Page 6

Fitz

I stare at my best friend, my best friend who I can still taste on my lips, and wait.

Why did I kiss him like that?

To shut him up? To cut through the awkwardness that's been lingering for the last two weeks? To help him figure out his feelings?

All of the above?

Or maybe another option?

A simpler option.

One like…I wanted to kiss him.

Plain and simple.

Not sure I fully understand where that's coming from, but after the bucks' party a few days ago—specifically the moment we were having until we got interrupted—I've been doing some thinking.

After close to twenty years of friendship, you fall into patterns and grooves. With Muir and me, I'm the open book who shares his feelings easily, while Muir takes his time and processes everything before eventually opening up.

But before Linus and Ryde showed up, that familiar rhythm of our friendship was turned upside down. Muir was the one opening up about his feelings, while I found myself retreating into my thoughts, scrutinising every small aspect of our friendship.

And then…we were about to kiss. I'm not misremembering that, am I? Because it sure as hell felt like it.

Ever since, I've been thinking.

About how well we get on.

About how easy things are between us.

About how I always feel that little bit more alive whenever he's in the room.

About how I've subconsciously been trying to transplant all the good things about our friendship into my relationships, but it's never quite worked.

Why would I do that unless I maybe have some deeper feelings for him? And if Sid reckons kissing a bloke is a good barometer for figuring shit out—why not figure some shit out?

I snap back to reality and go, "Well?"

Muir's been way too quiet, even for him.

He smiles shyly and looks away. "It was good," he says quietly. "And I liked it. But…"

My chest constricts. "But what?"

He lets out a breath and faces me, his eyes a whirlpool of emotions I can't access. "It's not like I've received a magical answer from the universe."

"Oh. I see." I tilt my head. "Wait. Is that your way of saying you need to kiss me again?"

He shakes his head, biting back a grin. "You're an idiot. That's not what I'm saying."

"Really? That's too bad. Because for what it's worth, I'm open to it."

"Open to what?"

"More kisses."

That slight trace of a grin that was lingering on his lips vanishes. "You are?"

"Sure." I nudge his shoe with my foot. "We are married, after all."

"Be serious. For a moment. If you can."

Oh. He wants serious, does he?

All right, then. I'll give him serious.

I cup the sides of his face. "Ever since the bucks' night, I've been doing some thinking, and… And what you may or may not be feeling towards me might not be just a one-sided thing."

His blue eyes darken. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that there's no one in this world that I feel better with, and maybe I have deeper feelings for you than I realised."

"Oh."

His brows shoot up, then knit together as if he's trying to make sense of it all. He's shell-shocked.

That's understandable. It's taken me by surprise, too.

I let go of his face, giving him some breathing room, but keep a close eye on him. "Should I have invoked the non-freak-out clause before saying that?"

"I…I'm not freaking out."

"Then why's your forehead creased like you've been pulling ticks off sheep for hours?"

"It is not," he says, de-wrinklifying his forehead as he does. "I'm just processing. And you, better than anyone else, know how long that takes me."

"Yeah." My voice comes out low and raspy. "I do know better than anyone else."

His eyes meet mine, and there's something new in the air between us. It's not the weird awkwardness of the past few weeks. It's something different, something that feels like…like…excitement mixed with possibility.

I'm not sure, though.

Luckily for me, I have a way of finding out that's not too far out of reach.

I curl my hand around the back of Muir's neck and bring my lips to barely a centimetre away from his. "Up for another kiss?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Uh, sure. If that's what you want."

"I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't."

He nods, but I can see the cogs in his brain spinning. "Or we can sit here in silence while you process."

"No," he blurts out emphatically. "Kiss now. Silence and processing later."

"Sounds good."

The moment our lips meet again, I get the same feeling I get after a day of doing farm calls out of town. It hits me as I drive past the faded Welcome to Scuttlebutt sign with the population count of 4,272 beneath it in bold numbers.

I always let out a breath because I feel like I'm arriving back home.

And even though it's only my second time kissing Muir, that same feeling is radiating throughout my entire body right now.

