Saturday rolled around after what felt like a YEAR.
And there we were, my sister Naomi and I, rocking into the party a couple of hours early to help cook pizzas. I felt like a might-be-girlfriend. An oh so hoped-to-be. He was just so damned fine.
Naomi, an excellent cook, was designated as responsible for cooking the bacon for the pizzas. I stood in the kitchen with her, continuing my flirting program with Adam, which seemed to be going quite well.
All of a sudden, the fluffy white jumper Naomi was wearing went up in flames.
Let's be specific: MY fluffy white jumper. The floppy fluffy totally fire-attracting sleeve may have dipped in the exposed gas flame as Nomie crispied the bacon.
Fire up her back. Heading towards her hair.
And without a breath of delay, Adam leapt across me, rolled her to the floor and batted the flames out with his hands.
Oh, my heart.
She was unharmed, let me rush in to say. A minor, minor burn on her abdomen and Justin, in fact, a doctor, confirmed her all good, leaving me to my heart. In my mouth. And my hero. Washing his hands sheepishly.
And really, that was that.
What party? I don't really remember it. I remember sometime much later that night as the party wound down, Adam suggesting we go for a walk on the beach (out their back door – it was a kick arse pad in Queenscliff) and for being over twelve years ago I can remember pretty clearly thinking, well this is it then. This man, that chin, that smile, those arms, that chest, that bum – well, I was forever his.
There was only one small problem.
That beloved sister of mine? The one no longer wearing a jumper? Dancing up a storm and calling out to me over the balcony?
We had promised to go overseas together. We'd dreamed it, saved for it, talked about it, and had a plan.
I was supposed to leave the country the following month.
And here I was with my head on the chest of the most charismatic and attractive man I'd ever met in my life…
…to be continued!