Page 92 of Lying Is My Love Language

I groan and drop my head, blinking into the darkness.Outside, there’s only velvet black sky and a single star that refuses to go to bed.

‘You’re going now?’I squint.

He shrugs.‘Yeah.Gotta round up the stragglers before the sun melts what’s left of my will to live.’

‘You want help?’

He pauses, glancing at me with a look that hovers somewhere between pity and amusement.‘You don’t have to come.’

‘I didn’t ask if I had to.I asked if you want help.’

‘I’ve seen you run from a March fly.’

‘It charged me.’

‘It was a fly.’

I sit up, hair everywhere, dignity nowhere.‘I’m coming.’

Luke leans against the dresser, arms folded, face unreadable except for the faint twitch of his mouth.‘You sure?Farm life might bruise your city ego.’

‘Wow.That’s rich, coming from someone with a three-in-one soap in the shower.’

‘Why would I need anything different?’He gestures at his own face as proof.

‘You’re not selling it.’

He disappears into the kitchen without further argument, and I drag myself out of bed, a woman on a mission.Shorts.T-shirt.Hat?

I stumble out of the bedroom and find Luke waiting with a mug in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

He offers me both.‘Coffee.Breakfast.Humility.’

I take the toast and stare at it.‘Is this …?’

‘Vegemite,’ he confirms, clearly waiting for a reaction.‘You didn’t strike me as a jam girl.’

I take a cautious bite and immediately recoil.‘This ratio is intense.’

‘It’ll strengthen your character.’

‘And ruin my appetite.’

He smirks and hands me a UHF radio.‘Take this.’

Outside, even the birds are still asleep.There’s a thin line of light slicing across the horizon while the rest is still wrapped in blue shadow and a blanket of mist that clings to the ground, not yet ready to let go.

Four kelpies are perched on the back of a quad bike, vibrating with energy as if they’ve already had three espressos and listened to a motivational podcast.

‘That one’s Rusty,’ Luke says, nodding to the older dog.‘Then Scout, Sandy and Sushi.’‘Sushi?’I ask, eyebrows raised.

Luke shrugs.‘She doesn’t take kindly to strangers.’

‘Same,’ I mutter, climbing onto the quad.The seat is cold and vaguely damp.My thighs scream in betrayal.

He gestures to the horse tethered to the fence.‘I’ll be on Banjo.’

‘You named your horse Banjo?’