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‘Have you seen this?’ Leo asks, reading something on his phone at the kitchen table. ‘The headline reads: Battle of the Surf Has-Beens . It’s about me and Ethan, and it’s got this really shitty tone to it. The bloke who’s written it is laughing at us. Mostly at me.’

I move to stand behind where he’s sitting, wrapping my arms around his collarbones and resting my chin on his shoulder to read the article.

It’s the first day of heats for the Rip Curl Pro Bells Beach competition and he was up insanely early – it’s still dark out.

This is the first time I’ve seen him sit down and he’s already fidgeting.

‘Stop reading those stupid articles. There’s loads of good ones about you, saying how excited the surf world is to welcome you home. Everyone is talking about you.’

‘Talking about how washed-up I am,’ he grumbles.

‘No, talking about how you’re a hero to a lot of the surfers competing today,’ I correct, grazing my lips against his cheek. ‘They just want to see you surf again.’

‘A has-been ,’ he repeats in a low, resentful mutter. ‘Fucking hell, I know it’s been a long time since I was in the game but it’s brutal to read that about yourself.’

‘Which is why you shouldn’t be reading anything about you at all. It’s toxic. Who cares what people like that think? Come on, Leo, you know those articles are written and published by morons who just want clicks,’ I remind him, kissing down his neck.

‘Morons like my mum?’

My lips pause on his skin, and I lift my head back to peer at his phone again. ‘This is one of your mum’s magazines?’

‘Their online site, yeah,’ he sighs, turning off his screen and setting his phone down.

I straighten, resting my hands on his shoulders and rubbing them.

‘Hey, she has a few trashy magazines on her books and she can’t check over everything they publish, especially online.

Trust me, stuff like this is probably written by a junior writer in like five seconds before it’s shoved up online and they start writing about the next thing.

Seriously Leo, she’ll have nothing to do with this. ’

‘I know,’ he says, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. ‘Fuck, I’m nervous.’

‘Nerves are good. You want the adrenaline to be ready and alert. I’ve never been in a surf contest but I’m guessing nerves are normal.’

‘It’s not just the contest,’ he admits, opening his eyes to gaze up at me. ‘My mum’s going to be there.’

I move to pull out the chair next to him.

He grasps one of my hands as it slides from his shoulder, lifting it to his hips and kissing along my knuckles.

For the past couple of weeks here, it’s been like this – any time we spend together, we seem to be always touching, as though terrified the other one might slip from our grasp.

Not for one moment have I regretted getting on that plane to Australia, I only wish I hadn’t wasted time moping about in London while I came to a decision.

Victoria is a breathtakingly beautiful setting – spectacular cliffs along the coastline, long, sandy beaches, sparkling, blue seas – and when I’ve not been taking in the sights, I’ve had plenty of time to work out here on various commissions while Leo’s spent long hours of the day surfing, working out, practising yoga and meditation, and sketching when he needs a break from all the surf stuff.

Some of my favourite moments have been the quiet ones in the evenings when he’s needed some downtime.

I’ve been working at the table while he’s sketched on the sofa.

I can’t wait for him to meet Flora; they can chat about art together.

The thought of him getting on with my friends makes my heart do an excitable little flip.

Sports reporting has been a little harder for me to do because of the time difference, but I’ve made it work, staying up if I need to watch a specific event to report on, and interviewing people over zoom to get one or two quotes.

As far as Toni is concerned, my coincidental trip to Australia is a wonderful surprise that we can turn to our advantage: I’m there to witness and capture the climactic point of the feature and she doesn’t have to pay a penny for me to do so.

Toni’s not an idiot. She is suspicious, especially considering I’ve not just gone anywhere in Australia, I happen to be in the Bells Beach area – but when the good outweighs the bad where the magazine is concerned, she’d rather not know the gritty details.

Mum’s been having the best time travelling the country and sending me daily updates and photos, and around Leo’s training, he and I have been making the most of being together in this happy, enchanting, exhilarating bubble.