Kissing my best mate feels like coming home. But with way more tongue and way more passion.

This time, Muir's the one taking the lead, and I let him because one: I'm not sure what the correct man-kissing etiquette is, but I suppose it's only fair to take turns in who gets to 'lead,' and two: because it feels fucking incredible.

His kiss is firm, deep, and commanding, sending a jolt through me as he takes control, guiding the moment. No woman has ever kissed me like this, with an intoxicating mix of confidence and strength and fire.

I can feel Muir's urgency, the passion behind every flick of his tongue in my mouth, and I surrender to the heat, letting him lead us deeper and deeper into a frenzy that takes me over until I can't even breathe.

I'm literally breathless when we finally break apart. "Whoa."

"Yeah. Whoa."

I glance down at his lips. They're red, and so is the skin around them. Oh, shit. My beard. It's given him a burn. I reach down and gently run my fingertips along his lips. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. It's fine." He gets even more flushed in the face and drops his gaze. "Kinda like it, actually."

"Okay. Cool," I say, but I make a mental note to shave my beard off. I don't want him walking around with a beard burn, because if I have my way, there'll be plenty more kissing in our future.

If that's something he decides he wants after taking all the time in the world that he needs to work through this most recent development in our friendship.

The kiss may not have given Muir a straight-up answer about his feelings, but it's definitely clarified something for me. I've never stopped kissing anyone and immediately wanted to kiss them again.

So, yeah. My feelings are clear—I like kissing my best mate, and there's a high probability that's a sign I have deeper feelings for him than I ever knew.

Now I just have to play the waiting game until he figures out where he's at.

The next day, the waiting game is on in full force.

We're driving back to Scuttlebutt. Well, Muir's driving my ute since I'm nursing a bit of a hangover. Nowhere near as bad as the one after our bender on the Goldie, but I definitely wasn't up for a three-hour drive back into town.

After brekky, we helped clean up, hung out with the gang some more, then took off.

Things between us are fine enough that we didn't arouse any suspicion from our friends who now know we're married but don't know that there may be something more happening beneath the surface, but there is an unmissable hint of uncertainty lingering in the air.

That's why I stupidly gave Muir song-choice privileges for the entire drive home. To fill the air with music and bypass a conversation we both know he's not ready for yet.

But I regret that decision now.

I've been paying for it ever since his eyes lit up and he decided this trip would be a perfect occasion to take me on a guided tour through Taylor Swift's back catalogue. Don't get me wrong, I like some of her songs, mainly the ones I've heard on the radio, but man, there's a lot of her music I just don't get.

"Can you hear how Folklore feels different to her other albums?" he asks, turning the volume up.

"Sure," I reply, even though I haven't really been paying attention, but I'm happy to take his word for it.

"Well, that's because she created it during the pandemic, and it's full of fictional characters."

"You don't say."

"Cool, huh?"

"Very cool."

He launches into a looong spiel about some girl called Betty who gets her heart broken when her boyfriend, James, cheats on her, but he's caught in a love triangle with Betty and Augustine. I start tuning out when he talks about some real-life socialite whose wild and scandalous life inspired "The Last Great American Dynasty."

I may not be enthralled by the topic of the conversation, but at least he's talking about something.

And he's enjoying himself.

He's gripping the steering wheel with one hand, his sun-kissed blond hair catching the light from the window, the messy strands falling just over his sharp blue eyes that seem even brighter in this glow.

He's relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips, but he looks different somehow as he bobs his head as "Cardigan" hums through the speakers.

Or maybe it's me?

I'm the problem. It's me.

Maybe I'm seeing him differently this morning because of what happened yesterday.

His black T-shirt stretches across his chest and shoulders, outlining every defined muscle as he grips the wheel. His arms are thick and strong, biceps pressing against the fabric, while his worn jeans fit snugly around his powerful legs. Yet here he is, humming along to Taylor Swift, completely at ease, the mix of strength and softness just part of who he is.

