‘BOOKS, COFFEE, FLOWERS OR TEA?’ I had rearranged the words alphabetically, just to see how they felt and sounded. I smiled inwardly at the result of my boredom with saying the same phrase over and over.

‘Coffee ... but tell me why I should buy flowers?’ The woman asked. She was the colour of dark blue—knowledge and power.

‘As an experiment ... to see how they change the behaviour and mood of the recipient.’ It was worth a try to get some more flowers out the door for Gram’s business.

‘That’s interesting. I’ve never thought of it that way.’

‘Do you have anyone in mind—someone who rarely smiles, is grumpy, or is the one who is left out?’

‘Sounds like you’re describing someone who gets bullied.’

‘Perhaps I am ... or someone who has a chronic illness.’

‘Let me think on that while I have a cappuccino.’

‘Sure. Darcy is the master cappuccino maker. He’s over to your right. Enjoy!’

‘Thanks. I will,’ she said, and left.

I looked over at Gram. She had flowers lined up on the workbench of flower imagination. That was new. With a lull in customers, I collected the spritz spray bottle and went outside to freshen the flowers. I went over to Gram’s bicycle flowers last, as I always did, and stopped before I gave them a burst of water spray. There was a note. From Xander.

I picked it up and opened it.

Dear Yolande,

I would like to cordially invite you to dinner

at my parents’ house, tonight.

8pm - after dance practice.

Hoping you’ll say yes.

xx Alexander

P.S. Call me Alexander tonight, please x

Oh ... I needed to call him Alexander because of his father, perhaps. My mind went into a whirl. I didn’t have the right clothes to wear to his parents’ house, and I don’t think they would appreciate my safety boots.

I rushed into the store and stopped in front of Gram. ‘I need to go home for a moment.’

Gram looked up at me. ‘Is everything okay, Andi?’

‘Yes. I have to get some clothes for after dancing with Xander tonight.’

Gram smiled. ‘That sounds interesting.’

‘Not really. It’s just something we agreed on when I went to his mother’s birthday.’ I shook my head. Yolande the “pretend” girlfriend and tag-a-long was back.

‘Go, my girl, but don’t take too long!’

‘I won’t,’ I said as I removed my apron, went to the office, changed into my cycling gear, grabbed my bicycle and exited via the back of the store.

Within thirty minutes, I had arrived at my parents’ house and raced upstairs and stopped before my wardrobe. A dress was needed for dinner at Xander’s parents’ fancy house. So, a fancy dress it would have to be. And fancy shoes. I grabbed my Audrey Hepburn vintage style navy dress with white polka dots. It had no sleeves and the neckline would cover my scar. I looked down at my limited shoe selection: running shoes, safety boots (3), white girly shoes, black girly shoes and my pale pink court shoes. I took a deep breath. The black ones will have to do.

I picked up the black court shoes and a clutch purse and put them into a backpack, then took the dress, still on the hanger from the wardrobe. I pulled out my phone and called a taxi. It would be better to leave my bike here since Xander was picking me up from Flowers for Fleur each night for dance practice now. I left the house and waited for the taxi, which didn’t take long in Tarrin, and returned to Gram at the store.

I entered through the back door. ‘I’m back, Gram!’ I called as I whizzed past. But there was no answer from Gram. She was still working on the flowers she had lined up in a row. Either she was lost in designing, or she didn’t hear me.

I hung my dress in the office and left my backpack beside my dancing backpack, then walked over to Gram and stood in front of her at the workbench.

She looked up at me. ‘You’re back! Did you come through the back door? You should have told me ... I wanted to see what you had chosen to wear.’

My heart sank. She didn’t hear me at all. ‘I put the dress in your office. Do you want me to get it?’

‘Yes, dear.’

I returned within the minute and held the dress up for Gram to pass judgement.

‘That’ll be perfect. What shoes are you wearing?’

I looked down at my safety boots.

‘No! I forbid you to wear those!’

I smiled at her. ‘It’s okay, Gram. I have black court shoes in the office.’

‘You’re learning!’ She gave me a gentle smile.

‘I’ll put the dress back, and then I want you to tell me what you’re doing with those flowers.’

Gram waved me off and I took quick steps to her office.

‘Andi!’ It was Darcy. I looked up at him and he walked toward me. ‘I’m going to a movie tonight. Would you like to come?’

‘Sorry, Darcy. I’m going out to dinner tonight.’

