By God, she’d be bored out of her fucking mind. The station felt mostly empty and quiet, especially without anything for her to do, without work or studying, without deadlines. Before long, Abi had given up trying to create anything worthwhile in such a stale environment, practically running towards anything that gave her a spark back. She had noticed Hemingway’s absence from her life more sharply the longer it went on, though she knew he had to be doing something important. Or maybe he wasn’t and she was overselling her part in his life.
And then of course he’d told her what was happening, what he’d been doing, and she felt like an asshole for not even texting him. They’d not known each other long but Abi could feel the bond there, something almost special and unique brewing, but not quite. It had been her fault for being more guarded, for the surprise of who he was; he couldn’t have wanted to live up to his own reputation.
Australia really was beautiful. She’d explored on her own happily, talking to locals and going out at night, window shopping and looking for touristy shit she could do for as little money as possible. But the snorkelling was even better, and she just wanted more days like this: in the sun, with a hand to hold.
Her hand reached out now to take his as they walked, her hair still damp from the shower. “You look really good. Have I told you that yet?”