Today
I’m stress-sweating inside a Sydney taxi, twenty minutes late for my interview with a construction CEO thanks to the world’s most confused taxi driver, when my phone jingles in my bag.
My nervousness spikes while I dig it out, still waiting for a call from Zac, but it’s Doctor Ellison’s office. My stomach nosedives and I consider throwing my phone out the window, but I swallow my terror and answer it.
‘Everything came back normal,’ is the first thing out of the doctor’s mouth.
My forehead drops to my knees and my chest breaks open, air gushing into my lungs. She says a run of other things I only half-hear about my cough being post-viral and the intermittent bleeding being likely hormonal.
‘Josie, might I also suggest we set up an appointment to talk a bit more about this health anxiety,’ she adds in her lulling tone. ‘There are lots of things we can do, like psychology sessions, and even medication to break that cycle of irrational thoughts and give the counselling a chance to work. Have a think about it, OK?’
I repeat my thanks on loop, gushing like she’s literally saved my life, and make a mental note to set up that appointment. Whatever this is that’s feeding on my brain and turning me into an emotional wreck, I want it gone. It’s time to get my life back.
I tip the taxi driver who can’t follow a simple GPS and ace the interview about major job cuts in the building industry. Back in the chaotic Sydney newsroom, I manage to focus enough to write up a story that lands in the opening segment of the evening news.
My car’s crawling through traffic on my way to Christina’s, who’s been putting me up in her guest room, when a familiar feeling of dread slinks into my abdomen. What if something was missed in those test results? My left underarm was oddly itchy last night. Could that be a sign that something still isn’t right?
After running my fingers over my underarm, I wrestle my mind off my health and back onto what Christina told me last night. She said that Oliver Novak’s decision about her newsreading replacement is imminent, so if there’s ever a time for me to shine at work, it’s this coming week. I need to reset my head and focus.
My sense of being off balance hasn’t been helped by the fact that I haven’t heard anything from Zac since the wedding. Ouch. Fleeing the reception and driving to Sydney feels like an overreaction in hindsight, but I don’t want to text him to explain—it’s probably something best dealt with in person.
I’m swirling my fork through a banoffee pie I bought to share with Christina when Natasha Harrington texts me. It’s been a big news week in Newcastle, and she wants me to report back first thing tomorrow morning. Argh. It’s also Zac’s birthday tomorrow, so if I want to keep hiding from him, I’m out of luck.
The butterfly storm in my stomach upgrades to a cyclone at the thought of seeing him. But maybe his birthday is the perfect excuse to go back to what we do best: hanging out, being asshats, and absolutely not kissing each other’s faces off while I grind against his erection. Christ.
After hugging Christina goodbye, I make a pit stop at her local liquor store to buy a bottle of whisky recommended by the salesman. It’s not the most personal gift I’ve ever given Zac, but under the circumstances, it’s all my panicking heart can manage.
I stick a silver bow on the bottle’s neck and pull out my phone, deciding that a break-the-ice text might take the edge off our reunion.
ME: Hey. Just wanted to let you know I’m heading back up north tonight.
Hopefully it’s still OK to crash at yours for a few more days?
P.S. I got my test results back, and everything was normal. 
Hopefully the docs didn’t miss anything! 
He’s probably at work, so I fire up my car, but a speech bubble pops up right away.
ZAC: Amazing news! So happy to hear that. I’m sure the results were accurate.
Sorry I’ve been quiet, it’s been a hectic few days at work. Of course, it’s fine for you to stay here. I’m on night shift tonight, just FYI, so might not see you.
I slump in my seat, rereading the message in search of clues that he’s been thinking about that kiss as much as I have. But I don’t pick up on anything other than the friend zone.
Which is where you need to be, Josie Larsen. You are moving back to Sydney in a couple of months. Don’t screw up fourteen years of friendship over a moment of repressed sexual attraction rising to the surface.
Slapping myself into BFF mode, I head for the highway out of Sydney, making one more stop at Christina’s favourite op shop in North Sydney after spotting its late-night ‘open’ sign. The clothing racks fail to impress me this time, but a book on display catches my eye. It’s a large hardback titled: Why Does My Poop Smell Like Food I Didn’t Eat? 200 Questions You’re Too Embarrassed to Ask Your Doctor. A laugh sneaks out of me, and I buy it to go with Zac’s birthday whisky.
The rest of the way to Newcastle, I remind myself that this is the safe space I need to stay in: gag gifts, friendly texts and zero romance. I can do this.
