Page 100 of Lying Is My Love Language

Yes mum.

After that, I make the mistake of swiping down and opening my inbox.

Seventy-three unread emails.

Most of them from work.A few flagged URGENT.I don’t open them.I don’t even skim.I go full nuclear and fire off a message to my boss, telling him that I’m taking a few more days off before I mute the entire app.

A Tinder notification pops up next – some guy holding a fish.Of course.

I swipe it away and open Safari instead.I’m not even sure why.My fingers move before I can overthink it, typing in a series of search terms.

Australian farming grants 2025

Drought co-ops rural NT

Weather forecast Northern Territory

The links load slowly.The pages blur together – jargon, application forms, PDFs with tables and charts.I keep scrolling.

Then my phone vibrates with another text.

Dylan.

I blink.Didn’t expect that.

Hey!

Most of our hemp comes from Tassie, but we’redefinitelylooking for more farmers to join the supply side.

NT’s actually a great climate for hemp – long growing season, loads of sun.

We’ve got someone up there right now going through the licence process.

If Luke wants to talk to them, I can send over the guy’s details?

I chew my lip, staring at the screen.Part of me feels a pinch of guilt – as if he’s clocked that I’m still hanging around the guy he found me hooking up with in a kitchen.Yet there’s no bitterness in the message.It’s just Dylan being … perfect.Earnest.Helpful.Maybe relieved that my chaos is now at arm’s length.

I type back quickly, before I can spiral.

Thanks.I’ll keep you posted.

Then a shadow falls across my shoulder.

I jolt, looking up to find Luke leaning in the doorway, damp hair curling slightly around his ears, clean shirt clinging to his collarbone.

He’s holding a VB.His face is all sunshine and playful smugness.

‘What’re you looking at, Wikipedia?’

I slam my phone face down on the counter as if it’s contraband.‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

I nod.

He sips his beer.‘You trying to start a farm?’

‘No.’