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‘Is this some outback junkyard?’ Romy’s voice carried over the headphones as Stone landed his helicopter in a back field. ‘Or is this a place where old boats come to die?’ She never stopped filming, including the roofs of rusty cars and broken boats resting among the tall spear grass.

Stone had to admire Romy’s passion for filming, and how she saw the world with so much appreciation of both big and small wonders.

He’d heard her soft sigh at the way the sun’s dappled light would dance across a leaf, and then how she’d follow that same leaf’s fall and float on the breeze to land in the soft dust, all from behind her camera.

It was easy to see it was a passion for her.

Stone flicked the various switches to shut down the chopper, creating a sound vacuum, like a heavy silence, that made him take that deep breath before removing his headphones. ‘Ready for the next adventure?’

‘Where are we going? Do I need the drone?’

‘Not at the moment.’ He started down the crooked dirt path, the surrounding grasses up to his shoulders.

Romy tugged on the back of his shirt.

‘Why do you do that? Tug on my shirt.’

‘Sometimes when filming on set, I can’t speak and need to get the director’s attention. Sorry, is it annoying you?’

He folded his arms over his chest, trying to work out if it was annoying or not. ‘That depends? Are you going to film more of my butt as we walk through here?’

‘Stop. Please.’ She dropped her head to hide her smile. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘I think you did. I think you like my arse.’

Now both hands covered her face, leaking the sounds of her sweet laugh between her fingers. ‘You can be such a dick.’

‘It’s okay, I know I have a great arse.’

‘There’ll be no breathing space shortly, the way your ego is consuming oxygen around here.’

‘It’s about time you got with the bantering program, sister.’ He hooked his arm around her neck to give her a chummy cuddle, but she was so close, he brushed the hair free from her face, tucking it behind her dainty ear.

The way she looked at him, there was a pause in the air, so much deeper than when he switched off the helicopter earlier.

It was as if the world was holding its breath, allowing him the rare chance to see the differing flecks of light that reflected in her eyes, along with her earthly beauty and intelligence all within one beat of his heart.

‘I have a hat you can use.’ He cleared his throat, stepping back from her. ‘Stop your hair getting in your face.’

‘I have one in my bag at the house. Normally I bring it with.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears, all neat and compact, there was no fuss about her. Yet he couldn’t help but fuss over her.

‘I’ll dig out my spare cap from under the pilot’s seat. But first, let’s go find the old pirate.’ He led her down the path, past the rows of old boats and rusty Toyotas aiming for the odd-looking fence made of long panels of aged, corrugated iron, standing upright like soldiers.

Romy seemed to hesitate.

‘Come along, shortcake. You’re gonna love this place.’

‘I don’t know about that.’

At the double wooden doors, the sunburnt paint peeled in curls, the brass handle warm as he pushed the doors open. ‘Looks are deceiving in this place.’ He beckoned her with his crooked finger.

She rushed after him, her brief run as cute as she was. ‘What is this place?’

Through the tall double doorway, they entered a neatly trimmed lawn area, home to an ancient fig tree. Beneath its expansive canopy, assorted flowering orchids and bromeliads filled its thick network of branches, alongside strange trinkets and charms that tinkled in the breeze, reflecting the sun.

‘Smell that.’ He inhaled deeply at the fresh jasmine, blended with hints of exotic florals, and the river.

‘It’s gorgeous.’ Romy did circles in her boots, her neck craning up at the sky peeking through the foliage of the mighty tree that showed off the delicate varieties of some very rare orchids. She went to raise her camera.

‘Don’t.’ He put his hand over the lens. Perhaps she should see the world away from the lens for a change. ‘You’ll need the old pirate’s permission first.’

‘Oh, yeah, sorry.’ She let the camera hang around her neck. ‘Is this a farm or a pirate’s hideaway?’

‘I like to think of it more as the back entrance to a private crocodile museum.’ Stone swept aside a cluster of glossy leaves like a curtain, to reveal a hidden treasure ahead.

‘It’s a houseboat.’ Romy’s jaw dropped in awe. Instantly, her fingers gripped her camera, only to remember to let it be. ‘Does it float?’

‘It is floating.’ Admittedly, the river was hidden behind a sea of grass. A narrow boardwalk led to the old houseboat, which could’ve used a decent coat of paint. The wooden planks creaked beneath him as he followed their crooked path.

Romy followed. ‘So why that patchy front gate?’

‘So we know where to park our cars, and where to start the walk along the planks.’

‘Is this where you go arr arr me matey and do some pirate’s jig along the plank?’

