Free A Southern Star by Anya Forest

will, Blake thought silently. Because that’s the exact opposite of what I suggested. “See you later then,” he said casually, turning to focus on the approaching plane, watching her walk away out of the corner of his eye.

    — # —

    Christie returned to the hut late that afternoon, more confused than ever. Only yesterday, Paul had still intruded regularly on her thoughts as she tried to come to terms with his betrayal. She shivered as she thought of the vivid dream last night. And yet today, Paul had been swept out of her mind; her thoughts were filled with Blake, with the evening they had shared. With the night.
    Even as Christie reached The Gutter at the very tip of the bay, saw the raw power of the ocean current through the narrow channel, all she could think of was Blake, wishing he was with her, wondering if he had been to this place. She had lingered in the area, amazed at the size of the sand dunes, the remote landscape. Eventually she turned back towards the hut, still hearing the waves breaking along the shore at the tip of the bay.
    Christie’s mind veered back to Blake, reluctantly acknowledging to herself how unfair she had been to him. Even looking around the bay, recalling seeing the kiwis, reminded her inexorably of Blake, at the bay, showing her the kiwis, cooking her dinner. Keeping her warm. Very warm, Christie thought, blushing as she realised the path her thoughts were taking. Again.
    I should have explained , she thought now as she searched for a free bunk. She realised she had no real idea what Blake felt. Last night maybe, but after this morning…all bets are off. And last night I couldn’t make up my mind. She cursed her indecisiveness, the lingering hurt she still felt over Paul and Amanda’s betrayal. I’m just not ready, she thought, weighing up the seductive idea of a fling with Blake, his sense of humour, his incredible good looks, acknowledging the outcome would simply be more heartbreak.

    — # —

    Christie spent a relaxing evening at the hut, cooking dinner, talking to others. Thoughts of Blake intruded at every turn as she remembered the dinner he had cooked for them both. She fell into conversation with a local, Mark, fascinated by his stories, taken aback as he quietly confided the reason for his tramping trip.
    Others eventually joined the conversation; a friend of Mark’s together with other tourists. Christie relaxed in the firelight, a sense of calmness creeping over her. I haven’t thought of Paul all evening, she realised, relieved. Instead she sat listening to Mark’s hunting stories, made conversation with some Australian backpackers. As Mark continued to talk knowledgeably about hunting she interjected, guiltily trying to find out more about what Blake would likely be doing over the week. Mark answered her questions in detail although Christie was careful not to mention Blake by name.
    Christie returned to her bunk not long afterwards, conscious of needing to be at Freshwater Landing by late morning the following day to catch the tide. Automatically, she reached down to her pack, recoiling in surprise, sitting abruptly on the bunk. Her mind refused to accept what she had seen as she frantically thought back to the morning with Blake. Her first thought was concern for Blake, followed by guilt and a spiralling, dangerous sense of hope.
    She reached down again, pulling the compact bag out of the compartment of her pack. Blake had clearly deliberately swapped her sleeping bag for his, taking her old, worn sleeping bag on an extended hunting trip, leaving her with his warm, top-quality bag for one night in a hut. She shook her head in wonder, her heart alternating between hope and fear as she remembered her earlier decision to avoid further heartbreak.
    Without stopping to think, Christie quickly returned to the main room as an idea took hold. Urgently, she asked Mark several more questions, trying to work out times, wondering if what she wanted to do was even possible.