Zac must’ve got home from night shift before my morning alarm because when I do my zombie-walk towards the coffee machine, I notice his bedroom door is shut. The poor thing’s going to sleep the day away on his birthday, but I’m pretty sure he’s now starting his run of days off, so we can celebrate tonight and get our chance to talk. Nerves whip up my stomach, and I do my best to drown them in dark-roast coffee.
Before leaving for work, I set out Zac’s favourite coffee mug beside the birthday whisky bottle and book. On a piece of paper, I scribble:
Happy birthday, favourite.
I’m taking you out tonight, no excuses.
Dress to impress and be ready at 6.
Work plays out smoothly, and Lola and Isabella help me choose the perfect place for tonight: a live music bar called Nightjar that also does whisky tastings. I text Zac the address, offering to drive us home if he can Uber there. I need to stay sober tonight so I don’t screw this up and try to kiss him or—worse—ask him again why he didn’t pick me over his ex, who has since died.
I cringe in absolute horror and shame every time I think about it.
The moment I’m done at work, I zip across town to Nightjar, wanting to scope out the perfect spot for us to sit before Mr Punctuality arrives.
The bar is a dimly lit speakeasy hiding in the basement of a luxury hotel, the snug space packed with round tables topped with flickering candles in glass jars. The one table that’s vacant sits in a particularly dark corner opposite the stage.
That table does not look at all like the perfect place to kiss the life out of someone until you get kicked out for indecency.
Tossing slightly annoyed glances at the other patrons taking up the less romantic spots, I order a lemon, lime and bitters and settle into the corner table, keeping an eye on the door and a hand on my stomach to stop it from collapsing.
Five minutes after six, Zac pushes through the door, and an instant rush of affection tightens my throat. A woman goes to exit just after he steps in, and he lurches back to hold the door open for her, giving my eyes a chance to soak him in. He’s in charcoal slacks that sit somewhere between smart and casual, and his light-blue button-down shirt is rolled up at the sleeves. As he approaches me with a slightly flushed smirk, he runs a hand through the curls that flop handsomely over his head.
I am so totally fucked.
‘Happy birthday,’ I say with a strained smile, rising to wrap an arm around his neck, inhaling mint, body wash, and a touch of heaven.
‘Thank you.’ He slides in beside me on the couch, his heavy thigh skimming mine. ‘How did you know I had that poop book on pre-order?’
A laugh rumbles out of me as I hand him the menu. ‘And here I was worrying you’d think it was crap,’ I say with an added boom-tish. ‘Have a look at what you want to eat, but for drinks, I already ordered you the whisky-tasting package.’
‘Oh wow, thank you. Just me?’
I mime driving a car, and he nods.
‘You could leave the car overnight, and I can drop you off in the morning,’ he offers, tapping the menu against the full bottom lip that I sucked on three days ago.
What’s my name again?
‘Thanks, but it’s OK,’ I manage through my scrambled brain. ‘Some of us actually have to work tomorrow.’ I notice he seems more interested in my face than the menu. ‘How was Sydney?’
The tremble in his voice echoes mine as we catch up over some awkward small talk about work, ignoring the eight-tonne gorilla in the room that looks a lot like the fact that, a few days ago, our tongues were wrapped around each other’s.
A waiter glides over with a tray of whisky tasters, and we each order a plate of buffalo wings off the snack menu. We chat a little more about everything other than that wedding, and that kiss, and when the indie-rock trio kicks into their first set, I mentally thank the universe for giving us a reprieve. But I can’t let Zac leave this bar without us talking about what happened. Not if we want to stay friends.
The band tears up the stage, and we relax into the couch seat, watching everything but each other.
When the musicians announce a break, the space floods with light chatter and background music, and I turn to look at Zac with an inferno in my chest.
‘So, Zac Jameson,’ I dangle, not playing this cool at all. ‘You and I kissed the other day.’
He coughs, nearly spitting whisky back into his glass.
I smile and chew my straw at him like a bloody psycho, briefly losing my courage as I consider making a run for it.
Zac’s startled gaze drops to the coaster he’s fingering. ‘We did.’
When the next thing to come out of his mouth is a jittery exhale, I jump in to save him—and myself—from the excruciating intermission we’ve been in for the past few days.
‘So, what are your thoughts about it?’ I ask, pleased with how mature I’m sounding; how I’m taking the reins. This is what we need to do. Just talk it out.
He stares at his drink for a long moment, and my stomach clenches with anticipation. When his gaze returns to mine, there’s a look in his eyes that makes my cheeks flush.