It's one of the things I love most about him. He's rugged and masculine, but it never comes at the cost of his sensitivity.

That's one of the reasons why I've let him in, I mean really let him in, and told him stuff I haven't been able to share with anyone else about the single most painful, most defining moment of my life—losing Lleyton.

I try not to think about it too often, but something about the open road and the atmospheric music takes me there.

Back to that day when I was ten.

I wasn't there when Lleyton drowned in the dam, but twin telepathy is a thing, because all day while I was out with Mum and my sister, Schapelle, I felt off. Like something was wrong, but I wasn't sick, and I couldn't pinpoint what it was, so I just sat with it.

And then we got home, greeted by an ambulance out the front of the house.

I instantly knew that it was Lleyton. That he was gone.

Lleyton was the kind of kid who never seemed to sit still, always running, laughing, and filling every room with his energy. His boundless enthusiasm was contagious—whether he was organising games or cracking jokes, people couldn't help but be drawn to him. Everyone loved him, from neighbours to teachers, because he had a way of making life brighter just by being around. Full of life and spirit, he had a spark that made the world feel more alive whenever he was near.

It was the first real devastation I'd ever gone through in my life, and it hit my whole family hard. My folks, usually the happiest, most optimistic people you'll ever meet, were shattered. My other brother, Cliff, was racked with guilt and blamed himself, and Schapelle withdrew.

And I…I was broken. My other half had died, and I had no idea what to do with the pain and loss and all-consuming grief I was drowning in.

I looked at my family and decided to do the one thing that made sense—I started to become like Lleyton.

We may have looked alike, but until his accident, I was the quiet and shy one.

Not anymore. I hated seeing the people I loved sad, so I took on Lleyton's energy, and I became the one who made them laugh, who eased their worry, who entertained them with my crazy antics.

After a while, the old me was gone, and the new me felt so much better that I stuck with it. And now, I can't tell where Lleyton ends and I begin. Especially now that the world knows and loves me as The Quirky Vet.

But Muir knows.

He met me right at the cusp of my transformation, and he's the only person I've ever been able to be all of myself with—the Lleyton part, and the Fitz part.

"I was hoping to pick up some stuff from the farmers' market when we get back into town." Muir takes his eyes off the straight empty highway for a moment, and I sit up taller in my seat, pulling myself out of my massively heavy thoughts. "Is that okay, or do you want me to drop you off at home first?"

"Nah. It's fine. I need to pick up some supplies, too. Plus, my parents will be there."

"Oh, yeah. Of course they will."

My family's been running the Scuttlebutt Farmers' Market for four generations, and since I need to tell them I got drunkenly married to Muir before they find out from somebody else, now's as good a time as any to break the news.

"Might as well get it over and done with."

"Are you worried about it?"

"Nah, not really. Just…you know…their whole reaction."

Muir nods like he knows what I mean, because he does. He's seen my parents in action, so he can predict their response perfectly.

We pull up at the market a couple of hours later, and if there's a Taylor Swift-inspired trivia night happening somewhere in the world, I need to be there because I'm confident I could own it.

I grab a few reusable shopping bags from the back and chuck a couple at him.

"Thanks," he says, pulling out his phone and aiming it at me.

"What are you doing?"

"Got an idea for a new video," he answers with a broad smile. "Hungover vet at the farmers' market!"

I groan, but my analytical brain reawakens, running through the possible engagement metrics a post like that could get. "Fine."

"Gee, don't sound too enthusiastic. And do something about your face, please."

"What's wrong with my face?"

He catches my eye, his smile growing wider with each second. "How much time have you got?" I give him the finger, and he laughs. The sound washes over me, and for a moment, I just stand there, transfixed by the sight of him. "Might I suggest taking your shirt off?"

"If you want to check me out, all you need to do is ask."

He rolls his eyes. "It's a face-distraction tactic."

"Sure, sure," I chuckle, undoing the top half of my button-up, because sex sells, and I have no shame.

"You ready?" Muir asks, and I finish fiddling with my hair and beard.

"Ready."

