The morning came too early, grey light seeping through the cabin windows before Bryce was ready to face it. He’d barely slept—not from the heat, not from the noise, but from the way his mind kept circling back to the same moment: Saige’s hand on his thigh, her mouth on his, the weight of her in his arms on the verandah.
He pulled on his work shirt and boots, not bothering with breakfast. A run of old timber strainers along one of the internal fences needed replacing—he’d been putting it off for weeks, and today felt like the right day to lose himself in something physical.
He started the tractor and headed out into the cool morning air, the grass wet with dew, the smell of eucalyptus and damp earth filling his lungs.
Work was easier than thinking.
The first rotten strainer came free easily. The second fought him, the old timber breaking away below ground before the tractor finally dragged what remained from the hole.
Bryce dropped the post-hole digger into position and let the auger bite into the packed earth, cleaning the hole out for the new steel strainer.
He was lining up for the next one when he heard another vehicle approaching.
Bryce throttled the tractor back and watched Grant’s ute come along the track toward him.
Grant climbed out first, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the light, and Elara followed, a thermos in one hand and mugs in the other.
Bryce’s stomach tightened.
He’d known this moment would come. He’d just hoped for a few more hours to figure out what to say.
“Morning,” Grant called. “Heard you from halfway down the track.”
Bryce killed the tractor.
“Replacing some rotten strainers.”
“I can see that.” Grant walked over, his eyes scanning the fence line. “These have been rotting for a while. Surprised they lasted this long.”
Elara set the thermos on the bonnet of the ute and poured coffee into a mug.
“Thought you might need this.”
Bryce took it, the warmth seeping into his palms.
“Thanks.”
Elara poured another for herself.
For a moment, nobody said anything.
Bryce took a drink.
Elara watched him over the rim of her mug.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like you know something I don’t.”
Her mouth curved.
“How was yesterday?”
Bryce nearly swallowed his coffee the wrong way.
Grant looked between them.
“What happened yesterday?”
“Nothing,” Bryce said.
Elara raised an eyebrow.
“Interesting definition of nothing.”
Grant looked at Bryce.
Then Elara.
“What am I missing?”
Elara lowered her mug.
“Saige hasn’t stopped talking about him since he dropped her home last night.”
Bryce stared at her.
“She barely talked about anything else before bed,” Elara continued. “And she was still talking about you this morning.”
Grant’s eyes settled on Bryce.
Bryce rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“Right.”
“Right?” Grant repeated.
Elara took another drink.
Grant looked between them again.
“Seriously. What am I missing?”
Elara looked at him.
“Saige likes Bryce.”
Grant frowned.
“I know Saige likes Bryce.”
“No.” Elara’s mouth twitched. “Saige likes Bryce.”
Grant’s expression changed.
“Oh.”
Bryce looked at Elara.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Grant folded his arms.
“Yesterday?”
Bryce nodded.
“And?”
“And what?”
Grant spread his hands. “I don’t know. I’m trying to work out what I’m supposed to ask.”
Bryce laughed despite himself.
“So am I.”
Grant studied him.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Saige alright?”
“Yeah.”
Grant nodded.
“Then that’ll do for now.”
Bryce looked at him.
Grant shrugged. “What? You want a speech?”
“No.”
“Good. Didn’t have one ready.”
Elara picked up the thermos.
“She’s eighteen, Bryce.”
“I know.”
“I know.” She smiled. “I’m just making sure you do.”
Bryce gave her a look.
Grant nodded toward the tractor.
“Are we fixing this fence or standing around talking about my daughter all morning?”
“Fence,” Bryce said.
“Good answer.”
Grant walked over to the old strainer Bryce had pulled.
“What do you need?”
Bryce pointed toward the pile of steel strainers.
“Bring one of those over. I’ll clean the holes out.”
Grant picked one up.
“That I can do.”
Bryce climbed back onto the tractor and lowered the auger.
They worked in a comfortable rhythm. Bryce pulled the rotten timber strainers and cleaned the old holes with the post-hole digger. Grant moved the new steel strainers into position and held what Bryce told him to hold. Elara cleared the old wire and helped reattach it once each new strainer was set.
The sun climbed higher, burning off the dew.
They’d nearly finished the last one when another ute came along the track.
Grant looked up.