He peeked back at her, glad to see that smile of hers. It was pretty. ‘I may do just that, but only if I know you have no camera filming me.’

‘Are you camera shy?’

‘No. Well, my butt’s not. But I appreciate my privacy, Romy.’ Hoping she got the message.

‘The NDA? That was you?’ She stopped and pointed at him as the soft slosh of water echoed beneath the boards.

‘I told you it’s common in most workplaces.’

‘But I saw the way Finn nodded at you, like it was your request. And he knew all about me—’

‘Finn is a detective. Which gives him a licence to be nosy. While I like my privacy.’

Romy crossed her arms, tilting her head at him as if unconvinced. ‘Most people who say that post their entire life on social media.’

‘I don’t have any social media accounts.’

Her eyes flared with surprise. ‘Are you for real?’

Stone continued the trek across the boards that shifted ever so slightly, as water murmured beneath the long grasses. ‘I don’t mind cyberstalking now and again. In your job, you’d have several social media accounts.’

‘I have to.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I make quick cash selling my unedited B-roll, but it’s also how people notice me.

Directors, producers, and other filmmakers see my online portfolio, that’s a stepping stone to getting onto bigger production teams…

Still, I worry about what Julian might do to my reputation. ’

‘For quitting?’

Her nod was barely noticeable, but the worry she wore was intolerable.

‘You have the proof on your camera for quitting.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I watched the replay this morning while you were showering. Remember?’

‘That’s hours of footage.’

‘I found the fast-forward button. You should see me when I do movies, I’m always fast-forwarding through the boring parts. I can’t stand free-to-air anymore because of the commercials. And if a movie doesn’t get Finley’s attention in the first ten minutes, we DNF it.’

‘DNF?’

‘Did not finish it.’

‘Do you watch documentaries?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because they bore the crap out of me.’ He laughed at the documentary maker’s ruffling brow. ‘Although Finley and I do spend hours watching the fish tank, that’s cool.’

‘While under the influence of other substances?’

‘Please, you’ll ruin my reputation as a straitlaced pilot, a Federal agent for the Stock Squad.’ He bobbed his eyebrows up and down, as he led them down the wooden planks that stretched across the tall grasses, where their root systems were submerged in water.

‘Again, film nothing, even if you’re dying to.’

She bit on her bottom lip. ‘Yeah, but—’

‘Not without his lordship’s permission, or the old pirate may feed you to the crocodiles.

Please?’ He paused to lower his head to plead with her.

Again, being dictated by that need for privacy that was a serious issue for him.

It was another test for the pretty little filmmaker, to see if she’d comply.

‘Fine.’ Leaving her camera alone, she hooked her thumbs through the belt loops of her cargo pants. ‘Who is this guy?’

‘You’ll see…’ Here’s hoping she had an open mind. ‘Captain! Where you at?’

‘In the beauty parlour, having me daily constitutional.’

Again, Romy tugged on Stone’s shirt. ‘Did he just say he’s on the loo?’

‘You never know with this guy. Trust me, you’ll love him.’ He grabbed her tiny hand—so soft, yet strong—and led her towards the houseboat. ‘I brought a sea princess for you to have your wicked way with, Captain.’

There was a commotion of tins falling over, with a lot of low cussing, and a heavy plonk.

‘You alright ol’ mate?’ Stone helped Romy onto the back deck, where a few old chairs sat. A sun-bleached table held a set of binoculars, an empty coffee mug, and a slim book, the pages held open by a pen marking a half-finished crossword.

‘Just putting my leg on.’ There was a thud, a slide, then another thud followed by the slide before the back concertina doors opened wide, to reveal a man with a long grey plait for both his beard and hair.

‘Look at what the ol’ saltie dragged in.

You lost?’ He narrowed his eyes at them, the heavy wrinkles shifting in his heavily tanned and timeworn complexion.

‘Good to see you too, old man.’ Stone heartily patted him on the back in a friendly man hug. ‘Your beard plait is longer than your hair these days.’

‘At least I have hair to plait, boy.’ The old man squinted at Romy.

‘You go for that eye test?’

‘You wipe your bum this morning?’

‘Steady on.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do. Who are you?’ Thump, slide. Thump, slide. Chook dragged his wooden leg across the deck of the houseboat while squinting heavily at Romy.

‘What’s wrong with your leg?’ Stone frowned at Chook as the wooden leg, poking out from beneath the rolled cuff of his trousers, dragged across the floor.

‘It fell asleep from sitting too long. What’s wrong with her?’

‘Who, me?’ Romy pointed at herself.

‘You’re hangin’ around with this fella. You must have rocks in your head.’