Page 13 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Brave move,” she quipped. Her pale blue eyes sparkled as she scanned the laminated pages, tapping her finger against her lips in exaggerated contemplation. “Alright, you’re getting the bangers and mash. Classic, hearty, and no risk of you butchering another food pun.”

“Deal,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his large frame somehow managing to look relaxed despite the cramped space.

As they waited for their meals, the conversation drifted effortlessly, like a melody finding its rhythm. Myst found herself opening up in ways she rarely did, certainly not to anyone outside her inner circle. She told him about growing up in western Sydney, the tiny studio apartment she’d shared with her mum after her dad left. How music had been her escape, her salvation.

“Some nights,” she said, tracing the rim of her glass absentmindedly, “we’d sit on the floor with the radio on because we couldn’t afford much else. I used to close my eyes and pretend I was the one singing those songs, like if I sang loud enough, the whole world would listen.”

“Sounds like they finally did,” George said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made her look up. His eyes, those warm, steady blues, were fixed on her, and for a moment, she felt completely seen.

“Yeah,” she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But sometimes, even when you’ve got everything you dreamed of, it still feels…”

“Lonely?” he finished, surprising her.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Exactly.”

He nodded, staring at the candle flickering between them. Then, as if sensing it was time to shift gears, he launched into a story about his sisters and how they’d once conspired to dye his hair neon green while he slept as revenge for eating the last Tim Tam. Myst laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink, her cheeks aching from the effort.

“Four sisters,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “No wonder you’re so tough. They trained you well.”

“More like terrorized,” he corrected, grinning. “But yeah, they’re the best. And don’t even get me started on my nieces and nephews. They’re absolute menaces, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

“That sounds…” Myst hesitated, searching for the right word. “Nice. Grounded.”

“Chaos is probably the better word,” George joked, but there was an unmistakable tenderness beneath his tone.

Their meals arrived then, briefly interrupting the flow, but the warmth lingered. As they ate, Myst realized how easy it was to be with him, to let down the walls she had spent years carefully constructing. He wasn’t trying to impress her or solve her problems; he was just there, present and real in a way that felt rare and precious.

After dinner, they stepped out into the crisp evening air, the distant murmur of the River Thames guiding their steps. The city lights shimmered on the water’s surface, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. Myst pulled her coat tighter around herself, her breath visible in the cold.

“Do you ever stop to think how weird this all is?” George asked suddenly, gesturing vaguely at the world around them.

“Define ‘this,’” Myst replied, tilting her head.

“All of it,” he said, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Fame. Fans. People knowing your name when you don’t know theirs.”

“All the time,” she admitted. “It’s surreal. But it’s also… I don’t know, beautiful? Like, connecting with strangers through music, it’s why I do this. Even if it means giving up a bit of privacy along the way.”

“Still seems like a lot to handle,” George said.

“Some days more than others,” she agreed, but before she could elaborate, a voice called out behind them.

“Excuse me! Are you… Myst?”

Myst turned to see a young woman clutching her phone, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I’m sorry to bother you,” the fan continued, “but I’m such a huge fan. Could I get a photo? Please?”

“Of course,” Myst said warmly, stepping closer. She posed patiently as the girl took a selfie, asking her name and thanking her for her support. When the fan finally walked away, practically floating with joy, Myst sighed softly but smiled.

“Does that happen a lot?” George asked, his expression a mix of admiration and curiosity.

“More often than you’d think,” she replied, glancing at him. “But it’s part of the job, you know? If someone’s brave enough to come up and ask, the least I can do is say yes.”

“Even when you’re tired?” he pressed gently.

“Especially then,” she said simply.

George didn’t respond immediately, but the way he looked at her, like she was something rare and luminous, spoke volumes. And as they continued walking, side by side, Myst couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this connection they were building was worth all the complications that came with it.

Chapter Five

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