‘Is that why you have that dress?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’ll look amazing on you ... where are you going?’

‘To Xander’s parents’ house.’

‘Oh ...’ Darcy looked down.

‘It was something we agreed on when I went to his mother’s birthday celebration with Gram’s bicycle. It’s to make his mother and father happy ...’ Why was I explaining it to him?

‘What?’

I walked closer to him and whispered. ‘They think he’s gay?’

‘Is he?’

‘I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter if he is.’ It was the truth. I really did not know. The only thing I knew was that his best friend was gay. But did that make Xander gay as well?

Darcy shook his head. ‘If he is, you are supporting his lie by pretending to be his girlfriend.’

‘You spoke to him, Darcy, what did you think?’

‘He could go either way.’

‘And that’s why I don’t know.’

‘A movie with me would be better,’ Darcy said with pleading eyes.

‘I’m not so sure ... this evening could be interesting—watching expressions, lie detecting, observing interactions ...’

‘If you like that sort of thing,’ he said.

‘I do.’

‘Let me know how it goes.’

‘Oh ... so you want to be up on the gossip?’

‘If it’s about Xander, yes!’

I frowned at Darcy. That was an odd thing to say. ‘We’ve both got work to do. I’ll see you later.’ Darcy nodded at me and went back to the café.

I sold a few bundles of blooms before I returned to Gram. ‘What’s the plan for these?’ I asked, waving my hand over the row of flowers. She had green trick, caspia, curly willow, mini carnations, and wax flowers—pinks, purples, hues of green.

‘I’m designing a new type of bouquet. It’s a bit tricky as I don’t want the flowers to move once they are in the vase—I want them to go in a spiral.’

‘How about while they’re laid flat, run tape along the stems, and then roll them so they’re like a spiral.’

Gram looked at me. ‘Let’s try it.’

‘What are you going to name it, Gram?’ I asked while I retrieved the tape.

‘Fury. It will be number 50 in my book of blooms.’

‘Fury?’

‘Yes. The vertigo makes me furious. I needed to express the vertigo in a creative way so I can laugh at the dark beast.’

‘That makes sense!’ I ran the tape along the stems. Gram started to roll the flowers until she got to the last flower. When she held it up it was a perfect spiral of colours and a mass of beauty.

‘Wow!’ I said. I looked down and fiddled with a fallen petal. ‘Tell me, Gram ... what’s the vertigo like?’

Gram frowned and closed her eyes. She pressed her lips together. ‘The world is spinning around me, like ... one hundred and twenty times a minute, maybe faster. It doesn’t stop, for hours on end. For some people, it’s lasts a shorter amount of time, for others is can last for days. The spinning, for me, is in an anti-clockwise direction, and it goes on for between three to five hours each time. I can’t close my eyes because it’s like spinning while falling in the pitch-black darkness where there’s no end. I fixate my eyes on one place because I’m trying to stop the spinning, but I can’t.’

Gram tied two ribbons around the stems: silver and gold. ‘And the nausea,’ she continued, ‘... while I’m spinning, staring at the wall, I’m also trying to concentrate on my breathing to stop the nausea and vomiting, but I fail, every single time.’

Gram turned her new “Fury” creation in her hands. ‘And I can’t walk. It’s impossible. I have no orientation of where my body is in relation to what is around me while the world spins. Lying down is the only option.’

Tears ran down Gram’s face. ‘Afterwards I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve been running for days. I have nothing left. I’m empty, but filled with fear of another attack, which is impossible to predict when it will happen again.’

Gram turned to me, put down the flowers and clutched my hands in her. ‘It’s so hideous, Yolande, I would never, ever, wish it on anyone, not even my worst enemy!’ 

I looked into Gram’s eyes and shook my head. ‘So, if I sat on a swivel chair, or lay on a playground roundabout, and was spun around, would that give me the sensation of the spinning you experience?’

‘Yes ... but only when the chair or roundabout stops, and it looks and feels like the world is spinning around you, and your eyes feel like they are moving from side to side and you have no control of them ... that’s what it feels like, for hours and hours on end, with no rest from it, and you can’t stop the ride to get off.’

I sucked in a deep breath. This was hard to hear. I looked out at the park across the road and saw a little boy and girl with their arms out, spinning round and round and round until they fell over. They sat on the grass for a moment, staring, before they stood again, then did it once more. And that was the last time they did it.

