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“I’ve fully fenced the largest paddock now. Am thinking I’ll get more sheep at the next sales. If I have enough cash. Tom’s advice has been invaluable. I dunno how he knows so much stuff about sheep and farming.” He closed his eyes with a sigh and then opened them again. “Sometimes I wonder if this is a mistake.”
“I think you’re doing great. Of course there’s so much to learn. But you’re not starting from zero. You’re remembering what you do know from time with your grandfather.”
“Sometimes I feel like a fraud. But then there’s Ryan behind the bar with me, and he and his family are like a farming dynasty.”
“If you want to stop, you can sell and do something else. You always have that choice.”
“I know.” Jet closed his eyes again. “I just want to make it work if I can.”
“Yeah.” My eyelids were heavy.
The last thing I remember was the rise and fall of his chest before I woke with a start to find myself in bed with my phone. The call had ended, but I had a message.
Jet: you fell asleep. Wishing you a good morning when you read this later.
Jet: bonus question: Sweet or Spicy: what’s your perfect way to spend a Sunday morning?
I smiled, realising it was Sunday morning. I allowed myself to daydream about waking up beside him, Jet saying good morning with a lazy grin, his hand sliding up my back, and falling back into bed, under him, on top of him, slowly building the pleasure between us to boiling point.
Me: sleeping in, feeling exactly like this
9
Ari
Goes both ways: What pick-up line made you laugh or melt?
Despite my fears, doing the bridal make-up for Kayla’s wedding went very well. And led to a wedding invitation which led to my next job: kids’ face painting. Someone had a sister in the next town whose kid was having a birthday party and desperately wanted a face painter.
The day after Macca and Kayla’s wedding, I drove in a repaired Bessie to paint eight kids’ faces at a party and loved it. I played games with them and sang songs while they waited their turns. No one wanted contoured cheekbones: it was all about maximum glitter and rainbows. I even got a tip for my work.
Jet had mentioned he used to look at social media community groups for small shearing jobs between major contracts and would post that he was available for hobby farmers who needed small flocks shorn. I decided to give it a go and posted my availability for bridal or special night make-up orface-painting parties. I’d scored three more jobs and arrived in Darwin, feeling on top of the world and with cash in my pocket.
I breathed in the humid, salty air, spices and herbs from the food trucks and let the noise of the Mindil Beach Markets surround me. The last week in Darwin had been fun, if not a little weird. I was judging the place as where Mum had taken off as soon as I’d finished high school and left for Sydney. She’d been trying for years to get me to join her in Darwin, she doing hair and me doing nails and make-up in her salon. I’d never visited while she lived there, citing I was too busy between working on set and doing TV station work, as well as the end-of-year social season for Sydney’s A-listers. Every socialite needed to be seen and photographed with A-grade contoured cheekbones and smoky eyes at Christmas parties.
But the glamour and demand of party make-up was now replaced by cloying humidity, palm trees and warnings to not swim at the beach because of crocodiles.
So far, the monsoon season had been underwhelming. But according to many in the caravan park, conditions could change in a matter of days or even hours.
And it was stinking hot and humid. Beachside markets at dusk, with the breeze coming off the water, was the perfect place to cool off.
A customer picked up a shell at a stall across from me, and the stallholder smiled. “Found that washed up on the beach at the next bay. Pretty, hey?” the stallholder said to the customer.
The shell was conical with spots on one side and a blush of pink at its opening, the same colour as the sunsets here at Mindil Beach. It was beautiful.
Jet’s number lit up my mobile. He was calling earlier than I’d expected, even with the difference in time zones. My toes curled, gripping my sandals, recalling our last video chat. Him naked, pleasuring himself.
I was hot and cold all at once.
“Why hello there, Mr Cummings,” I murmured.
There was a muffled argument on the other end and then a stranger spoke.
“Blake, hold him back. I’ll see who he’s drunk dialling. Um, hello?”
Just then, in the background, Jet shouted at someone to give his phone back.
“Who is this? I’m Tom, Jethro’s friend.” Cheers went up in the background. “Ah, Jet’s drunk and banned from using his phone. What?” More muffled conversation, and then, “Bloody hell, he says he wants more pics of your hot … ankles?”
