Page 12 of Lights, Camera, Love

After a drink with Kiara and a promise to catch up with her back in the city, I begin the short stroll to my cabin, keeping my gaze low so it doesn’t make an involuntary collision with Buzz’s as I pass by him.

My verandah’s metal roof is housing a wasp nest born in hell, so I duck beneath the whirr of insects and escape inside the musty cabin.

After changing into sweatpants and a comfy jumper, I pair my phone with my portable speaker and put on a Lucky Daye album to smooth out the nerves that Buzz has rattled.

I’m at the sink, grooving into some hip-pops while washing my expanding family of used coffee mugs, when a needle pierces the back of my neck.

‘ Ow .’ My hand slams against my skin, and my palm returns a writhing, winged insect. Horrified, I drop the wasp to the wooden floor.

The back of my neck begins to burn, and I grab my phone, muttering ‘ow, ow, ow’ while googling what to do after being stung by a wasp.

Apparently, I should apply a cold pack and monitor for allergic reactions.

There’s no ice in the freezer, so I stand over the sink and splash cold water on the back of my neck.

The spot already stings like a bitch, but thankfully, I’m not experiencing any other symptoms.

Once I scoop up the delinquent wasp with a dustpan and deposit it outside, I inspect the cabin for places where it could have gotten in but find no obvious passageways to the outside world. Maybe it snuck in with me when I got back from the bonfire.

I’m heading to the sink for a glass of water when a second wasp flutters past my nose. Lurching away from it, I scamper out of the kitchen, almost colliding with a third flying assassin. Time to ring Kiara.

‘There’s a bit of a wasp situation in my cabin,’ I tell her, while keeping my back pressed to the wall. ‘I don’t know where they’re coming in, but one just stung me. I’ve found three so far—oh wait, there’s a fourth.’

‘What?’ she gasps. ‘I’ll come right over; I’ll bring an ice pack.’

Five minutes later, Kiara turns up in flannelette pyjamas and Ugg boots with James, the sound recordist, who’s clutching an ice pack and a spatula. They can’t figure out where the little buggers are getting in either.

While James inspects the bite on my neck, Kiara steps out onto the verandah to make some calls. She’s back within three minutes, dodging the swooping wasps.

‘You can have cabin twelve,’ she says. ‘It’s at the end of the path, up behind the toolshed. The door will be unlocked, and the key will be inside.’

I let out a breath of relief. ‘Thank you so, so much, lovely, for organising that, and for coming out this late. I really appreciate it.’ I lift the ice pack off my neck to give my skin a break from the freezer burn.

Kiara and James offer to help me move cabins, but it’s getting late, and I’m already packed up for tomorrow’s departure, so I insist they head off.

Once I’ve got all my stuff together, I offer the wasps a ‘good riddance’ salute and roll my bag along the bumpy path, following Kiara’s directions.

Hopefully, there’s a hot shower and a strong wi-fi signal at the other end.

The path twists behind the toolshed, where a single cabin sits within a cradle of eucalyptus trees, a warm glow seeping through its closed blinds.

Whoever unlocked it must’ve put the light on for me.

After lugging my suitcase up the short staircase leading to the verandah, I shove my shoulder into the stiff sliding door to get it open and half-tumble through the vertical blinds into the room beyond.

Kye spins around to face me. My eyes slip to the collage of tattoos inked over his bare chest, to the chest that is … holy shit . Ripped, muscular, shredded—what are words again?

Abs . Abs is a word.

He reaches for a navy V-neck and tugs it over his head. ‘Sorry, I thought you were Austin,’ he grunts.

‘No, I’m … I’m sorry.’ I sound like I just ran a marathon. ‘Is this … is this cabin twelve?’

He combs his fingers through his damp hair; he must have just gotten out of the shower. I finally figure out that Groucho doesn’t deliberately style his hair in a messy tousle—it’s how it naturally falls.

‘You’re in the right place,’ he mumbles. ‘I guess I took too long to pack.’

‘Wait. I’m kicking you out of your room?’

‘It’s fine. I’m gonna bunk with Austin. He’s got a two-bedder.’ Kye’s eyes travel to my neck. ‘You all right? Heard a wasp got you. It’s pretty rare that they sting.’

‘Yeah, I’m okay. Just a bit sore.’

‘Any swelling inside your mouth, or trouble breathing?’ A subtle crease appears between his brows.

I shake my head.

‘That’s good. Usually, an anaphylactic reaction to something like that would present pretty quickly.’

‘I’ll be sweet as long as I don’t sleep on my back.’ My gaze travels to the double bed—the one Kye’s been sleeping in, which I’m about to curl up in. I glance back at Kye, and see he’s followed my eyes there.

That’s when the babbling starts.