Gram twirled a ribbon around her finger. ‘Sometimes my head feels whooshy all the time. It’s like being drunk without having a drop of alcohol to drink ... and then there’s the loud tinnitus and hearing loss ...’

Gram put her hand over her forehead. ‘And the fear—it’s soul destroying,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never been so scared in my life. I have absolutely no control of my body when I’m having a vertigo attack, whatsoever!’

A wave of dread washed over me. I reached up to check that my chest scar was covered. Listening to Gram describe her vertigo and other symptoms was difficult. Meniere's disease was so much more than just the debilitating violent vertigo we had witnessed.

‘The only consolation is that I won’t die from it, and it’s not contagious,’ Gram added.

‘No cause, no cure,’ I whispered. I ran my fingers along the gold and silver ribbon of Gram’s new flower creation. ‘Fleur’s Fury is perfect!’ I said with a heavy heart. I looked back up at Gram. We were similar in that we both used creativity to deal with something negative in our lives. The healing power of creativity—it was a real thing.

Gram left Flowers for Fleur at 2pm. She was exhausted. How precious was that time I had spent with her.

There was a lull in the busy-ness of the store and I grabbed the chance to write a note to Xander.

Dear Alexander,

I would be delighted to accompany

you to dinner tonight.

I have found my cleanest, sparkliest

work boots for the occasion.

xx Yolande

I folded it at once and went outside the store and placed it into the flowers in the basket. Today it was pink sunflowers. I hoped he would collect the note before I had to bring the bicycle in at closing time.

*~*~*~*~*

Xander knocked on the double French doors at 6pm. I opened one door for him, casting my eyes over his blue colour.

‘Hey!’ I said.

‘Hey!’ he said, tapping my note against his fingers.

‘I’ll get my stuff.’

He nodded.

I grabbed my dress and two backpacks, then returned to Xander. He took both of my backpacks. I wanted to carry them myself, but in the end, I decided to go with the flow and make him feel like he was helping me. Not that I wasn’t capable myself.

‘The dinner to seal the deal ... right?’ I said, referring to when I accompanied him to his mother’s birthday.

He frowned at me. ‘Our deal?’

‘The day of your mother’s birthday,’ I said, and then changed my tone of voice to try to mimic his voice. ‘“That’s the deal—the bicycle and you for two hours, plus to accompany me for dinner one night.”’

He smiled. ‘Ah, yes ... but that was then, and this is now.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Then, you were the convenient tag-along “pretend” girlfriend. Now you are … more.’

‘More?’ What did he mean?

‘Yes. You’re my dancing partner now.’

‘True.’

We walked outside, and I locked the doors. I turned to find Xander standing at his car with the door open for me. I waved my free hand about at him.

‘I know you can open the door yourself. Just humour me, please.’

I sighed at him. Humour him I could do.

*~*~*~*~*

There were candles in the dance hall. They weren’t lit, but they were there.

I looked at Xander with questioning eyes.

‘There’s supposed to be another storm tonight, and we can’t lose practice time.’

I nodded and sat on the pew and changed into my competition shoes.

‘Smart move,’ Xander said, as he put his competition shoes on. He handed me some paper. ‘Here’s the dance notation for our foxtrot and the link to the music.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, and tucked it into my bag to look at later. I moved away from the pew and warmed up before I stretched. Xander joined me. After ten minutes he went and stood in the middle of the dance hall.

Our sixth dance session had begun ...

*~*~*~*~*

‘Turn around while I change,’ I said after we had finished dance practice. Perhaps it would have been better for the power to go out during the storm that rumbled overhead.

It started to rain.

‘I get changed around ballerinas all the time. It’s no big deal,’ he said.

‘Turn around!’ I said once again. ‘And stand further away.’

He rolled his eyes and walked to the other end of the hall. I made sure his back was towards me, then stripped out of my dance attire and put on my navy dress with white polka dots, and some perfume. I felt the neckline of my dress carefully and checked that it covered my scar.

I walked over to him. He had changed into his trousers. I stood in front of him, so my back was towards him. He zipped me up without a word spoken between us. He stood closer and his body heat warmed me. I took a slow breath in. He lowered his head and inhaled gently against my neck. An exquisite current flowed between us, making my heart flutter.

‘I like your perfume,’ he said, his voice low.

I turned to face him after a moment. ‘Thanks. Better than smelling like two kinds of body sweat.’

‘Two kinds?’

