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There’s no universe in which I could ever forget what happened between us. I don’t want to forget what happened between us.

But I can see how much this conversation is costing Louise. And I can’t put it right until I hear from Tate. So for the time being, at least, I have to follow her lead. At least allow her the dignity of being the one to put a stop to what has the potential to hurt us both.

“If that’s what you want.” The words come from somewhere deep in the pit of my soul.

“It is. Now”—she stands and reaches into her bag for her phone—“I need to call the hotel at Mount Barker and see if they’ve still got rooms for us, since we missed our reservations.”

She’s all business and false cheer.

“I’ll go and check out.” Getting out of the room gives both of us a few much-needed moments to compose ourselves.

I hand the keys over to the receptionist with a promise of posting a positive review, and arrange to leave our luggage in reception while we collect the car. There’s no sense dragging our cases along the dusty highway. I’ve only been gone a couple of minutes, and I hesitate before going back into the room.

Through the sheer curtains on the windows, I watch as Louise drops her phone into her bag. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes and bows her head. Her shoulders shake. It takes everything I have in me not to charge into the room, take her in my arms and tell her everything that’s in my mind and my heart. But my feet refuse to move.

My mind is beginning to resemble a hall of mirrors. With each excuse I tell myself, each convoluted justification, my disorientation increases. My ability to differentiate between the lies I’m telling myself and the truth of my feelings decreases.

With a tiny shake of her head, she drops her hands, plasters a wide smile on her face and grabs the handle of her suitcase, rolling it to the open door.

“All good. We got their last two rooms.” Her smile is brittle, although if you didn’t know her, you might be fooled. She’s put on a protective mantle, and if that’s what she needs, the least I can do is allow her the dignity.

“That’s lucky. You won’t have to put up with my snoring anymore.” Which is a stupid thing to say.

“Yes. And you won’t have to put up with me thinking too loudly,” she responds, stepping onto the concrete walkway.

No. I won’t. I’ll only have to put up with myself. Feeling too loud. Wanting too loud.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Louise

We deposit our luggage in reception, and I take off like a rabbit towards the garage. Jasper’s footfalls are steady behind me all the way, but I can’t slow down. Can’t stop. If I have to look at him, I might break down. At the very least, my face will crack, and I can’t allow that. I will not allow him to see me cry.

The regret on his face after we had sex again this morning was so loud they could probably hear it in space. And I won’t be anyone’s regret.

Putting what happened behind us is the right choice. I know that. No matter how much I may have wanted it, last night was not the beginning of something. More like the end of something.

The end of an inappropriate attraction. The resolution of a crush I realise I’ve carried since I was twelve years old. It’s closure. That’s what it is.

None of which means my heart doesn’t resemble the crumbled pieces of our broken windshield. But I have nobody to blame but myself and my inability to stop myself from doing the wrong thing.

At least I’ll have a room to myself tonight. Maybe I’ll have a bath. Watch a romcom. Eat a block of chocolate. And by tomorrow morning I’ll be all ready to go back to colleagues and not-quite-friends.

I put my game face on at the roller door entrance to the car repair shop, where we find Trevor, Buddy and Eddie sitting on old upturned milk crates having a beer.

“I hear you beat my brother at darts, mate.” Trevor gets up, opens a battered old fridge and holds a beer out to Jasper, who shakes his head. Trevor is an exact replica of Eddie, minus half a dozen years or so and a good few kilos of muscle. “Gonna get Bernie to make a plaque up for yer. Put it on the wall next to the dartboard.”

“Fuck off,” mutters Eddie, with more humour than heat.

“Might even make Jasper the little bloke’s middle name. Got a bit of a ring to it; Trevor Jasper Smith,” Trev muses.

That gets him a smack on the back of the head from Eddie and a weird, high-pitched giggle from Buddy.

“Beginner’s luck,” Jasper replies, with a polite smile that bears no resemblance to the man who less than an hour ago worked me to back-to-back orgasms with his mouth and his fingers before finally making the most of that one last condom. And then let me know in no uncertain terms there would be no repeating the glorious mistake. Because it was glorious.

“Yeah, nah. Not buyin’ that for a hot minute.” Trev laughs, bringing me out of my memories and back to the conversation.

“I hear you had a good time last night,” says Buddy, who was notably absent at both the movie and the pub.