Saige pulled in beside her parents’ ute and climbed out.
Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore jeans and a fitted shirt, her boots kicking up dust as she crossed the paddock.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
“How?” Grant asked.
Saige nodded toward the tractor.
“Could hear you.”
She stopped beside Bryce, close enough that he caught her perfume—something floral and faintly sweet.
“So. You’ve all been talking about me?”
“Something like that,” Elara said.
Saige looked at Bryce, her eyes searching his.
“Everything okay?”
He met her gaze.
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
Her smile softened.
“Good.”
She slipped an arm around his waist and leaned into him before reaching up and kissing his cheek.
Bryce’s hand settled almost automatically against her back.
The silence stretched.
Grant looked at the fence.
Elara took a slow drink of coffee.
Saige looked between them.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Elara said.
Saige laughed.
“Right.”
Bryce cleared his throat.
“We’ve got one left.”
Saige held out her hand.
“What do you need?”
By midday, they’d finished the fence line and loaded the tools back into the ute.
Grant wiped his brow with the back of his hand, looking satisfied.
“Right. I reckon that’s earned us a feed.”
“It always does with you,” Elara said.
“What are we having?”
“I’ve got a lasagne ready to go in the oven.”
Grant smiled.
Elara looked at Bryce.
“You’re coming for dinner?”
Bryce hesitated, but Saige’s hand found his, her fingers lacing through his.
“You’ are,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.
He looked at her, at the certainty in her eyes.
“Alright.”
The drive back was short. Bryce followed in his ute while Saige rode with him, the saddle from the day before finally returned to the house when they arrived.
Soon enough they were gathered around the kitchen table, the smell of lasagne, garlic and melted cheese filling the house.
The evening felt surprisingly normal—laughter around the table, stories from the day’s work, the familiar rhythm of people who’d known each other for years.
Saige sat beside Bryce.
Her knee rested against his under the table.
When she reached for the garlic bread, she put a piece on his plate before taking one for herself.
Grant noticed.
His eyes lifted briefly to Elara.
Elara kept eating.
Bryce took a bite.
After dinner, they moved to the verandah, the cool night air settling around them. Grant passed out beers, and they sat in comfortable silence, watching the stars emerge one by one.
Saige’s hand found Bryce’s in the dark, her thumb tracing slow circles across his knuckles.
He didn’t pull away.
Grant looked across at their joined hands.
Then at Bryce.
Bryce took a drink.
Grant did the same.
Elara’s mouth twitched.
Nobody said anything.
As the evening wound down, Bryce finished his beer and stood to leave.
Saige’s voice stopped him.
“You’re staying tonight.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, delivered with the same quiet certainty she’d used all day.
Bryce looked at her, then at Grant and Elara.
Grant exchanged a glance with Elara before turning back to Bryce, a dry smile on his face.
“As long as you don’t make too much noise,” he said. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Saige grinned, her eyes bright with mischief.
“I’ll make no promises.”
Grant groaned, and Elara laughed, shaking her head.
“Why would you say that?” Grant asked.
“You started it.”
“I immediately regret it.”
Bryce couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.
“I can still go home.”
“No, you can’t,” Saige said.
“Apparently not.”
She stood and held out her hand.
“Come on.”
Bryce took it.
She tugged him toward the door.
He glanced back at Grant and Elara.
“Goodnight.”
“Night,” Grant replied, raising his beer. “Remember what I said about the noise.”
“Stop helping,” Elara said.
“I’m being supportive.”
“You’re being Grant.”
Saige laughed.
“Goodnight, Dad.”
They walked down the hallway together, her hand warm in his.
When she pushed open the door to her room, Bryce stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind them.
The room was familiar—the posters on the walls, books stacked wherever they fitted, riding gear tucked into a corner, clothes draped across the back of a chair.
She turned to face him, her eyes searching his in the dim light.
“You okay?”
He nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face.
“Yeah. I think I am.”
She smiled, stepping closer, her hands coming to rest on his chest.
“Good. I don’t want you going anywhere.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
She kissed him.
The kiss was slow, deliberate.
Outside, Grant laughed at something on the verandah.
Saige smiled against Bryce’s mouth.
“Still want me to keep quiet?”
Bryce laughed softly.
“Not my rule.”
She kissed him again.