Snuggled together tightly in the back of the taxi, Mark ran his fingers through Nicky’s long black hair.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘I know what you’re thinking.’

‘Well, yes, that. You know what this dress does to me. But I was also thinking about your writing tonight.’

‘Oh?’ She wasn’t expecting that.

‘Now that I’ve made partner, I’ll be bringing in more money. What if you wrote full time?’

‘What? How?’

‘Give up your jobs. Just for six months to see how it goes. You could write your next book. Go to conferences and festivals. Network. It will all help, won’t it?’

‘I … I guess it couldn’t hurt. Having a second book would be good …’ Nicky knew this was every writer’s dream – the time and space to write full time. ‘But I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.’

‘You’re not asking. I’m offering.’ He took her face in his hands. ‘I just want to give you everything. At least think about it.’

He kissed her and she leaned into him, heat teasing every inch of her skin.

Two

Nicole barely slept, alert to every noise – every hoot, creak, scuttle – in this strange place. She dragged herself out of bed just as the sun was rising and looked at the next task on her list. Clear out the kitchen. That was a big job. Maybe too big a job. Back at home – ouch. That word, ‘home’, really stung. Back in Sydney, whenever she was faced with a task she didn’t want to do – edits that were giving her grief, research that wasn’t inspiring her – she’d go for a long walk. It always worked. Surely here, so much closer to nature, it would be even more effective.

Making her way along the hillside that poked into the sapphire ocean, she drew in long breaths. Gentle fields of emerald grass surrounded her with tall strong eucalypts, their bark shedding as the turning season dictated; the forgotten cottage, her cottage, and its tangled mess of shrubs and long grass fell away behind her and somewhere down the long dirt road she’d come in on yesterday sat the town, with its own small beach to the south.