by Leah Ashton
He just didn’t get it. He knew he’d stuffed up. He knew he’d hurt her. But he’d apologised. Even Mila had acknowledged the role that grief had played in his still unacceptable behaviour.
‘Why do you want this so badly?’ Mila asked.
She hadn’t answered his question, but he was hardly in a position to push. Seb knew it would take only the slightest of nudges to lose her for ever.
It would be easy for him to repeat what he’d told her that first day—that he’d lost Steph and simply wanted Mila back in his life. But the way he felt right now: his throat tight, his shoulders thick with tension... It was more than that.
The idea of not seeing Mila again... It was causing him pain. Literal, physical pain.
‘I need you, Mila.’ His voice cracked. He hated that. Hated that.
He gave no further explanation. He didn’t have one. He hated himself for delaying seeing Mila when he’d returned to Perth, for delaying his apology. But he’d been arrogant enough to believe that—beyond his own guilt—time wouldn’t matter. That Mila would always be there. That they’d just step back into the easy friendship of the past.
He’d been wrong.
It hadn’t happened. Their friendship was certainly no longer easy.
But that didn’t change what he knew, unequivocally: he needed her.
Mila stepped closer, reaching towards the coffee tray he’d forgotten he was still holding. The tall cardboard cups leant precariously, but Mila plucked them to safety, then nodded somewhere behind him.
‘You can chuck the tray in the recycling bin over there.’
He did so, obediently, unable to interpret Mila’s expression. When he turned back Mila hadn’t moved. But now she held out his coffee as she licked milk foam from her lips.
He took it and drank, but didn’t taste the strong black liquid, still hot against his tongue. Every sense in his body was too busy waiting for Mila. He swallowed the coffee, but it didn’t ease the suffocating tightness of his throat.
‘Okay,’ Mila said. ‘Okay.’
They both stood in silence for a little while longer.
Eventually Mila smiled.
And finally Seb could breathe.
* * *
Later that week they played tennis again.
It had been Mila’s idea, but she couldn’t say she’d been looking forward to it.
Seb had arrived first. He was already out on court, but he was facing away from the car park when Mila’s car pulled in, his phone pressed to his ear.
He wore similar attire to the last time they’d played and, like the last time they’d played, Mila was unable to do anything but admire his muscular form.
Mila also wore the same outfit as she had last time: a singlet, and tennis shorts that hit mid-thigh. For a moment at home she’d held a pair of old, long baggy shorts in her hands—before deciding she was being ridiculous. Her outfit was practical and sporty. Nothing more. And if they were to continue their friendship, then showing a bit of skin was not allowed to be an issue.
That was how Mila was approaching this. This situation with Seb. She would simply disallow any complications.
Mila and Seb were friends. Only. It was that simple.
It had to be.
Mila grabbed her tennis bag from her back seat before climbing out of her car and beginning her walk to the court.
On Monday, in the face of Seb’s pain and unexpected desperation, it had suddenly become impossible for Mila to walk away from him. So that meant she needed to work out a plan. A plan to be there for Seb in his obvious time of need—and a way to move on from this unwanted, uncomfortable attraction.
On her own terms.
She hadn’t answered Seb’s question then—the reason why they simply couldn’t continue their friendship. But that wasn’t because the reason was unclear. The reasons, really.
Partly—there was guilt. There was still her loyalty to Stephanie, and the fact that even after all these years her promise to Steph still resonated somewhere inside her. But mainly the reason was that all that guilt wouldn’t have mattered if Seb hadn’t labelled their kiss as wrong, but had instead kissed her again, and again...
She wouldn’t have cared. She would have thrown her promise to the wind and plummeted into wherever that kiss had taken them.
And that realisation was both galling and terrifying.
For her attraction to Seb was so intense—and so very, very, real—that she would have allowed herself to forget everything she’d learned. That her father had taught her—that her ex-fiancé had taught her. That even fourteen-year-old Seb had taught her.
Rejection hurt. Bone-deep.
How many times had she told herself not to put herself in that situation again? Every time her father had let her down. The time when Ben had...
‘Mila!’
Seb’s smile was wide as he dropped his phone to his side. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Work call.’
Mila smiled back at him. It wasn’t forced—being around Seb did make her smile. She just needed to ensure that it was always in a determinedly friends only type of way.
‘How was your day?’ Seb asked as Mila dropped her bag beside the net.
For the next few minutes they chatted casually—the latest on Seb’s apartment block development, how quickly Mila’s latest class had filled up. It was all very pleasant. As pleasant as their occasional texts over the past few days.
Seb hadn’t dropped by with any more coffee. Maybe he’d guessed—rightly—that Mila needed some distance. But he’d stayed in touch, and been keen to catch up.
So here they were. Once again with the protection of the tennis net between them.
One set later Mila had started to relax. She’d won a tiebreaker—convincingly, she’d said. Narrowly, Seb had insisted, with a smile.
It was fun, she’d decided. Maybe this was what their ‘thing’ could be. Weekly tennis. She could do that.
