For having such a knuckle-head for a brother.”
Her smile in response is sweet, her plump lower lip tipping up and
making that single dimple in her left cheek appear and then just as swiftly
disappear. How had I forgotten that dimple?
“It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe not, but when he gets back from his ‘tour’”—we both laugh at the
over-exaggerated inverted commas I gesture as I say the word—“when he’s
back, I’ll be having a word with him about how to treat people with respect.”
 “I wish you’d had that conversation with him a year ago. Save us all this
trouble.”
I nod my agreement while quietly disagreeing. Even with all the angst
their relationship had caused, it still meant that I got to know her. And I can’t
ever regret that.
“Well, you’ve moved past him. Onto someone better, I hope?” I hold my
breath as I wait for her answer. The sense I’ve had from her over the past
hour has been one of loneliness, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my
behalf.
She laughs, a small, bitter sound. “There’s no one. After Robby, I swore to
take a break from men. And the break seems to have become a full-on break-
up. Me and relationships do not go together. Just ask my dad.”
I wince, taking in her expression, filled with determination, and don’t
argue. If she wants to stay away from men, that suits me fine. I know this
makes me a selfish jerk, but I can live with that.
“Well, goodnight, Jake.” She opens her door and I can’t think of a way to
stop her from leaving. “Thanks for the ride.”
“It was nice seeing you again, Amelia.”
She pauses with one leg out of the door, turning back to me, her small
front teeth biting her lower lip and I hold my breath in anticipation of what
she might say.
“Good to see you, too.”
My lungs deflate and I sit silently as she steps out of the car, taking her
coconut-filled fragrance with her. I watch her walk slowly—damn those bare
feet—to her lobby and up a flight of stairs. I continue to sit and watch the
space long after she’s out of my sight, wondering what to do with all the
emotions seeing Amelia tonight have woken inside of me. And how I’m going
to find the strength to push them all down again. One more time.
The drive home flies by in a blur of deafening silence and self-
recriminations. It’s been months since I’d thought of that woman, the one
whom my brother was lucky enough to call his own, and I’d been doing so
well to put her behind me when they’d broken up. And then one stupid note
and a knock on the door had her barrelling back into my life. In bright
colours, just like she had that first night. When she’d just been a stranger in a
bar.
“Don’t go there,” I mutter out loud to stem the flood of memories
threatening to surface. “Just get home, go to sleep and lose yourself at work.
It’s how you got through it last time. Just do it again.”
I agree with myself as I park in my driveway, a feeling of utter exhaustion
washing over me. My tired legs drag as I open the front door and trudge to
my bedroom, taking my glasses off and rubbing the grit from my eyes. Once
my legs hit the edge of my pillow-top mattress, I allow gravity to do its thing,
falling backwards and landing with a little bounce, willing myself to sleep.
But sleep won’t come. I toss and turn, trying to shut out the memories of
the woman who had unknowingly just upended my carefully curated life.
“Screw it.”
I give up on attempting to sleep and pick up my phone. Feeling guilty, I
open my Google Play store and re-install the Instagram app. It has been a few
months since I deleted it, thinking it best to get rid of the temptation, and
now here I am. Giving in. They really should make it more difficult to access
this site, for people like me who know that no good can come from it.
I type in my username and password, and a few notifications go off as I
open my profile page. Which is empty. I don’t use my account to show the
world how amazing my life is. I use it for even more depressing reasons.
My stomach churns as I search her name. Not difficult, given she is one of
three people I follow on here, and I can’t help the smile that grows on my face
as I take in her latest posts. For someone who seemingly had mixed emotions
about her friend’s wedding, Amelia sure has a lot of happy photos to
document the day.
There on her grid are at least a dozen photos of Bella and her new
husband, both looking radiant and glowing with happiness. There are also
several shots of the bridesmaids and their respective husbands, and then
there’s one I was hoping to see. One photo of Amelia. By herself. She’s smiling
at someone just off to the side of the camera and she’s so achingly beautiful,
my heart hurts just looking at her.
 She’s wearing the yellow dress, the one she’d still been in when she’d
flopped on my couch only an hour ago. The pale yellow colour brings out the
warmth in her brown eyes and somehow makes the smattering of freckles
across her nose pop. I silently thank whoever did her make-up for not
covering those adorable spots, even though I know Amelia hates them. Her
hair, which had been a bright, fire-engine red when I last saw her, is now a
golden, honey colour, worn in some sort of elaborate bun, sitting low in the
nape of her neck, a few tendrils out around the front, framing her face. I don’t
know how anyone at that wedding had looked at the bride with Amelia
standing next to her; in that yellow dress, she looks like a goddess.