‘If you really want to know, Josie, in the past few weeks, I’ve spent what’s probably an unhealthy amount of time thinking about you. Every time I get a text, I hope it’s from you. Every time I get home, I want you to be there, and when you are, my heart starts racing. The reason I left in the middle of the night after the house fire was because I woke up next to you on the couch and wanted to kiss you so badly that I couldn’t see straight.’ His soft eyes graze over mine. ‘Every time you look at me, I feel like there’s no breath left in my body. It’s like you’ve completely filled my head, and there’s no room for anything else. And to be honest, I don’t know what to do about it.’ He lifts a shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between embarrassed and helpless.
I can’t find air in my lungs. I need to speak, but I can’t make any words, and my heart is punching my rib cage.
‘Zac, I …’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘This is heavy shit for us. Serious danger zone.’
‘I don’t want to ruin our friendship,’ I admit, although the humming deep inside my body that feels a lot like joy says to hell with that.
My comment blows disappointment across his face, and I quickly cup my hand over his.
‘I’m not saying that I don’t want things to change,’ I clarify, thinking this out as I go. ‘But I’m so scared of losing you again. I only just got you back.’
He turns his hand in mine, and our fingers lace tightly together like we both need this. We shift to face each other and rest our shoulders against the couch, our gazes locking.
‘I feel like I’ve been blind,’ is all I can think to say.
He strokes the back of my hand with this thumb. ‘I don’t. To be honest, I’ve been looking for a really long time now.’
‘You have?’
His cheeks stain red. ‘When I just said I’d been thinking about you a lot for the past few weeks? That may have been a lie. It’s been going on for a lot longer than that.’
My breath snags in my throat as I wait for him to say more.
When he eventually speaks, his voice comes out thick. ‘I did choose you. Two days before the accident, Tara broke off our engagement.’
My lips fall open. ‘What?’
A guilty look floods his face. ‘I loved Tara. I did. But these feelings for you just crept up on me out of nowhere. Or, at least, they came back. I first noticed them a few months after Tara and I got engaged. You threw us that amazing Gatsby party, and you were sitting with one of her cousins, who had his hand on your leg. The thought of you going home with him gave me this really strong urge to kick his ass. Which I now know was stupid, because I never saw you with Amin again.’ Zac lets go of my hand and scrapes his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily. ‘But I don’t know; it just fucking woke something up in me that I couldn’t switch off after that. Sure, I liked you for a bit in high school, and there was always that undertone of possibility. But after I met Tara, I came to see you only as my best friend. Then, one day, you turned my head again, and I haven’t been able to look away from you ever since.’
I’m melting. And my mind is reaching for the memories of those days, but they’re mostly a blur.
‘You didn’t know I felt that way,’ Zac confirms, searching my face.
‘I had no idea,’ I reply, wondering how I could have missed this from someone I know so well.
He swallows tightly. ‘Well, it didn’t go unnoticed by Tara. She flat-out asked me one day if I had romantic feelings for you. And if she hadn’t put me on the spot like that, I might’ve thought through whether it was better just to lie and hope the feelings would go away. But I didn’t, and you can imagine how spectacularly unimpressed she was to hear the truth. So, she gave me an ultimatum: her or you. She said if I wanted to stay with her, I could never see you again.’
‘Jesus,’ I say quietly, even though I probably would’ve done the same thing had I been in Tara’s position.
‘And even though I thought about it,’ Zac adds, ‘I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pick Tara over you. Because as much as I cared about her, the thought of losing you was unimaginable to me.’
A tear slips down my cheek as I grapple with the searing lightness his words have unleashed in my heart, matched only by the crippling guilt of knowing what came next for Tara.
Zac catches my tear with his knuckle. ‘I don’t want you to feel bad,’ he says softly. ‘I want this to be a good thing.’ His warm hands cup my cheeks, lifting my gaze to his. ‘I mean, when I picked you up at that train station after not seeing you for so long.’ Emotion crowds his features. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t see it written all over my face.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I breathe. ‘Why didn’t you tell me back then?’
A sad smile barely lifts his mouth. ‘Because you want to marry Todd, the investment banker from Bronte.’
I frown. ‘Who?’
‘Yeah, my thoughts exactly,’ he mutters. ‘Or should I say Lindsay, the business analyst from Newcastle.’
I tilt my cheek into his fingers. ‘You know I wasn’t into him. It was pretty hard to be when I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’
A soft line appears between Zac’s brows, his expression caught between happy and sad. ‘You have no idea how hard it was for me to see you with him.’