‘Yours and mine.’

Xander’s lips turned up in a half smile. ‘I kinda like that you would smell of me.’

I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head. ‘Put your shirt and shoes on. I’ll see you outside.’

‘Bossy.’ His eyes were smiling.

I went to my bag and grabbed my make-up to retouch my face, and added a little lipstick to look a bit dressier for Xander’s parents. I let my hair down and wrestled it into some sort of okay, then changed my footwear.

I gathered my gear and went and stood at the front of the hall under the cover from the rain. I placed my bags beside me and put my hands behind my back and rocked to and fro on my steel-capped work boots.

Xander ran from the car and stopped before me. He grabbed my bags and put them in the car and returned to me. ‘You look—’

‘Don’t say it!’

‘Say what ... nice?’

‘Oh ... that’s okay to say. Thanks.’ I didn’t want him to use the word beautiful. I put my leg out to the side and slid my foot around in front of me and back beside my other foot. I was waiting for him to say something about my shoes.

‘I thought you were going to wear sparkly work boots.’

‘Nah—I changed my mind.’

‘Sparkly would have been better.’

‘I know.’ I looked down at my work boots and then back at Xander. ‘Am I still your “pretend” girlfriend?’

‘More so than ever.’

‘Really? Please don’t hate me.’

He stilled. ‘Why would I hate you?’

‘Because of what I might say at dinner ...’

He stood taller and looked to the side. He looked back at me. ‘Somehow, I think my parents will love you.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the Parker residence.’

I placed my hand in his and we ran to the car in the rain. He opened my door and closed it after I got in, then went around and slid into the driver’s seat. He was more than a little damp from the rain. I watched as a droplet of water fell from a curl of his dark hair on his forehead.

We drove for fifteen minutes and arrived at large wrought iron gates. Xander entered a code and we proceeded onto the opulent property. The driveway was flanked by trees on either side, reminding me of a country drive. And then the space opened.

I mouthed a silent “wow” when the house came into view. It was a sprawling, two storey French country home. It had an exterior of stone with multiple gables and a double entrance. It exuded elegance, and wealth.

Xander stopped the car under a high roofed covered entrance, a little way from the large double front carved timber doors. A butler approached the car and opened my door, and when I climbed out of the car, Xander was already waiting for me. He was the colour of pale yellow, an anxious colour.

A shot of anxiety flowed through me at his unexpected reaction to his parents’ house. He offered me his arm and we started to walk to the front door. I took a deep breathe to calm my nerves.

‘I like your shoes,’ he said.

I had sneakily changed into the black court shoes while he was driving, concentrating on the road in the heavy rain.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You smell like rain,’ I added.

‘Sorry,’ he whispered.

‘I love rain,’ I whispered back.

He looked down at me, his eyes dark, and swallowed. ‘Me too.’

The front doors opened, and we stepped inside. Xander’s mother appeared at once, dressed immaculately in a stylish light pink, long sleeved tweed dress. She held out her hand to me. I placed my hand in hers and smiled.

‘Andi, it’s lovely to see you again. Welcome.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Parker. Your home is beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled then stepped forward and hugged her son. ‘It's so good to see you, my darling Andy.’ Xander dipped his head like he did in Swan Lake and my heart melted.

Mrs Parker took my hand and lead me through the house. I looked behind my shoulder at Xander, who gave me an amused smile. When she stopped walking we were in a generous sitting room with the largest drapes I had ever seen, plus furniture that looked fit for royalty.

I stood beside Mrs Parker, and within a second, Xander positioned himself on the other side of me.

His father, well dressed in black trousers, a white button-up shirt and a black tie, stood from his seat and moved toward Xander. A proud smile grew on his face and his wrapped his arms around his son. ‘Now my evening is perfect! All of my children are here.’ He stepped away from Xander and gazed at me.

I looked at him with a polite, practised smile. Gram said smiles were like magic.  

‘Yolande. I was hoping I would see you again.’

‘It’s lovely to see you again, Mr Parker,’ I said.

A butler stood before me with a tray of martinis. I nodded slightly and took one off the tray with absolutely no intention of drinking it. I was very good at lifting a glass of alcohol to my lips, but never tasting it. It avoided the host thinking I had bad manners by not accepting their offer of a drink.    

Xander took my hand in his and lead me over to his sisters and their partners. And with polite greetings, the evening of deceit had begun.