“This isn’t helping.” I close the app and put my phone face down on my
bed. No good can come from having Amelia back in my life (or on my screen,
as the case may be), and I need to remember that. I harrumph out loud and
pick the phone back up again, deleting the Instagram app and the temptation
to spend the few night hours I have left scrolling through her feed. Once
done, I close my eyes and let the events of the night play on repeat through my
mind. After not seeing Amelia for over half a year, I’d thought maybe I had
put her in my rearview mirror.
Turns out, just like the warning on the stickers they put on car windows,
objects are closer than they appear. And Amelia is back to being front and
centre in my mind. Just like she’s always been.

[Link]
 CHAPTER 4

Amelia

Bella’s back!
The thought flashes through my mind before I’m even properly awake. It’s
been ten days since the wedding, which means it’s been ten days without my
bestie around to debrief with. To vent with. Instead, I’ve been alone with my
thoughts. Not a pleasant place to be, as it turns out.
AMELIA: Welcome home, B! Are you working today??
I send this message, ignoring the fact that the sun has barely risen and the
newlyweds are probably still asleep. If it makes me seem desperate to see my
friend, then the truth is out there. I am desperate to see Bella. Her absence has
made me acutely aware of how few people I have in my life who I can turn to
in times of distress.
BELLA: Yes! Come by for a coffee, I can’t wait to see you!
Bella’s almost immediate response warms my insides and I lie back down
in bed, instantly feeling soothed. I’m scheduled to work the afternoon shift at
the hair salon today, so I have all morning to spend hanging out with my
bestie while she works.
AMELIA: I’ll be there as soon as you open. Tell Lilly to have the brownies ready for
me!
Lilly and Bella work together in Lilly’s café, Love, Lilly, which they recently
expanded to include a small art gallery to display the works of local artists,
Bella included. They’re both so driven that this joint venture is already a
resounding success. I couldn’t be prouder of them if I tried.
With my plans for the morning locked in place, I slowly make my way to
the kitchen and put the kettle on. Taking down my box of Melbourne
Breakfast tea, my mind flashes back to that night with Jake, as it has done
hourly in the days since then. The whole encounter was a tangled mess,
starting with that note.
That damn note, which I’d burned in a ritual cleansing ceremony a few
days ago, very Practical Magic of me. I’d thought if I could rid myself of the bad
juju associated with the note, that maybe I’d be able to move on, put it all
behind me, but alas, it didn’t work. Probably because I’m not really haunted by
the note itself. Instead, it’s the images of Jake without his shirt on, Jake with
his glasses on (or off, either works for me), Jake carrying me to his car, which
are keeping me awake at night. It’s maddening that, after six months of not
seeing him, not thinking of him (much), he’s crept back into my thoughts.
Like that song in your head that you just can’t shake. What’s that called again?
The kettle whistles and I pour boiling water into my cup with one hand
while Googling with the other.
An ‘earworm’, that’s it.
“The sticky music syndrome whereby music memories repeat
uncontrollably in your head.” I read this out loud while taking my first sip of
tea. Otherwise known as the best sip.
“That’s what that night with Jake has turned into, a memory that repeats
uncontrollably,” I say to my cactus plant, Callie, who sits in a prime position
on the kitchen windowsill. After several attempts at cultivating a small garden
on my balcony, each with disastrous results (read: many, many dead plants),
Bella gave me what she termed the “unkillable plant” and we’ve been happily
co-habituating ever since. As it turns out, Callie the Cactus is an excellent
listener. Not judgemental at all.
“Maybe I should Google how to get rid of an earworm?”
Callie doesn’t respond (fair), and I force myself to put the phone down and
walk away. This sort of behaviour is bordering on crazy-town. All I need to do
is see Bella, hash it all out and put it behind me. It was just one night, not even
a night, really. Ninety minutes of madness, tops. Why is it bothering me so
much?
Ignoring that I know the answer to this internal question, I head to my
small but practical bathroom, to get ready for the day. Once I see Bella, I know
things will feel better. She’ll talk me down off this ledge that I’ve made my way
onto in her absence and everything will go back to the way it was. Me hating
each and every man, the way it always should be.

*****

“Millie!”
Before I’m even through the front door of Love, Lilly café, the little bell
above the door still ringing as it closes behind me, I’m enveloped in the arms
of my best friend. I breathe her in and wrap my arms around, instantly better.
“Never leave me again.”
Bella laughs, like I’m joking, and squeezes me tight. “I missed you too.”
I shoot her a disbelieving look, because she just spent ten days on a
tropical island with her hot firefighter husband. There’s not a chance that she
even thought of me.
“I did,” she protests at the look on my face.
I pretend to believe her because it feeds my neglected ego.
“Come sit. Lilly has the brownies waiting for you. Though I’m going to
say it one more time, brownies should not be a breakfast food.”
I start to argue this incorrect statement, but Lilly does it for me. “Brownies
are an every-food. Suitable for any and all occasions.”
