Page 51 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Me neither.” He rested his hand lightly on hers, the simple gesture grounding them both. “We’ve come a long way.”

“And we’ve still got more to go,” she added, her tone turning playful again. “Think you can keep up, Captain?”

“With you?” He grinned, squeezing her hand gently. “Always.”

The smell of eucalyptus mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling sausages as George pulled his ute up the long gravel driveway. Myst sat beside him, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. She’d been quiet for the last few minutes, her usual flowing conversation replaced by a contemplative silence.

“Relax,” George said, glancing at her with a crooked smile. “They’re going to love you.”

“That’s what everyone says right before things go horribly wrong in rom-coms,” Myst muttered, though the corners of her lips twitched upward.

“Pretty sure this isn’t a movie,” he teased, reaching over to gently squeeze her knee. “And if it is, I’m the ruggedly handsome lead who gets the girl in the end.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re the lead,” she shot back, her nervousness briefly forgotten as she arched an eyebrow at him.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he said with a wink, throwing the car into park. The old Queenslander house loomed ahead, its white weatherboard exterior glowing in the afternoon sun. From the front verandah, George’s mum appeared, waving enthusiastically.

“Here goes nothing,” Myst murmured under her breath, stepping out of the vehicle.

“Here goes everything,” George corrected, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they approached the house.

“George!” Julie called, bustling down the steps. She was shorter than Myst had imagined but had George’s same bright blue eyes and an air of warmth that made her instantly likable. “And this is the famous Myst.” Without hesitation, she wrapped Myst in a hug that smelled faintly of lavender and soap. “We’ve been waiting for you, we feel like we already know you!”

“Thank you so much for having me,” Myst said, her voice soft but genuine as she returned the embrace. “George talks about you all the time.”

“He’s a good boy!” Julie reached up and patted George’s cheek. Myst stifled a laugh at his outraged expression.

“Now come inside, both of you. The barbecue’s already started, and knowing this lot,” Julie gestured vaguely toward the house, where the laughter of children rang out, “they won’t leave anything for us if we don’t hurry.”

The backyard was alive with movement and chatter, the sound of kids shrieking joyfully as George’s nieces and nephews played a wild game of tag among the gum trees. A long wooden table groaned under the weight of platters filled with fresh salads, bread rolls, and pavlova topped with strawberries. The grill smoked invitingly as George’s brother-in-law expertly flipped steaks.

“Pass me those tomatoes, would you?” one of George’s sisters asked Myst as they worked side by side in the kitchen. Ellie, Myst thought. She hadn’t quite got them all straight yet.

“Here you go,” Myst said, handing them over before slicing another cucumber. It wasn’t until she glanced out the window and saw George tossing a rugby ball with one of the kids that she realized how seamlessly she’d slipped into the rhythm of things. Like she belonged.

“Can you really sing?” a small voice broke through her thoughts. Myst looked down to find one of George’s nieces staring up at her with wide, curious eyes. “Uncle George says you’re famous.”

“Really now?” Myst said, shooting a mock glare at George through the window, though he was too busy laughing with the kids to notice. She crouched slightly to meet the girl’s gaze. “Do you think I should prove him right?”

“Yes!” came the enthusiastic reply, echoed by several other kids who had magically appeared from nowhere.

“Alright, alright,” Myst laughed, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Let me grab a guitar.” She’d spotted one in the front room, though goodness knows if it was in tune.

It wasn’t long before she was perched on a low wall, an acoustic guitar resting against her thigh as everyone gathered around. The hum of conversation quieted as she strummed the opening chords of one of her hits, a slower, stripped-down version that seemed to fit the moment. Her voice, warm and rich, carried across the yard, blending with the rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves.

When she finished, the applause was immediate and heartfelt, the kids cheering the loudest of all.

“Alright, Captain,” Myst said, grinning as she leaned the guitar against the wall. “Your turn.”

“Not happening,” George declared, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Rugby players don’t sing.”

“Shame,” one of his sisters chimed in. “You could’ve been the next Australian Idol.”

“Yeah, yeah,” George muttered, though his grin betrayed his amusement. His eyes found Myst’s, and for a moment, he simply watched her, standing there amid the chaos of his family, the sunlight striking red lights in her dark hair. She was radiant.

“Alright then,” Myst said, brushing imaginary dust off her hands. “Guess I’ll have to carry the musical legacy for both of us.”

“Reckon you’re doing just fine,” George said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

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