“I think one of my coat hangers is about to stab me in the chest.”
“You packed coat hangers? Why the fuck did you pack coat hangers? You do know we have those in Australia, right? What did I tell you about overpacking?”
“This is not the time for lectures. Now would you please get off me?”
“Jesus, all right then.” With one last grunt, Cody rolled off me onto the floor.
Panting strenuously, I rolled off too, landing on my back beside him, and the suitcase lid rose as though it could breathe easy once more, having won the first round of a game I liked to call “How to Close the Suitcase from Hell.”
We were in the bedroom of my tiny apartment in the steeple above Brooks’ Nook, an old church that I had transformed into the bookstore of my dreams several years earlier. It was my safe space, my refuge, my perfect storybook tower where I spent most of my days. That is, until the man of my dreams—freelance travel writer Cody Cameron, who grew up on an island near the Great Barrier Reef—wandered into my life and stole my heart. Sure, we were complete opposites. He was carefree and courageous, ready to throw himself headfirst into the next adventure, his skin tanned and his big, scruffy head of raven-black hair constantly wild and windswept. Me on the other hand, I was the ultimate nerd. A snarky, circumspect, bow tie-wearing, literature-loving loner who had always been content to curl up with a good book rather than a good man.
Until Cody came along, that is.
When that happened, that boy from Down Under turned my world upside down… in the best possible way. Somehow we just clicked, our love for the written word bridging any chasm that might threaten to keep us apart.
Of course, the attraction of opposites does not come without its fair share of disagreements.
“I thought we agreed we were going to pack light. Rule number one of long-haul travel:alwayspack light.” Apparently Cody wasn’t finished lecturing me yet. “We’re only going for a week. You need one pair of shorts, a pair of boots for hiking, some thongs…”
“Wait a minute, you want me to wear a thong on this trip?”
“Thongs! You know, flip-flops. The type that slide between your toes… not your arse cheeks. Pack some thongs, three T-shirts, and enough undies to get you through, and that’s it. No bow ties, no fancy shoes, and definitely no coat hangers!” He sat up and made a grandiose gesture toward his small backpack sitting zipped up and ready to go by the bedroom door. “I give you Exhibit A.”
“Objection. You’ve done this a million times, of course you’re good at it. But like I keep telling you, this is my first time out of the country. I want to be prepared for anything.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A freakish change of weather, maybe. What if I suddenly need thermal underwear and earmuffs?”
“We’re going to North Queensland. It’s bloody hot. End of sentence.”
“What if a baby vomits all over my suitcase and half my clothes end up smelling like baby sick?”
“Baby? What baby?”
“The baby on the plane. There’salwaysa screaming baby on every plane.”
“Not in the cargo hold there’s not, which is where your suitcase will be. Safe from harm and baby spew.”
“What if it’s not safe from harm? What if the baggage handlers throw it around and drop it and the zipper pops open and all my underwear falls out on the tarmac and gets sucked up into a plane’s engine?”
“Okay, now you’rereallyoverthinking things.” He helped me up off the floor and we sat together on my bed. “Babe, I know you’re feeling a little uptight about this trip. We all know that stepping outside your comfort zone is a big ask. But you have to trust me on this one. If you pack too much stuff you’ll regret it. Traveling light is the only way to go. What you don’t pack, you won’t miss, I promise you.”
I looked down at my overstuffed suitcase and threw my hands up in defeat. “But where do I draw the line? I mean, if I pack just one Emily Bronte novel, I might as well pack them all.”
“Can’t you just load a bunch of books onto your phone?”
I gasped in horror. “Oh, the humanity! I hope you realize every person who’s ever sniffed the pages of a freshly printed book like it was a soft cuddly puppy is wishing a plague on your house right now.”
“Fuck, I hope it’s not a plague of cane toads. I’ve been overrun by the ugly bastards once before. It was not a pretty sight, let me tell ya.”
“Wait. What? Are you telling me the house we’ll be staying in—”
“Well, it’s more a beach shack.”
“That the beach shack we’re staying in is prone to an infestation of toads?”
“Don’t worry, they’re not deadly. Well, only if you lick them, which I wouldn’t recommend doing. No, it’s all theothercreatures you have to worry about.”
