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8
Noah
‘The famous avocado shirt,’ Gabriel teases as he descends the staircase at Flinders Street Station and finds where I’m hidden beside the stairwell. He looks stylish as fuck in a white linen t-shirt, a pair of denim shorts, sunglasses and a khaki-green Lacoste cap.
I look down at my black avocado-print button-up, the shirt I told him I was wearing as though this was some kind of blind date and not the third time we’d seen each other in person in as many days. ‘What? I needed to stand out from the crowd.’
His dark gaze takes me in. ‘Mission accomplished.’
My chest grows tight. This isn’t the first time he’s left me breathless; Gabriel is gorgeous with a deep bronze complexion, thick curly hair and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. The way he’s looking at me over the top of his sunglasses makes my mouth dry and my shirt feel way too tight.
Gabriel quirks a brow as if he’s oblivious to the panic he’s awakened inside of me. Maybe offering to show him around the city was a bad idea. ‘Shall we go?’
I swallow the lump in my throat as I push myself off the wall. ‘Yes, um, it’s not too far from here. Follow me.’
It’s peak hour and swarms of people cross the busy intersection outside Flinders Street Station. Gabriel sticks close to me; so close that I feel the gentle brush of the back of his hand as it passes mine, once, and then twice. Every now and then, I get a whiff of Gabriel’s citrusy cologne as it dances between us, tantalising me. All I can think about is how the cologne must smell against his skin and—damn, what is wrong with me? Suddenly, the crowd thins out and it’s almost a relief to have space between us again.
‘What’s the secret place?’ Gabriel asks as we continue down the street.
‘You’ll find out.’
He huffs a little. ‘I don’t like surprises.’
A busker plays an upbeat Dua Lipa cover on the other side of the street, and everything feels soelectricand alive. Our hands touch again, and this time I glance at Gabriel. He looks at me, too, and I swear there’s a spark between us: current charged by the pure vibes of a summery Melbourne evening.
‘We’re here.’ I stop at the mouth of a damp, narrow lane full of graffiti.
‘Um,’ he says as he glances down at an upturned milk crate and a soiled poster for a stand-up comedy show. ‘Are you going to murder me?’
I like the way his accent makes the question sound so innocent. ‘Yes, Gabriel, I plan on murdering you in this brightly lit CBD alleyway during peak hour, so please don’t scream too loud.’ When he doesn’t laugh, I grasp his forearm and tug him in. ‘I’m joking. Come on. No one is murdering anyone.’
Gabriel sucks in a breath but follows me into the laneway. As we walk, the scummy brickwork transforms into, well, magic. An elaborate gang tag turns into a modern interpretation of the Virgin Mary, crimson roses curling around her portrait. Further down the alley, there’s a painting of a French bulldog, a sunflower with curling yellow petals and an octopus fighting Godzilla.
Gabriel darts forward to stand in front of a pair of large painted wings. ‘I’ve always wanted to do this,’ he says as he hands me his phone.
‘It’s peak tourist,’ I remind him as I snap a picture, ignoring the handful of unread messages that linger in his notification bar.
We walk past a long mural depicting a haunted graveyard, which eventually transforms into a landscape of rolling hills, sunbeams and rainbows. At one point we stop to watch a woman on a ladder paint a giant curling dragon around a second-floor window.
‘Every time I come here, the art’s different,’ I tell Gabriel. ‘It’s like a living canvas.’
The smell of onion and garlic drifts down the laneway. ‘Come on,’ I lead Gabriel towards the street, ‘I want to show you my favourite place in Melbourne.’
Across the road, the wordGYROSflashes on a neon sign above a small brick shop. A queue curls around the block as a young man with a booming voice calls out order after order through a small window.
‘This is a Melbourne staple: hole-in-the-wall gyros,’ I assure Gabriel. ‘It’s worth it.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ he replies. Gabriel takes out his phone and I see a message from someone named Lukas appear on the screen. My thoughts instantly spiral. Who is Lukas—a friend? A colleague? His boyfriend?
I pull up the menu on my phone and hand it to him, making him abandon the message he’s typing to Lukas. ‘Have a look. You can’t go wrong. Everything’s good here.’
Gabriel peers at my screen. ‘What do you recommend?’
‘I mean, you could go classic. Marinated lamb, garlic sauce, Greek salad . . .’ He hands me back the phone. ‘Or you could try the spicy chicken—a bit of a deviation from the usual, but—’
‘You’ve convinced me,’ he interrupts. ‘The lamb.’
‘That was easy,’ I laugh. We move forward in the line.