He nods and gives a thumbs-up to indicate he's started recording.

"Ever gone to a farmers' market the day after you might have had a few too many drinks at a friend's wedding?" Muir asks, providing the voiceover as he approaches me, phone held up.

I turn to the camera, smile, and wave. "G'day, g'day. Quirky Aussie Vet here coming to you live and hungover from the Scuttlebutt Farmers' Market. Before we get started, I'd like to acknowledge the sponsor of this video, my very evil and soon-to-be ex–best friend Muir Landers, who as always, refuses to show his mug on camera but is the architect behind many of the most personally humiliating videos that you all seem to love the most."

"What are soon-to-be ex–best friends for?" he calls, and my smile widens.

I fucking love him so much.

"All righty, then." I clap my hands together. "Let's see what we've got here."

I step into the first row of stalls, and the sun's already too bright, stabbing through my still-throbbing head like a spotlight I can't escape. The smell of fresh bread and sizzling sausages hits me, turning my stomach. "Ooh, yum. Nothing says Aussie farmers' market like the smell of barbecued sausages and onion."

I move away before I throw up and walk past a few stalls, proudly pointing out the handmade leather belts, bright sunflowers in rusty tin cans, the lavender and eucalyptus scented soaps that almost—almost—cut through my headache, and the stall draped in vibrant fabrics, showcasing the colourful, handwoven baskets and wool hats. Scuttlebutt may be a small town, but we punch above our weight when it comes to the weekly farmers' market. People drive from hundreds of kilometres away to check it out.

The air is thick with dust and heat, and a light breeze kicks up, rustling the makeshift tarps overhead. The only place I want to be is under a shady tree right now, and I'm about to call time on this video when I spot a small butterfly with a torn wing near one of the stalls, struggling in the dirt.

I wave Muir over as I make my way to it, and he follows close behind.

Kneeling down, I gently scoop up the butterfly, careful not to touch the fragile wings. It's a pale orange colour, with faded black speckles along its wings.

I glance up at Muir, who's still recording, and start explaining to the camera. "If you ever find an injured butterfly, the best thing you can do is place it somewhere safe, away from predators. Give it some sugar water on a cotton swab for energy, and if the wing damage is small, it may still heal enough for it to fly again." I wait a few seconds. "There, I think we got it."

Muir nods and tucks the phone into his pocket as he comes over, and we inspect the butterfly together.

"Poor little fella," he says.

After a few moments, the butterfly flutters its wings, showing more strength than before.

"I'm going to release him and see how he goes," I say.

Muir nods. "Good call."

With a gentle toss, I release it into the air and watch it rise and glide, disappearing into the bright outback sky. Muir's whipped out his phone, catching the butterfly in the air.

He looks at me with a smile. "Everyone loves a happily ever after."

"Yeah." I clear my throat and take a step closer to him. "They do."

His eyes intensify as he does the same towards me, the gap between us disappearing, and holy shit, what is happening? Are we about to kiss?

Again?

Here?

At the freaking farmers' market right in front of everyone? If Scuttlebutt had a newspaper, this would be tomorrow's front page right here.

Muir draws his head closer, and his warm breath hits my face?—

"Fitz! Is that you, sweetie?"

Muir and I pull back abruptly.

I spin around towards the sound of the voice. And yep, there's Mum dressed as a fairy godmother in a flowing, ivory blouse with billowing sleeves, a layered skirt adorned with shimmering silver and pastel details, a sparkling sash, and a tiara, all topped off with a whimsical wand. She's walking next to my dad, a.k.a. Scuttlebutt's tallest person. He's in a black leather button-up vest—no shirt underneath because why bother?—his huge muscles and inked skin on full display. The original odd couple.

"Do not film this," I instruct Muir when I see him reaching for his phone.

"I wasn't going to," he lies, his cheeks going red, the dead giveaway. "I was going to scratch my arse, thank you very much."

Before I can say anything else, my parents are upon us.

