Page 120 of Unspoken Words
Byron placed me back on solid ground and held me at arm’s length. “You look … different.”
I swallowed then bit my lip. “Different good, I hope.”
“Of course, Elle.”
His fingers caressed my hair just above my forehead, his brow crumpling, his expression sweet but inquisitive. Then, bringing me back to his chest, he pressed his lips to mine, a soft, slow kiss laced with relief. “Five weeks is a long time,” he sighed when we pulled apart.
“I know. It won’t always be like this. After we finish the next song, I can come home and perform the final touch-ups from there.”
“When will the next song finish?”
“I don’t know. Maybe another month or two.”
“That long?”
“Yeah, possibly.” I entwined my hand with his and began to lead us toward the exit. “Do you have any checked luggage?”
“Nope. Just this.” He lifted the small carry-on case that also had a suit bag attached to it.
I wasn’t sure why he’d brought a suit. It wasn’t as if we had any important events organised. My plans were to simply chill out and enjoy each other’s company. We only had two and a half days together.
“Okay, good. Let’s go!” I playfully pulled on his hand, hurrying him through the arrival terminal. “If we get to the car quickly, I won’t have to pay for the extra car parking hour.”
“Elle, slow down.” He laughed and dug his heels into the ground. “You’re not seriously gonna drag me running through the airport terminal just to save a few bucks are you?”
I shrugged then nodded, because that’s exactly what I’d planned to do. It would be fun, but more so because I wanted to get home before Mum and Dad did. I had an itch to scratch, and I needed Byron to help me do it.
*
Byron wheeledhis suitcase towardthe back door. “So this is where you grew up?” he asked, looking up at the trees surrounding our yard, some bare with leaves piled at the trunk while others were full, leafy, and evergreen.
“Sure is. Mum and Dad bought the house before Chris and I were born. They’ve lived here ever since.”
“It’s nice. Very homely.”
I nearly scoffed at the word homely but remembered Byron had experienced a different upbringing to me. He’d spent his high school years in a Darwin boarding school, away from his parents who owned a chain of shopping malls in the Northern Territory that—one day—Byron would take over after completing his honours in a Bachelor of Business.
Dismissing his insensitive remark instead, I picked up my netball that had almost become one with the soil it rested upon and brushed it clean. Smiling, I raised it above my head, shooting for the ring still attached to the garage roof. I missed, badly, but Byron managed to rebound the ball with his free hand, bouncing it once before taking his own shot and making the goal.
Surprised, I applauded his effort. “Nice shot.”
“It was better than yours.”
“It was,” I said, laughing and sliding my hand behind his back as we walked inside. “Mum and Dad aren’t home. They’ll be back in a few hours.”
“A few hours?” His eyebrow arched, a lewd grin creeping onto his face.
“Hmm.” I tapped my chin with my finger. “What should we do in the meantime?”
“You should show me your room.”
“Don’t you mean your room for the weekend?”
“Is it your room too?”
I giggled. “Maybe.”
“Then, yes, show me my room.”