I grin at her, loving that it’s 8 a.m., and she’s already a chaotic mess. This is
Lilly to a tee. She’s beautiful with her wild dark curly hair and big blue eyes,
but she’s always on the wrong side of dishevelled. Take right now: she has
flour in her hair and on her apron. And on her shoes? And she has a chocolate
moustache, making me think she’s been out the back sampling the goods. And
the best bit? She doesn’t have a single care about any of it. Lilly is just
comfortable in her skin; it makes me wonder how she got that way.
 “Amelia! Sit, eat!” Lilly pushes me into one chair at what she deems her
best table. It’s by the front window, perfect for people watching but still close
enough to the counter for chatting while they both work.
I happily take my seat at the VIP table, slicing into my still-warm-from-
the-oven-brownie with the fork she’s shoved into my hand.
“So good!” I exclaim as the chocolate flavour explodes in my mouth. I don’t
know what she puts in these brownies, but I do know they are the best I’ve
ever tasted.
“Bella, you sit with Amelia and catch up. We’re not too busy now, so take
advantage.”
We watch as Lilly skips away, humming under her breath as she goes, the
very picture of contentment.
“She’s the best boss,” Bella says, sipping on her cup of coffee. “I’m so lucky.”
“You are,” I agree.
“So, tell me, what have I missed since I’ve been gone?”
This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for. The chance to unload all my
woes on her, and yet now that it’s here, I don’t know where to start.
“Ummm,” I start and then stop. What’s wrong with me?
“What’s wrong?” Bella sits up straighter in her chair. “What happened?”
Wishing I hadn’t been so hasty in burning that note—it would have come
in handy as the perfect prop in this moment—I open my mouth to fill her in
when the bell on the front door trills. Distracting me.
“What…?” Only one word comes out as I continue to be a stuttering mess,
but this time with good cause. Because the ringer of the bell, the man who had
just walked in the door, is none other than the man who’s been walking
through all my thoughts.
My earworm has entered the building. Jake.
Bella follows my gaze and looks back at me with a confused frown. “You
know Jake?”
WHAT?
“You know Jake?” I screech back at her, so loud that the man in question
turns to look at both of us, his small smile growing as recognition flashes in
his eyes.
 “He’s coming over,” I hiss at Bella, who continues to look annoyingly
baffled by my behaviour. “He’s coming over!”
“Hi Bella,” he greets my best friend in that deep voice of his. The one that
causes the back of my neck to sweat. “Amelia.”
“You two know each other?” Bella looks between the two of us, eyebrows
raised so high they may just fly off her face.
“Yes,” I mumble, looking down at the table between us to avoid looking
into Jake’s green eyes. Which somehow looks lighter today, more jade green
than emerald. “He’s Robby’s brother.”
Bella’s expression turns from bemusement to disgust in a millisecond. Out
of all my rubbish boyfriends, Robby’s the one she hated the most.
“Oh.” Her flat response has a strange anxiety dancing in my belly. I don’t
want her to feel this way towards Jake, and I also don’t want to examine
exactly why I feel this way.
“By that ‘oh’, I understand you’ve met my brother,” Jake interjects before I
can come to his rescue. Which is good, because there’s no legitimate reason
he’d need rescuing in the first place. As far as I know, he’s just a customer
here. Bella doesn’t need to like him.
Except that she does.
“Jake’s nothing like Robby,” I blurt out before my mouth catches up to my
brain.
His face lights up at this, like I’d handed him a gift. “Thank you, Mille.”
Bella gives me a disbelieving look, like I’d betrayed her, and then glares at
Jake, not convinced that he’s completely innocent in all of this.
“Seriously, Bella. It’s not his fault that his brother’s a douche.”
“True story,” Jake agrees, putting both of his hands up. An act of
surrender.
“Your brother is non buono,” she tells him, slipping into her native Italian
as she does when she’s distracted or sad…or fuming mad.
“Absolutely, non buono,” he says, biting his lip to stop the start of a smile. “I
agree.”
She continues to look at him, a long, hostile look that reminds me of her
hot-blooded Italian nature and after a full sixty seconds of glaring, (I counted)
she relaxes. A bit.
“Good, then you can continue to come here and eat.”
The matter seemingly settled, Jake gives her a funny little bow and walks
to the counter to order his coffee and breakfast, from the sounds of it.
“Does he come here often?” I ask, keeping my voice low, acutely aware
that, at this time of day, before the morning rush of people, our conversation
can be heard by anyone interested in listening.
Bella leans in, like we’re two spies devising a plan. “He’s been coming here
almost every day for…” She leans back to think. “About six months.”
Huh? That’s right around the time that I broke up with Robby. Weird.
“It’s strange that you haven’t bumped into each other, given how often
you’re both here.”
That is strange. I watch Jake from under my lashes, my spot at the VIP table
giving me the perfect viewpoint from which to ogle him. I mean, objectively
run my eyes dismissively over him.