In a low mutter, he tells me again that Austin has a two-bedder. He says something about having just finished packing, about how he’ll get out of here as quickly as possible, and how Austin wanted them to bunk together in the first place, so I shouldn’t feel bad.

I stammer back an apology about traipsing over so fast and not giving him enough time to move out; I say that I didn’t know he’d been staying in this cabin, or else I would’ve given him more time.

The awkward exchange is interrupted by heavy footsteps clumping across the verandah, followed by two hard raps on the door.

‘That’s probably Austin,’ Kye says, stepping past me and leaving a sublime, soapy smell in his wake.

He sweeps the blinds aside and slides the jammed door open with ease. Buzz pushes past him in silky animal-print pyjamas, his eyes locked on me.

‘Oh, honey, I heard about the injury.’ His caterpillar brows meet in the middle as he comes up to me.

‘It’s just a sting,’ I say, taken aback that Buzz thought this warranted a late-night visit. ‘I feel fine, and … and usually, an anaphylactic reaction to something like that would present pretty quickly.’ My gaze skips to Kye, whose eyes soften a fraction.

But his expression hardens as he addresses Buzz. ‘The wasp nest was right outside Evie’s cabin. That’s an issue that the production team should probably have done something about. Lucky she’s not allergic, huh?’

Buzz swivels around to frown at him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘This was my cabin,’ Kye replies, a sharp edge to his tone. ‘I’m just packing up.’

Buzz has already lost interest; his attention is back on me. ‘Show me the sting,’ he demands. ‘Kiara said it got you on the neck.’ The hairs on my arms pop up as he circles behind me, the tips of his slippers bumping the backs of my slides.

‘Poor thing,’ he says with a tsk , brushing his knuckle down the side of my neck. He shifts so close that his protruding stomach caresses the back of my fleece jumper. I hunch forward, and Kye steps over to us.

‘Probably best if you don’t do that,’ he says to Buzz, the grouchy divot between his brows on full display. I don’t know if Kye is talking about aggravating the sting or about touching me at all, but either way, the director doesn’t even acknowledge him.

‘I’m in the cabin next door,’ Buzz says against my ear. ‘Still keen to pop over for that chat we talked about? I’ve got a top-shelf shiraz that needs demolishing.’

‘Sorry,’ I blurt out. ‘I’m going to bed.’ I want to add that I was never ‘keen’—I don’t want Kye to think I agreed to a late-night meetup with Buzz in his cabin. That’s not what happened. But Buzz already looks peeved.

Kye edges between me and the director. ‘Guess you should get going,’ he says to Buzz.

‘And you,’ Buzz retorts.

Kye makes a casual gesture over his shoulder, where his suitcase sits open on the bed. ‘Just getting my stuff together.’

The director tosses him an irritated look but then, mercifully, mutters a curt goodnight and clomps back through the sliding door.

The moment he’s gone, I release a pent-up breath. ‘He’s been acting a bit weird tonight,’ I say to Kye.

He shakes his head once. ‘That guy’s a fucking mayfly.’

‘A what?’

‘A mayfly. It’s an aquatic insect.’ He moves to the bed and zips up his neatly packed suitcase. ‘They’re only adults for a few hours before they die, so literally the only thing they think about is sex.’

My breath stumbles.

Those last eight words rolled off Kye’s tongue like he was auditioning for one of those old 1800-PHONE-SEX–type erotic hotlines. With his deep, rough voice, he would’ve been a shoo-in.

‘I’ll get out of your hair now,’ he says, yanking me from my thoughts. ‘If you’re okay.’

‘I’m good. Thanks.’ I smile widely to hide my embarrassment. I don’t know why my brain just went there about the phone-sex hotline. I might be a mayfly.

Kye’s gaze dips to my mouth for a split second.

Overcome by a bizarre rush of nerves, I glance away from Kye, then notice—‘Oh, you forgot your Scotch.’ I tip my head at the bottle of amber liquid sitting on the kitchen counter.

‘Bourbon,’ he corrects, ‘and not mine. Someone left it in the cabin. Help yourself if you want; I did. It’s good—a bit hard to break up with, but we’re better off without each other.’

His pouty lips purse with the threat of a smile, but it misfires, and his expression stays stoic.

He turns to leave just as I blurt out, ‘You want a glass now?’

His eyebrows shoot up, and I wish I could take the words back. When I’m nervous, I tend to overdo the friendliness—just like when I told Buzz at the wardrobe fitting that I loved all the clothes he picked out. It’s like a tic I can’t control; I’m not actually expecting Kye to—

‘I could use a nightcap, actually,’ he mutters, before clearing his throat.

‘Oh, okay; sure, great!’ I ramble brightly, hiding my panic by leaping towards the kitchen.

What did I just do? My pulse skitters as I reach for two glasses from the top cupboard and pour a couple of nips of bourbon.