‘Actually, I do,’ I reply. ‘Watching you and Meghan together …’ I let out a coarse breath. ‘At first, it was strange. Then, kind of uncomfortable. But towards the end of you and her being together, I honestly couldn’t stand it. Now I know why.’
The warmth filling Zac’s eyes floods my chest with a tingling heat. But there’s so much heaviness tied up in the things he’s said tonight.
His hand finally drops to rest back against the table. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you more about Lindsay and his drunk driving. I should have done more than hint at it, but, well, for one, I never saw him as bad as he was the night of your accident. I didn’t think he’d ever go that far—especially with someone in the car. But also …’ Zac glances away as he sighs.
‘Also what?’
‘I was worried you’d think I was just trying to keep you away from Lindsay. For other reasons.’
‘Reasons like me thinking you were jealous?’
He nods with a guilty blush. ‘I was terrified of you figuring out how I felt about you. But it was a huge mistake. Lindsay could’ve …’ Imagined horror fills his gaze.
‘Don’t think like that,’ I say. ‘It all turned out OK.’
Zac just shakes his head at himself and reaches for his drink while my mind shifts to another question that I still need the answer to.
‘Why were you even in that car with Tara that night?’ I ask softly. ‘If she’d broken up with you?’
He puffs a weary exhale. ‘You knew Tara. She was kind of a ball-breaker, and she insisted that I be the one to tell her parents the engagement was off. She didn’t want me to go into detail about why, of course, but she asked me to tell them to their faces, and how could I say no? That’s why we were driving down to Mittagong.’
‘Zac, how could you not have told me any of this?’
A soft sadness coats his eyes. ‘Jose, the girl I was meant to marry broke up with me because I wanted to be with someone else. Two days later, she died on a trip that wouldn’t have happened if I’d just loved her the way I’d promised to. It’s been hard enough to live through my shame without seeing you every day. Just being with you here now like this … I feel like I’m betraying Tara all over again. Killing Tara all over again.’
It’s my turn to catch his face between my hands and look right into his eyes. ‘You did not kill Tara. What happened was a terrible accident. The only person at fault is that bastard drunk driver who’s rotting in prison right now.’
Zac presses his lips together like he’s not quite sure he believes me, but he rests his cheek against my palm. My heart rate skyrockets again, and for several endless minutes, we sit and silently stare at each other, fighting off the guilt infecting the happiness between us.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I eventually say, my hand slipping off his cheek and falling into his grasp.
He pulls my fingers possessively into his lap. ‘Me either.’
‘This is …’ A deep sigh blows through my lips. ‘It’s a lot.’
Zac just nods. There really is no other way to put it.
He shifts in his seat. ‘Maybe we should cool things down a bit until we’ve had a chance to think everything through. Before we jump off this cliff … decide if it’s really the right thing.’
I nod my agreement, but half of me doesn’t want that at all, and that half is caressing every one of Zac’s fingers.
I must look disappointed, because he shifts forward and brings his mouth close to my ear. ‘Don’t think I don’t want you,’ he says, his voice a little rough. ‘Being with you is all I can think about. I don’t think you realise what you do to me. It’s taking all the self-control I have not to kiss you right now.’
My cheeks catch fire, and my grip on him tightens. This is a form of torture I just can’t take.
‘I think we should go home,’ I eventually murmur through the lump of glue in my throat, making sure my voice doesn’t carry any suggestion one way or the other.
Because Zac is right. As much as we want each other right now, we need to be sure about what we’re doing so we don’t screw up what’s left of this friendship. There’s already enough baggage between us to take on a round-the-world holiday.
But questions have begun ringing in my mind at a volume I can’t ignore.
Why have I spent most of my adult life single?
Why did I make that back-up plan with Zac to get married when we were twenty-eight?
Why have I been chasing after men who represent a set of ideals admired by others but not, in reality, by me?
Why didn’t I want to take things further with Lindsay, even before the accident that revealed his true colours?
And why does this quiet, unassuming man sitting across from me make my heart pound out of rhythm and my throat constrict with longing?
This isn’t a moment of repressed sexual attraction rising to the surface.
This is something much more complicated.
My thoughts scatter when Zac gets up. He steps aside so I can go first, his palm catching the small of my back as I brush past the heat of his body.
I’m not sure how much willpower I, of all people, will be able to muster. Because this man has become my castle in the sky, and he just admitted he’s had a crush on me for years. So really, what am I supposed to do with that?
With my back to Zac, I rub the confusing ache in my chest before I suck it up and lead him out of the bar.