I, Yolande Lawrence-Harrison, now had an astronomically famous superstar ballet dancer boyfriend, who was unknown to his father in any shape or form as a dancer, and who was possibly gay, or not, but my presence would prove that he wasn’t, for the sake of his mother and father.

I took a pretend sip of my martini and looked at Xander. He seemed tense and was unbearably quiet. Somehow, this evening was harder for him than me. And at that moment, I vowed to be the best pretend girlfriend I could ever be. Just for Xander.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. ‘You look divine,’ I whispered.

Xander looked at me with questioning eyes.

I raised my eyebrows at him and gave him a barely noticeable nod of my head. He seemed to snap out of wherever he was in his head.

‘Not as divine as you,’ he said, and kissed the back of my hand, sending heat running through my veins. He stood. ‘Come. Let me show you through the house.’

I placed my martini next to his on the mantel, held on to his hand and strolled casually behind him as he took the lead.

The house was far more extravagant than I realised. After five minutes of walking, Xander slowed and opened some French doors. We walked outside onto a terrace, decorated with copious flowering pots and a muted light.

He leaned against a white column and put his hands into his pockets, exuding a hot masculinity that made my stomach quiver. I wanted to touch him, my skin to his, but I resisted. 

‘Is this where you grew up?’ I asked, feeling something deeper that seemed to come dangerously close to touching my soul.

‘Yes.’

‘Which is your bedroom?’

‘It’s over in the west wing. I haven’t lived here for seven years.’ He looked deeply into my eyes, sending a warmth rushing through me.

‘Really?’

‘My father said I couldn’t live here once I quit football ...’ Xander stared out into the distance and my heart fell.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay. It was easier because I didn’t have to cover up all my dancing lessons and rehearsals for productions, telling lie after lie about where I was going and what I was doing.’ Xander laughed. ‘I didn’t even get on the paddock to play one game of football. I virtually sat on the sidelines every single year.’

‘What did your father say about that?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing. He was too busy being a doctor to get to a game. He was happy that I was “playing” football like any other boy.’

There was a dinging sound. I looked around. ‘What’s that?’

‘Time for dinner.’ He smiled, and I gave him a look of mock horror. ‘It’s easier to summon the kids like this when the house is so large.’

‘Do you feel like you have been conditioned like Pavlov’s dog?’

Xander burst out laughing. ‘I love that you’re here with me, Yolande Lawrence-Harrison.’

‘I’m glad too, Alexander Parker.’ I performed a simple curtsy for him, suddenly aware that no one is born with perfection—it is shaped, by both internal and external factors.

He smiled coyly and took my hand in his, and we made our way to the dining room. Xander pulled out my chair for me to sit on, like an attentive boyfriend would.

I had never sat at such a grand table with polished silverware and fancy fresh flowers from Flowers for Fleur worth $200 as a table decoration. I had never felt so prim and proper. I sat taller on my fancy chair.

I spoke so only Xander could hear. ‘My sparkly work boots would have been perfect for this room, Alexander.’

He smiled, and a dimple appeared on his cheek. ‘Absolutely,’ he whispered back, and I melted in a floral symphony of feelings.

‘Yolande, I’m sorry your grandmother couldn’t be here tonight,’ Mr Parker said. ‘We wanted to thank her for allowing us to borrow her bicycle for the birthday celebration.’

I lowered my chin a little. I had no idea Gram had been invited. ‘Gram has been a little ... unwell lately ... and it was her pleasure. She likes to show off her bicycle, and for the record, Alexander is the only person she has ever entrusted with it.’

‘I heard you work in the flower store, Yolande,’ Mrs Parker said, looking over the top of her wine glass.

Mr Parker butted in, ‘Hmmph ... flowers are over-rated, and expensive, my dear.’ He shot a look at the flowers in the centre of the table.

I gave Mr Parker with a small smile and looked directly into his blue eyes. ‘Flowers are a sensual gift that express emotion so simply, Mr Parker. They are the art of romance and speak a secret language that women understand perfectly that men seem to stumble over when expressing their feelings,’ I said, wondering if I was being too outspoken.

‘Here, here,’ Mrs Parker said, and gave me a triumphant smile.

I looked down at my dinner plate, feeling like I had said too much. The lamb and vegetables were a work of art. A tingle of anxiety shot through me. I tapped my court shoes on the carpeted floor, remembering that I needed to be the perfect girlfriend for Xander.