“You never told me how hot Robby’s brother is.” I shush Bella and her not-
so-soft voice, my attention glued to Jake’s back.
“He’s my ex-boyfriend’s brother,” I say, explaining the obvious, while
letting my gaze drift over the way his suit jacket hugs his broad shoulders just
so. I wonder where he finds the time to build up those muscles. From memory, the
Jake I’d known worked ridiculously long hours.
“So?” My friend’s indignant tone pulls my attention back to her. “That
doesn’t mean you have to be blind. My husband is a gorgeous specimen of a
man and I can still appreciate all that Clark Kent goodness going on over
there.”
I groan, my cheeks heating, well aware that Jake can most likely hear every
word that is coming from my not-so-subtle best friend.
“I’m not talking about this with you right now.” I tilt my head in Jake’s
direction, hoping she will take the hint and shut the heck up. All this talk of
Jake as the hot Superman counterpart will not help me get rid of this pesky
earworm, now, will it?
“Fine.” She heaves a sigh. Dramatic, much. “Then what are we allowed to
talk about?”
 From the corner of my eyes (OK, from the front and back of my eyes, that’s
how close my attention is on this man), I follow Jake’s progress at the counter. He
takes his freshly heated croissant and take-away coffee and walks it to the
table…right next to ours.
“Nothing,” I mumble, well aware that I can’t update her on all things
related to the note and what happened thereafter. “I’ll tell you later.”
Not picking up on any of the cues I’m putting down, she persists. “You
wanted to tell me something. Sounds like it was important. On the night of
the wedding, you sent me a garbled text message about a note. What was that
all about?”
“I sent you a message?” Confused, I pull up my text messages and scroll
back ten days, and there it is, in all its nonsensical glory:
AMELIA: A note! After all this time I get a note?!?
“I tried calling you back, but it went straight to voicemail. And then I had
to leave for the airport the next day,” Bella explains while I put my head on the
table and bang it, just a little, to knock some sense into it. “What’s going on?”
I take in her worried expression and, keeping my voice as low as possible,
barely above a whisper, I outline what had happened the night of her
wedding.
Bella, on the other hand, was not keeping her voice below a whisper. “He
did WHAT?” In fact, her heated cry had every person in the café looking at us.
Including Lilly from behind the counter. And Jake, whose face is the picture
of contrition. Like this is somehow all his fault.
“Shhhhh,” I hiss, gesturing in Jake’s direction. “It’s all good now. I burnt
the note, did a cleansing ritual. It’s all behind me.”
“Amelia,” she said, keeping her voice at a suitable decibel. Just. “What he
did was so wrong.”
“I agree,” Jake’s voice chimes in, making it abundantly clear that he’s been
listening to this entire conversation. “I’m going to kick his arse when he gets
back.”
“Can I join you?” Bella asks, her cheeks red with rage.
“Absolutely!”
 Before the two of them can bond any further over their tactics to beat up
my ex-boyfriend, I put a stop to it.
“No violence is necessary here.” I give them both a hard look. “Let’s just
move on.”
Bella huffs and looks like she wants to argue.
“Please, Bella. I just want to put the whole sorry thing behind me.”
She breathes out and relaxes her posture, no longer ready to charge into
battle. “Yes, let’s put him right behind us. In fact, let’s not think of him ever
again.”
I nod, sparing a quick glance in Jake’s direction, my gaze darting back to
my friend when I see he’s still watching me.
“And you know the best way to get over someone…”
“I’m over him!” I interrupt, not liking where this is heading.
“Is to get under someone else,” she continues like I hadn’t spoken.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.” I shake my head and stomp my foot under the table.
“Yes.” She bangs her fist and spears me with a no-nonsense look. “It’s
time.”
“I don’t want to. You know how I feel about relationships.” I look
nervously in Jake’s direction, really wishing he wasn’t here listening to every
miserable word I’m saying. “I’m terrible at the whole thing.”
Bella is quiet for a moment, like she’s mulling over my words before a
smile grows on her face. A smile, which, quite frankly, is terrifying.
“Then let us help you.”
“No.”
She pats my hand like I’m being an unruly child and soldiers on, not
listening to a word I’m saying. That word being ‘no’. Said repeatedly.
“You’ve just gone for the wrong guys.”
“You can say that again.”
My head swivels to look at Jake. Did he just say what I think he said?
“Excuse me,” I ahem at him. “We’re having a private conversation.”
 He flashes a grin that he thinks is disarming, but is actually…OK, it’s very
disarming. “Sorry, but it’s true. You dated my brother. Who’s an understudy
for a drummer in a not-very-good band. I mean, that’s not a great
endorsement of the men you choose to date.”
The tips of my ears heat and I’m glad I wore my hair down over my
shoulders to hide the evidence of my shame. It’s true, I somehow end up
picking the guy most girls would run from. I wonder what my therapist would
say about this? If I actually went to therapy, that is.