Later Seb had break point on Mila’s serve. A deep ground stroke had sent Mila scrambling after the ball, and she’d managed only the weakest defensive lob in return. As the ball floated up and up Seb raced to the net, his racquet up and ready to hit a smash.
Just for a split second he glanced at Mila and winked—and that was just so one hundred per cent assured, cheeky Seb that Mila laughed out loud.
And then laughed even harder when his pre-emptive smugness led to his racquet hitting nothing but fresh air and the ball landing safely within the court—too far away, despite Seb’s very best efforts to reach it.
He stood, bemused, hands on hips. ‘I’ve got nothing,’ he said, his eyes sparkling.
‘Deuce,’ Mila replied happily, then went on to win the game.
They laughed again when Mila feigned a racquet-throwing tantrum after a silly double fault, and Seb laughed at Mila’s whoop of victory when a lucky net cord fell her way.
Mila won in straight sets, and they both jogged to the net to shake hands—an old habit that Mila didn’t think twice about.
Until, that was, Seb actually held her hand in his. Warm, big, strong.
And just like that all the camaraderie, all the friendship of the past ninety minutes, evaporated. All that remained was the reality that for the first time since they’d kissed amongst the sand dunes they were touching. Skin to skin.
Electricity shot up Mila’s arm, so shocking that for a moment, her brain went blank.
She couldn’t remember any of the reasons why they were only friends. She couldn’t remember why leaping over the net and into his arms would be a truly terrible idea.
But then Seb let go.
‘You’re very fit,’ he said quickly. Randomly.
‘Pardon me?’ she said, although she’d heard him. She needed a moment to locate her thoughts.
; He’d taken a step back and rubbed his hand down his thigh, as if wiping away Mila’s touch. Irrationally, that stung.
‘You barely raised a sweat,’ he said, trying again.
That wasn’t even close to true. ‘I’m a sporadic gym-user,’ Mila said, keen for pointless conversation to ease the sudden tension between them. ‘I got into it a bit when I was with Ben. Now I go when I remember. Or just go for walks with Ivy and Nate. Mostly that, actually.’
Perfect—another man, her sister and a baby were the perfect topics to divert attention.
‘What happened with Ben?’ Seb asked.
Mila had been looking into the darkness beyond Seb’s shoulder and the court fencing, but now she forced herself to meet his gaze.
Maybe Seb was grasping at the opportunity to talk about absolutely anything. Or more likely he felt nothing when they touched and was simply having a perfectly reasonable conversation.
‘He cheated on me,’ Mila said baldly. There was really no other way to say it.
‘Oh, Mila—’ Seb began.
But Mila wasn’t about to let him continue. She didn’t need to see the pity in his gaze as he realised that—yes—yet another man had not chosen Mila.
‘It’s old news, Seb, I’d rather not talk about it.’
She grabbed her water bottle from beside her bag and took a long, long drink. She made sure she was smiling by the time she packed her racquet back in its bag and as they walked together back to their cars. Their conversation moved on to the trivial, and by the time Mila was in her car and driving home she’d just about convinced herself that she’d imagined her reaction to Seb’s touch.
And besides—it didn’t really matter, did it? They were just friends.
* * *
It was the perfect summer evening—warm, but with a sea breeze cooling their skin. The Fremantle beach was dotted with open-sided tents and food trucks, and a busker sang beneath a zig-zag of festoon lights—although the sun was still yet to complete its descent. Beneath the purple and red sky children ran and laughed, and their parents held cardboard trays piled high with food. Tourists took photos with bulky cameras and teenagers took phone selfies against the backdrop of surf and sand and towering Norfolk pines.
‘Cool, huh?’ Mila smiled up at Seb, her lovely eyes covered by her oversized sunglasses.
Seb nodded his agreement. He’d invited her for a drink after work, but Mila had suggested the beach markets instead. It was a good idea—more casual, more people.
Although that had been why Seb had suggested a drink in the first place: because it shouldn’t matter if he and Mila had a drink in a bar—it shouldn’t feel like anything but two friends catching up after work. It shouldn’t feel private, or intimate, or date-like.
But it seemed that maybe Mila had thought it would. Maybe Seb did, too. It didn’t really matter—the important thing was that he and Mila were hanging out together, just as he’d wanted. As friends.
Over the past couple of weeks, since the film premiere, it had become clear that they were both on the same page, that they wanted to remain within firm ‘friends only’ boundaries. There’d been a few blips—that first, post-kiss tennis game, for example.
He’d been quite pleased at how well that match had gone, despite the distraction of Mila, and her obvious gorgeousness in her tennis gear, and her legs that went on for ever. He’d just about convinced himself that he was back to being objective Seb, capable of simply admiring the attractiveness of his friend without it meaning anything more, and then they’d shaken hands...
How stupid that such a G-rated touch had robbed him of his ability to think. For long moments, Seb hadn’t been able to grasp at even one reason why he and Mila couldn’t be much, much more than friends.
Fortunately he’d come to his senses, and Mila had seemed utterly unaware. But Seb had made sure there’d been no handshake at the end of their match the following week, though—just to be safe.