‘I thought you said you were some type of engineer at the party, Yolande,’ Mr Parker went on.

I looked back up at him. ‘Yes, I am, sir—an aeronautical engineer.’

‘Ah, yes. That’s right. Quite an unusual occupation for a woman.’

‘It is. But I always wanted to be involved with flight, beside my other love.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘Ballet. I had to choose between becoming a professional ballet dancer or going to university to study engineering. My mother wanted me to keep dancing.’ I saw Xander lift his wine glass to his lips in my peripheral vision.

‘Why?’

‘Oh ... it’s romantic, I guess ... and because of the danseurs, she loved watching them with their athleticism. They are classified as professional athletes.’

‘No chance of a boyfriend there though, eh?’ Mr Parker said with a smirk, followed by a slug of wine.

‘Why’s that?’ I crinkled my brows at him. I knew exactly the direction he was going in as I had manipulated the conversation that way, and he had taken my bait—hook, line and sinker.

‘Well, aren’t male ballet dancers gay?’

I laughed at his comment. ‘You’re just assuming they are because male ballet dancers threaten the perceived masculinity of men. Some fathers become concerned that they may have passed down a homosexual gene with epigenetics. Perhaps you know of that, being a doctor?’

He cleared his throat and looked at Xander. ‘It’s an interesting field of research.’

‘Working on your line of thinking, Mr Parker, and meaning no disrespect at all, if my chosen career is male dominant, would that make me homosexual?’

‘Point taken,’ he said, and put a large forkful of food into his mouth.

I think he was finished with the topic. But I wasn’t. ‘Thank you ... I grew up with quite a few ballerinos—danseurs. All but one was heterosexual ... it just seems the press makes a big thing about the very few homosexual ones, and they shouldn’t. They should be judged on their technique and emotional interpretation of the ballet, not their personal lifestyle.’

‘Well explained, dear,’ Mrs Parker said.

‘Yolande,’ it was Xander’s sister speaking. ‘What do you work on?’

‘At the base I work as part of a team. We can be working on a number of things at one time. Before I left recently, we were investigating and designing safety in planes and helicopters, analysing pilots’ reactions to flight troubles and implementing training to alleviate any split decisions in time that are crucial to survival. We’ve got some pretty awesome flight simulator programs happening.’ I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my face.

‘That’s sounds a little different to working at the flower shop,’ she said.

‘Yes, but working in Flowers for Fleur can be challenging.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Trying to work out the type of flower the customer needs to project their emotions.’

‘Who buys the most flowers?’ she asked.

‘Men.’ I smiled. ‘Plus, they tell me their stories ...’

‘Any juicy ones?’

‘Many, and of women too, of which I can’t tell you, as that would be a betrayal of trust. But for the men, it’s always about love and forgiveness. With women, it’s about love and compassion and celebrating.’

‘Alexander, how’s your study going?’ Mr Parker asked.

‘Hard work as always, Pa. I just have finals, and then I’m done,’ Xander said, and smiled at his father.

‘Good to hear, son.’ Mr Parker raised his glass of wine. ‘To finals, to male ballet dancers, to people who excel in their profession, and to family.’

We held up our glasses and touched them to each other's, the clinking sound echoing around the room with the sound of acceptance. When my wine glass touched Xander’s, he held my eye contact and nodded his head to me. I think he was pleased with his “pretend” girlfriend. And I hoped I was convincing, for him.

After dinner we moved to the sitting room again. I sat next to Xander, who took my hand in his, sending a searing heat rushing through my skin. I breathed in deeply.

‘Thank you,’ he said after a while.

I looked up into his eyes, where I could see the flames of the fire reflected in them.

‘I love having a smart girlfriend,’ he said. ‘I haven’t told you, but I remember you when I was younger ...’

I shook my head. It was impossible. ‘Where from?’

‘Ballet classes. I was ten—’

I went back in time to ballet lessons, here in Tarrin. ‘And I was eight.’ You were the one Mia had a crush on ...

‘But then you left.’

‘My parents moved interstate.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘I saw your football boots at ballet lessons one day ... and I really wanted to know how it felt to wear weird looking shoes like that.’

Xander smiled at me. ‘I reckon you could swap your work boots for football boots!’

I burst out laughing. ‘Only with long stripy socks!’

‘Of course!’

‘Any chance of taking off soon. I have to get up early to work.’

He was right. Short goodbyes are the best.