“And before Robby was that guy, Jeremy. What did he do for a living?”
I roll my lips between my teeth and refuse to answer. This is getting
humiliating.
“He was a mime!” Lilly yells through her laughter from her spot behind
the counter.
Bella does her Marcel Marceau impression and I let out a chuckle. Oh boy,
Jeremy. Not only was he a professional mime artist, if that even is a profession,
but he wasn’t even a good one. What a dud.
“And who came before him?”
I let the silence drag out, refusing to partake in this trip down my
nightmare dating memory lane.
“Alan! That’s it. He was a….” She trails off, her brow scrunched up in
concentration.
“A dog-walker.” I give in and tell her, knowing that she won’t let it go.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a dog walker.”
“There is when he combined it with being thirty years old and still living
in his parent’s basement.”
She’s right. He had been a bit of a no-hoper, but he’d seemed so nice and
caring. At the start. Before he inevitably turned into a jerk. Why do I attract
these types of guys?
“You’ve picked some real stinkers,” Lilly says, sitting down and joining in,
adding an extra sprinkle of humiliation to the conversation.
“What you need is someone with an actual job,” Bella announces, again
loud enough for the whole café, block and surrounding suburb to hear.
 “What does a job have to do with being a suitable partner?” I argue,
because I feel like I should. Choosing a man based on his career feels all kinds
of superficial and elitist and just plain wrong.
“Nothing,” she admits with a conciliatory smile. “But it’s more like
breaking a habit. If you were to date an accountant, or a barrister or a
carpenter…maybe things would work out differently?”
A laugh escapes me. “You’re just listing the ABCs of careers. There’s no
validity in anything you’re saying.”
Lilly hums under her breath while she demolishes the cupcake in front of
her, and Bella, well, she’s being too quiet for my liking. I can almost see the
wheels turning as she watches me closely.
“Maybe that’s it.”
Uh-oh. Bella’s got an idea. A trickle of doom makes its way down my spine.
“We can make a game out of it.”
A game? Oh, I like games!
“What sort of game?” I’m intrigued, but still sceptical.
“You can make your way through the ABCs of professions. As a fun way to
look for Mr. Right.”
I’m shocked into silence. Gobsmacked. Bella’s gone mad.
“Ridiculous idea,” I sputter out.
“I don’t think so,” Lilly chimes in while licking buttercream frosting off
her fingers. “You’ve had little luck dating the traditional way. And what do
they say is the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing, the same way
repeatedly and…” she trails off, searching for the rest of her point.
“And expecting a different result.” This is from Jake, who has now turned
his body completely in our direction.
“You shush.” I point my finger at him and give him my fiercest glare. He
does not need to be a part of this. “And you two, this is a terrible idea. Why
can’t I just go back to dating like a normal person? You know, with all the fun
dating apps out there?”
Lilly gives an adamant shake of her head. “Bad idea. Been there, done that,
would not recommend.”
 I smile slightly despite myself. Before Lilly had married Oliver, she’d
dipped her toe into internet dating, only to find herself on a terrible blind date
with a man who’d ended the evening by stealing her purse. She’s been very
anti-online dating ever since.
“It was one bad egg, Lilly,” I tell her as we all share a laugh. “Not everyone
you meet online is a kleptomaniac.”
“You met Robby online.” Again, this was the not-so-helpful voice of Jake
chiming in, reminding me of this very unfortunate fact.
“Hush, you.” I glare at him again and motion with my hand for him to turn
all the way back around and out of our private conversation.
“Just think about it,” Bella says, putting her hands into a prayer position
and giving me her best puppy dog eyes. “You don’t even need to take it that
seriously. We can just find some nice, fully employed men to set you up with
and see what happens. If you don’t like the As, then we move on to the Bs.”
When she puts it that way, it doesn’t sound terrible. But even so, why are we
even talking about this? I don’t want a relationship. Do I?
“We can keep it light-hearted,” Lilly adds, sensing my resolve weakening.
“You go out on one date, then we all catch up to get a report. It can be a fun
thing for the entire group!”
Great. Humiliation with an audience.
“I don’t know…” I waver.
“Come on, what do you have to lose?”
Without thought, I look in Jake’s direction, startled at his expression as he
stares back at me. I don’t know what it means, but it makes my stomach flip.
And starts my butterflies dancing. And my heart racing. All those good things
you feel when you meet someone who you think could be the ‘one’.
I flick my gaze away from him and bite the bullet.
“OK, fine. I’m in.”
The girls cheer and I watch, a lump forming in my throat, as Jake looks
down at the table in front of him, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.
What have I signed myself up for?
And how do I make it stop?
[Link]
 CHAPTER 5

Amelia

“I’m so on board with your dating plan!”