And now here they were, on a postcard-perfect beach, surrounded by the scents of falafel and satay and pizza. Mila was a few steps ahead, scouting out their dinner options. It was exactly what he wanted—the easy, comfortable, reliable friendship of his past.
Because he’d realised, when faced with losing Mila, that she was the only constant in his now topsy-turvy life. Everything had changed, Everything was no longer how it was meant to be. His friendships—in London and at Fyfe Technology—had drifted, and floated away, not strong enough to sustain his international relocation. He didn’t mind—he’d eventually make new friends, find new mates to go cycling with, to invite over for a beer. But he wasn’t ready for that yet. He wasn’t ready to share his history with just anyone, or to invite others into this new and uncertain phase of his life.
Mila already knew him. Not the details of the past few years—and certainly not the mess of his marriage—but she did know him. He didn’t have to explain himself to her. He didn’t have to be anyone else for her. He just got to be with her.
Except when he was derailed by this continued, unwanted attraction.
But he could handle it. Surely it would pass with time.
Mila pointed at a tent to their right, then looked back at Seb over her shoulder. She wore a pale blue summer dress, her shoulders golden in the setting sun.
‘Oh, look—crêpes!’
They ended up completing a full lap of all the food options before spotting a park bench, shaded by the outstretched boughs of a Norfolk pine, which they promptly claimed. In order to sample most of the food up for offer, they’d agreed to share—with one of them heading out for food while the other saved the seat.
Seb set out, returning with a shredded beef burger, topped with a shiny brioche bun. Mila finished her half first, and headed back out into the crowd for their second course.
The sun continued its gradual fall into the ocean, where two container ships interrupted the perfect line of the horizon. As Seb sat there, wiping barbecue sauce from his fingers with a napkin, he felt for the first time as if...
‘Is this seat taken?’
Seb looked up at the sound of a soft, very female voice. The woman was short, blonde, and very pretty, with long tumbling hair and warm brown eyes.
Unthinkingly, he ran his thumb over the place where his wedding band had once been—but of course it wasn’t there.
‘Oh,’ he said, wondering if he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe she genuinely just needed somewhere to sit?
‘Seb?’
It was Mila, cradling a neatly closed white cardboard box and a tray with two forks stabbed into a mound of paella.
‘Oh!’ the blonde woman said. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought—’ She was blushing, her gaze darting to her feet. ‘Have a lovely day!’
Then she was gone.
‘Who was that?’ Mila asked, settling onto the bench. She put the box down beside her—away from Seb. ‘Dessert,’ she said with a grin. ‘It’s a surprise.’
Then she carefully served out the paella into the second tray that had been hiding beneath the first.
‘I have no idea,’ Seb said, and then had his first mouthful of paella—all spicy and delicious.
‘So she was hitting on you?’
Seb coughed, a piece of rice stuck in his throat. ‘I guess,’ he said, really not wanting to have this conversation with Mila.
‘She was pretty. Do you want to go talk to her? I won’t mind.’
‘What?’
Mila shrugged, waving a piece of chorizo on the end of her fork. ‘Go on. Don’t let me stop you.’
She was still wearing her sunglasses, so it was impossible to read her expression.
‘Don’t you remember what I said? About how I’m terrible at relationships?’
‘That was just to make me feel—’ But she didn’t finish the sentence, instea
d taking off her sunglasses and meeting his gaze. ‘That wasn’t a relationship. That was a woman angling to ask you out. You could do that.’
‘No,’ he said, unequivocally. ‘I could not.’
‘Why not?’
Mila was focused on her paella now, chasing pieces of meat and vegetables about in the rice. She sounded completely relaxed.
Seb had lost his appetite.
‘I wasn’t a very good husband, Mila. I don’t want to put someone else through that again.’
‘That doesn’t mean you can’t date again. Have some fun.’
He honestly hadn’t really thought about it. In London, his one-night stands had left him empty. And now, back in Perth, there was Mila...
No. He simply wasn’t ready.
He said so.
‘I get that,’ Mila said. ‘That’s understandable. I just wanted to make sure your decision wasn’t anything to do with me.’
She met his gaze now, absolutely direct. It was almost as if she was daring him to agree. Or disagree. Seb had no idea.
‘It isn’t,’ Seb said.
‘Good,’ she said, looking out to the ocean. ‘You know, I kind of get it... After what happened with Ben I didn’t think I ever wanted to do that again.’ A pause. ‘Ever.’ She finished her paella. ‘But, you know, that is pretty unrealistic. I’ve been to both my sisters’ weddings over the past couple of years. I know I want that too. To be in love like that. To be loved like that. I think the trick will be to work out a way to protect myself.’
‘From what?’ he said.
‘You know...’ she said, with half a smile. ‘The messy bits that hurt. Like your ex-fiancé hooking up with a girl from work. They’re engaged now.’
‘Ouch,’ Seb said.
‘Yup.’ A grin. ‘But that’s okay. I think I fought too long for that relationship to work. The signs were there. Kind of like my dad, in a way. I let hope drive my delusions...illusions...whatever. I won’t do that again.’
‘So how will you do it? How will you protect yourself?’
Mila shook her head. ‘I’m working on it,’ she said.