If people think I'm out there and wild, then my parents are on a whole other level. Mum's a wild, barefoot-in-the-garden, incense-burning, kombucha-brewing free spirit who swears by moon rituals and thinks crystals and 'mindful breathing' can fix everything—from bad vibes to my love life—while Dad's a massive, nearly seven-foot-tall wall of muscle covered in tattoos from his bikie days who deep down, is a total softie whose face lights up every time he sees Mum, like he still can't believe she's his after over thirty-five years together.

"Good to see you, son," Dad booms. "Thought you wouldn't be in any state to come after Wilby's wedding."

"Muir drove. We need to get back to work tomorrow," I say.

"Fair enough." He nods, then smiles at Muir. "Nice to see you, too, mate."

Muir smiles, shaking his hand, trying not to let it show how strong Dad's grip is. "And you."

Mum's oversized false eyelashes flitter between me and Muir, and a smile lifts her glossy lavender lips. "And how are you, Muir?"

"Yeah, good, thanks."

"We're not interrupting anything, are we?"

I let out a long breath, casting my eyes to my best friend. He knows the intricacies of my parent's craziness better than anyone, so he knows I'm perfectly justified in worrying about my parents' reaction to our news.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Dad wraps his massive arm around Mum's tiny shoulder. "What is it, son?"

"Just promise me you won't get all…you…about it."

"I have no idea what that means," Dad says at the same time Mum squints her eyes. "I'm picking up on some unresolved energy."

"Like a Band-Aid," Muir whispers under his breath. "Get it done fast."

"Right, okay. Well, you see, the thing is… Erin rejecting my proposal wasn't the only notable thing that happened when we went away."

"Oh?" My dad's eyes shift between me and Muir. "What are we missing?"

With another deep inhale, I force myself to push the words out. "Muir and I got married."

Mum covers her mouth, her eyes wide, as Dad steps closer. "Are you serious, mate?"

I raise my hands. "Just stay calm. Okay? There's no need to make a scene."

"Are. You. Serious?" Dad repeats, his voice a deep grumble.

I sigh. "Yes, I'm serious. We're really married. But please?—"

"Woohoo!" Dad lifts his head to the sky, the deep holler echoing over the sounds of the bustling farmers' market, drawing everyone's attention. He launches Mum into the air like she weighs nothing. Mum lets out a scream as she manages to wrangle herself onto his massive shoulders.

"My son just married his boyfriend!" Dad starts chanting, hopping from foot to foot while holding tightly on to Mum.

Mum wastes no time in joining him. "My son just married his boyfriend! My son just married his boyfriend!"

"I knew this would happen," I mutter, slightly annoyed but mostly amused, to Muir as the crowd around us grows.

He bites back a laugh. "Your parents are incapable of having a subdued reaction."

Before long, we're getting hugged and congratulated from all sides. This is obviously a mess we'll need to clear up later since my parents really outdid themselves this time, but for now, we have no choice but to smile, accept everyone's congratulations, and go with it.

Once we're hugged and high-fived out, I shoot an unimpressed glare at my folks. "Did you really have to do that?"

Dad carefully lowers Mum onto the ground.

"What?" Dad replies, all wide-eyed and innocent. "One of our kids is part of the LGBTQIA rainbow family. How did you expect us to react?"

"I'm so happy for you both!" Mum scoops Muir and me in for a hug, and I can feel her happiness radiating from her aura.

Now isn't the time to tell my parents the full story, so I let them bask in…whatever this is for them. Their hearts are in the right place.

"We really should get going," I tell them. "We need to pick up some groceries for the week."

"Of course. Don't let us keep you," Dad says with a gleam in his eye. "I remember the hours and hours of tantric lovemaking your mum and I shared when we first got married."

Muir manages to mask his shock better than me.

"On second thoughts, who needs food?" I grab him by the arm. "Let's go home."

"Deal."

We say goodbye to my parents, thank the few people still coming up to us, and then hightail it back to my ute, climbing in and shutting the doors at the same moment.

"So… Your parents know," Muir says with a chuckle, as I struggle to breathe.

"Yeah," I pant, shooting him a look. "They know."