I sigh loudly and take a big gulp from my wine glass. It’s been three days
since the decision was made to help fix my love life—with a game no less—
and I’d been hoping that maybe, if I wished hard enough on every star and all
my fallen eyelashes, perhaps it would all go away.
No such luck.
“Amy,” I begin, hoping to appeal to the one rational person in our group of
book clubbers (that’s what she calls us! So maybe not as rational as I need her
to be?). “I still think this is a terrible idea.”
She ignores me—fun!—and turns to the group, comprising Lilly, Bella and
our other two book-loving (and wine-loving) friends, Madi and Sammi. We
meet every few weeks at Amy’s place under the guise of discussing whichever
book Amy has chosen for us, when in reality it’s just a great excuse to get
together and catch up. Or bully a friend into doing something she really
doesn’t want to do, as the case may be tonight.
“I’ve put together a folder of potential suitors, all cross-referenced with
their careers. See, I’ve even added different coloured tabs to help us keep
track.” Amy’s cheeks are glowing with excitement. Whether it’s about the
dating plan or the elaborate use of her stationary, it’s hard to tell.
 “Amazing work, Amy.” Bella takes the folder from her sister-in-law and
starts flipping through it. “We can make a group decision on which lucky guy
will get to date Amelia first.”
“Explain the plan to me again,” Sammi asks, biting into a Love, Lilly
cookie, her face promptly contorting in ecstasy. “Lilly, these are SO good.”
“I know,” Lilly says, taking a cookie for herself and nibbling on the edge.
“So, the basic premise is based on the notion that Amelia has been dating all
the wrong men. Agreed?”
They all nod in unison, making me feel fan-freaking-tastic.
“When we dived into the past few disasters, we found a pattern. Not only
are all her past boyfriends dead-set losers, but they also don’t have proper
jobs.”
“None of them?” Madi, our resident career-woman, asks, her eyes wide in
dismay.
“Not a single one of them,” Bella confirms. “And we’re not saying a man
needs a job to be a good partner…”
Amy and Lilly both nod their heads in solidarity. We wouldn’t want to
appear snobbish in any way.
“But that’s what they all have in common. So, Amelia decided she needs to
break the pattern.”
“Amelia decided no such thing,” I interject. And am promptly ignored.
“To help with this, we’ve devised a fun way to get her out into the dating
world.” Bella picks up the folder, raining glitter down on the carpeted floor in
the process (Glitter? Really?). “And that’s where this comes in!”
The five of them gather around Amy’s bedazzled handiwork, a hush
coming over the group.
“The ABCs of Dating Amelia,” Sammi reads out loud, a smile in her voice. “I
love, love, love it!”
I snatch the book from my best friend and in horror see that the folder is,
in fact, labelled The ABCs of Dating Amelia. In purple-coloured glitter pen.
“Is this really necessary?”
My friends all gape at me like I’m being a party-pooper. Which, to be fair,
I totally am.
 “It’s a way of keeping track,” Amy announces, taking the folder back from
me and cradling it protectively against her chest. Like she’s worried I’m going
to do something to her precious creation. “And it’s fun!”
“Here. Have another drink,” Lilly says, filling up my now-empty wine glass
and then pushing me into the nearest seat. “This is going to happen, so you
may as well get on board.”
I take a sip, a small one this time to remain sober and somewhat in
control, and motion for them to continue. The sooner we get on with this, the
sooner we can move away from focusing on my love life.
“Right,” Bella calls the ‘meeting’ to order. “Let’s begin.”
The girls snicker at the absurdity of this moment, only stopping when
they see Bella glaring at them.
“I get that this is a bit of fun,” she lectures them, squinting, making her
look alarmingly like a school teacher. A mean one who gives out detentions
freely. “But we are also trying to ensure that our friend Amelia doesn’t die
alone.”
OUCH.
“Geeze, Bella. Dramatic, much?” Sammi comes to my rescue, sending me a
sympathetic smile. She and Madi are also single and perhaps sense that this
sort of treatment is heading their way. Possibly sometime very soon.
“Sorry, Millie,” Bella reaches over and squeezes my hand. An apology. “But
I just want you to be happy.”
My smile is weak. “I am happy.”
I’m fooling no one.
“OK, happier?” This is from Amy, who despite her passion for her newly
decorated ‘love manual’, can understand that being with a partner doesn’t
equal being happy. Before she and her yummy husband Lucas got married,
they went through a lot of turmoil, leaving Amy as the most realistic in this
group in matters of the heart. She knows that a happily ever after isn’t always
guaranteed.
“Sure,” I agree to keep the peace. “Happier.”
“Right.” Bella claps twice to get our attention. “Let’s start at the
beginning.” She opens the folder and flips to the first tab. Careers that start
with the letter A.
“This is so ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath.
“But it could be fun,” Sammi whispers back as the others debate over the
names on the list.