We’ve sat on the porch of his beach house in the evenings, talking and kissing, letting him unwind after an exhausting day; I’ve had dinners with his dad, who seems over the moon that I’m here to stay, and has embarrassed Leo countless times by harping on about the improvement in his surfing because I’m here now so ‘his heart is full’; and at the end of each day, Leo and I have spent the nights, bodies entwined, falling asleep in each other’s arms. We’ve had so much fun and laughed so much together, my jaw is constantly aching.

The truth is, every moment I’m with him, I fall harder and harder.

And seeing him like this today, nervous and fragile, I realise that I want to always be the one to comfort him when he needs, to protect him from the bad out there.

I’ve fallen way too far to ever come back unscathed.

I should be freaking out about that. I should be worried about what that means, what I’m exposing myself to.

I should be being more sensible and careful, more practical and guarded. I should be terrified.

But I’m not. When I find myself thinking like that, I hear his voice in my head:

A lot of ‘should’s being thrown around here, London.

I’m not listening to the ‘should’s. Instead, I’m going with my heart.

For the first time, I’m embracing uncertainty, letting Leo take my hand and drag me head first into a freefall.

And I know it’s early days, but so far, I can safely say it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.

I feel lighter but stronger, more powerful and confident; my head is clearer, my writing is flowing better, my creativity coming faster. The world is that bit brighter.

He might just turn out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

As I sink down into the chair next to him, I clasp one of his warm, strong hands in mine, meeting his gaze.

‘Has your mum messaged to say she’s going to be there today?’

‘When her publicist got in touch to talk to me about your article, she mentioned that my mum would be out here around the time of the contest filming scenes for her documentary. She’s hosting some big gala event or something.’

‘Toni, the editor at Studio , mentioned the documentary.’

‘Yeah, well her publicist phoned me later to say that she’d come support me in as many heats as possible,’ he reveals. ‘That feels big for me. She hasn’t watched me compete since I was about fifteen.’

‘ What? ’ I don’t mean to sound so surprised, but I can’t hide it. ‘What about the years when you won World Champion? Those tours were in your early twenties, weren’t they?’

‘Yeah.’ He exhales a deep breath, his knee shaking impatiently beneath the table, his body raring to face today.

‘I get it, though. Those contests take place all over the world. She was working all the time; she couldn’t just fly over to Hawaii or Brazil or Fiji or whatever, you know?

’ Drawing his hand free from mine, he folds his arms across his body, a defensive, self-preserving position.

‘Obviously, I would have liked her to have wanted to be there. At the time, most of our contact was when her office would send me warnings about my “embarrassing behaviour” once the contests were wrapped up.’

He heaves a sigh and then his expression brightens with hope.

‘But she’s making the effort to be there this time. She wants to support me. I’ve got my shit together now, so I’m going to make sure it’s worth her while. Kind of cool that it’s back on our home turf.’

‘Leo,’ I say gently, ‘you’re surfing Bells Beach again for yourself, no one else.’

‘I know that. But, when I walk down those steps to the beach, it’s nice to know that she’ll be on the hill or on the beach with the rest of the crowd.’

I offer a weak smile, keeping my mouth shut on this one. I can’t work out if it’s a good thing that, after all this time, it’s so obvious that all he wants to do is make his mum proud of him.

He claps his hands against his knees before jumping to his feet. ‘I’ve got to get moving.’

‘You need anything?’ I ask, pushing myself up.

‘Yeah, I do actually,’ he grins, taking a step towards me and clasping my face in his hands, his mouth descending onto mine.

My heart somersaults as his tongue strokes against mine, my hands digging into his back, our bodies pressed against one another’s. A tortured groan rumbles up his throat before he draws back, breaking the kiss and running his hands up and down my arms.

‘Better?’ I check, grinning stupidly up at him.

‘Much.’

He reaches down to grasp at my arse, slapping it playfully before he saunters off to another room. I roll my eyes, putting my hands on my hips.

‘Well,’ I sigh, ‘I’m glad I can help in some way.’

‘You do more than help, London,’ he calls back over his shoulder. ‘You inspire.’

*

I can see for myself now why this contest is a big draw for surf fans: with the dramatic sand-stone cliffs curving around the beach, along the top of which spectators can find a good spot to watch the action on the waves below, Bells Beach is a natural amphitheatre.