“I vote for accountant,” Lilly says, raising her voice for no reason. It’s not
like anyone is challenging her. “Oliver has a guy at work who would be
perfect.”
They all look at me expectantly. An accountant? Boring!
“Numbers? Really?”
“Yes, we’re deviating from your normal type, remember?” This is Bella,
who is shooting daggers at me from across the room for turning down the
first suggestion. Uh oh, I definitely don’t want her angry at me.
“Um, OK. Tell me more.”
Lilly’s pretty face lights up and she picks up her phone.
“His name is Tom, and he’s twenty-eight years old,” she reads off her
screen. “He runs the accounts department where Oliver works. He’s never
been married. Apparently, he likes to cook and is training to run the
Melbourne marathon next month.”
“He sounds great!” Amy enthuses while the rest of the ladies all nod along
happily.
“How do you know all of this?” I ask, dread taking up residence in my
stomach.
She shows me her phone, where Oliver had typed a message for her with
all the relevant details. It’s like his friend is applying for a job; all his
credentials are laid out for me to decide upon.
“Did you tell Oliver about this ABC plan?” I ask, placing my wineglass on
the table in front of me and then picking up a couch cushion to scream into.
This is mortifying.
“I just asked him if he knows anyone who would be worthy of you,” Lilly
soothes while Bella takes the cushion off my face, preventing my self-
suffocating attempt. “And he came up with loads of guys who he thinks would
die for a shot to date you.”
This makes me feel a little better.
 “OK, so the accountant. What do we all think?” Bella puts it to the group
for a vote, cutting me out of the decision-making process.
“Who’s behind door number two?” Sammi asks, now firmly on board with
the plan.
Bella reads the profiles of a few more candidates. Who knew so many men in
our orbit have a job beginning with the letter A?
“So that’s a no for Ted in advertising?”
The group all nod.
“And we’re vetoing the architect?”
“He’s too old,” Amy shouts, the wine making her more boisterous than
usual.
“And the ‘automotive engineer’ is getting bumped because of a
technicality?”
“He’s a mechanic trying to jazz up his job description,” Madi points out,
being all logical and acting like the rules in this plan are more than what we
just made up on the spot. “We can revisit him when we get to the letter M.”
My whole body shudders at the thought as I sing the ABC song in my
head, counting on my fingers as I go. If I have to revisit Lachlan the mechanic,
that means I’ll have gone through thirteen other letters before him. Thirteen
dud dates to get me to the letter M.
No. Thank. You.
“Let’s park that one for now,” Lilly says, reading the panic on my face and
attempting to course-correct. “I think we have a winner in our midst.”
My five friends look at each other with matching grins.
“Congratulations, Amelia. You’ve got yourself a date with an accountant.”
Brilliant.

*****

When I get home later that night, I’m consumed with a sense of relief. I had
only just survived Book Club. After my friends had decided that my perfect
match may just be Tom the accountant, Lilly had promptly texted Oliver to let
him know to set something up and now I have a date with a stranger next
Saturday night.
“How did I let this happen?” I ask Callie, the cactus.
When she gives me nothing in response, I do what I always do in times of
stress. A beauty treatment. In my bathroom, I take my time deciding on what
will best soothe my frayed nerves, settling on a hair mask that promises to add
both shine and volume to my hair, in only one hour.
With Taylor Swift blasting in the background—I’m in my Reputation era—
I carefully apply the lotion to my hair, starting at the roots and working my
way down. Once I’ve applied a thick layer, I place the pink cap that came in
the box on top of my head and sit down to let it work its magic. Given I’m
someone who changes their hair colour on a dime, it’s important to make sure
I give my hair some love.
“Now what?”
It’s only 9 p.m. and I don’t have work in the morning. This treatment
needs to stay on for another fifty-five minutes, so…I should probably call my
mum.
Calling my mum is a weekly chore I’m eternally finding reasons to put off
doing. Each week I find creative ways not to call her until I’ve run out of
hours. If I don’t call her tonight, she’ll make her displeasure known. In her
own creative, passive-aggressive ways.
“Mum first, then Gilmore Girls as my reward.”
I press on her contact on my phone, holding my breath while it rings.
Once, twice, three times. Maybe she won’t—
“Amelia.”
Groan. Internally, so as not to set her off.
“Hi Mum.”
“I was wondering when you were going to find the time to call me.”
And we’re off. The guilt trips. The backhanded insults. The making me
not want to call again.
“It’s been a busy week,” I get in as she draws breath. “With work and…
stuff.” I don’t tell her about Bella’s wedding; she won’t want to hear it. Like I’d
told Jake, my mum was once burnt, forever shy. She doesn’t want anything to
do with relationships.
“You’re not seeing someone, are you?” She sounds suspicious and annoyed.
So, normal, then.
“Not right now.” It’s the truth. I’m seeing Tom…later.
“Well, just remember what I’ve always told you. Find a man who is…”
“Not married to his job,” I finish her sentence, having heard it a million
times before. She’s nothing if not consistent with her bitterness.
“And don’t expect whoever it is, not to cheat.”
My stomach drops at this. How is she so OK telling her daughter this? To
expect a man to treat her badly just because that is all either of us has ever known?
Shouldn’t she want more for me? Shouldn’t I want more for myself?
The dating plan is becoming more and more attractive the longer I stay on
this phone call. Maybe I do need a way to break the toxic cycle I’ve been in…forever.
“Well, anyway, Mum. It’s been nice talking to you,” I lie. “But I think I’m
heading off to bed.” More lies. I have a date with Rory and Lorelai that I’m
dying to get to. A mother/daughter dynamic so different from my own, it’s
like an aspirational dream.
“Come and visit me soon,” she demands. “You know the holiday season is
hard for me.”
Another silent groan. Every year when December rolls around, Mum gets
more depressed. Then her sadness turns to anger and we both get bogged
down by it. Fun times ahead.
“I will,” I promise, knowing she only has me to rely on. A heavy burden.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Love you,” she says as an afterthought. I grab onto it, holding it close so
that I won’t dread the next time I have to call her.
“I love you too, Mum.”
We hang up and I sigh. A painful sigh that tries to purge all the negative
feelings that rush to the surface when I’m speaking with her. My duty done,
now I get to indulge.
Gilmore Girls it is.
 Patting my haircap—still another forty-five minutes left on my treatment
—I grab a box of Tiny Teddies from the pantry and make my way to the living
room. Once there, I flop down onto the couch and settle into a comfortable
position, stretching out length-wise with my feet elevated over the arm of the
couch and carefully drape myself with two plush blankets, using the couch
cushions to create a cushion fort around me.
“There,” I say into the silence as I turn on Netflix and skip to the season
where I’d left off. Oh goody, season five. The one where Luke and Lorelai finally get
together.
“Oh Luke, you’re such a big softie,” I tell the TV through a mouthful of
chocolate chip teddies. “How Lorelai waited so long to let you in is beyond
me.”
With my heart in my eyes, I watch my two favourite characters on their
first date.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” Luke asks a luminous-looking
Lorelai and then goes on to describe in great detail what he remembers from
their first encounter. He loved her from the start.
“Have I ever had that feeling?” I wonder into the empty living room.
“Meeting someone and everything being just, right?”
My mind, against both my will and my better judgment, takes me away
from Stars Hollow and transports me back to the only time I’ve ever felt
anything close to that feeling. Of being in the right place, at the right time…
with the right person.

*****

It was just over twelve months ago, and the night had started like any other
night. Having just watched my best friend Bella fall deeply in love with her
roommate Daniel, I’d decided it was time to dip my toe back into the dating
pool again. Still a little bitter after the last heartbreak, I’d carefully scoured the
online dating apps, looking for one that would bring the right sort of people
—men—into my life. Given the many times I’d been swayed by a pretty face
in the past, I’d settled on a dating app modelled after one of my favourite
reality TV shows, Love is Blind, where candidates aren’t allowed to upload
pictures and instead the technology in the app chooses potential perfect
matches based on shared values and personality traits.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bella had asked me over the phone,
the night of my first blind/blind date. “This feels super risky.”
I’d just pulled up in front of the restaurant where I was meeting my
potential soulmate. It was too late to back out. Besides, the guy I’d chosen to
go out with seemed super cool. And he was a musician. I had a good feeling
about the whole thing.
“I need to give this a try,” I’d told her, chewing on my bottom lip, my
nerves threatening to overwhelm me.
“OK but send me an SOS message if you need saving. I’m on standby.”
This had made me feel better, so after I hung up with Bella, with many
assurances that I’d be safe, I made my way inside. And stopped dead in my
tracks. How am I supposed to find this guy when the entire experience was blind?
“Can I help you?” I looked up to see the hostess staring at me expectantly.
“Um, I’m meeting someone?”
She gave me a knowing smile. “You’re using the LIB app?”
“Yes!” I was so relieved that I wouldn’t need to explain just how blind my
blind date was.
“I suggest you wait at the bar and see if the two of you can find each
other.” She winked at me, and I smiled gratefully in return. At least I wasn’t
the only one dabbling in this crazy experiment.
On shaky legs, I made my way to the bar and hoisted myself up onto the
bar stool. With nothing else to do but look around and wait, I ordered a glass
of white wine, my gaze constantly roaming the surrounding area.
“Hi.”
Ohmigod. That voice. That has to be him.
I turned slowly on my stool and came eye to eye with the most perfect-
looking specimen of a man. Tall, a head taller than me, sitting on this stool,
with thick wavy black hair that my hands itched to run their fingers through.
He had an olive complexion and a long straight nose that looked to have never
taken a punch. But it was his eyes, behind the most perfect pair of black