Chapter 1: The Pickup
The recycled air of the cabin still clung to her skin, a sterile smell she was eager to replace. Olivia wheeled her small suitcase through the Auckland arrivals terminal, the sunlight through the vast glass walls almost blinding after the dim tube of the plane. Four hours from Brisbane wasn’t long, but the flutter in her stomach made it feel like a different universe. She’d told Dylan her flight landed later, that she’d just grab a cab. The lie sat in her throat, a small, hard pill she kept swallowing down.
She pushed through the automatic doors into the humid, salt-tinged embrace of a New Zealand afternoon. The curb was chaos—idling cars, families reuniting, taxi drivers holding signs. And then she saw him.
Leaning against the dusty side of a black Toyota Hilux, arms crossed over a grey t-shirt that strained against his chest.Robert. He was scanning the crowd with a focused, unhurried intensity, those green eyes she’d only ever seen pixelated on her monitor now cutting right through the distance. He was taller, broader in the shoulders than she’d imagined. The avatar hadn’t done him justice.
A grin split his face when he saw her, a real, unguarded flash of white teeth. He pushed off the truck and met her halfway.
“Olivia.”
“Hey, gamer.” Her voice came out softer than she intended.
He didn’t offer a hand. He just opened his arms and pulled her into a hug that was all solid muscle and warm sun. He lifted her clean off her feet for a second, her squeak of surprise muffled against his shoulder. He smelled like saltwater and clean cotton. “Bloody hell,” he murmured into her hair, his voice a low rumble she felt in her ribs. “You’re even hotter than your gamer profile.”
He set her down, his hands lingering on her waist for a heartbeat before he stepped back, the grin turning wry.“Sorry. Been waiting a while for that.”
“It’s okay,” she breathed, smoothing her floral sundress. Her heart was a frantic bird against her ribs. “Thanks for coming. Dylan couldn’t get off work.”
“His loss,” Robert said, easily. He grabbed her suitcase and tossed it into the back of the ute. It landed with a thud among coiled ropes, a faded chilly bin, and a tackle box. “Perfect timing, actually. Me and a couple mates are heading out to Castor Bay for an afternoon fish. You should come. Kill some time before your man’s free.”
The invitation was casual, but his eyes were assessing. A test, maybe.
She hadn’t planned this. She’d imagined a coffee, maybe a walk.Not fishing with strangers. But the thought of going to Dylan’s empty apartment to wait felt suddenly pathetic. “Yeah,” she heard herself say. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Sweet as.” He opened the passenger door for her. “Bring your togs? Water’s decent.”
“I’ve got swimmers,” she said, climbing in. The interior smelled of fish, sunscreen, and old vinyl.
They pulled out of the airport stream, heading north. The conversation flowed like it always did online—easy, peppered with jokes about their last Fortnite match, comments about the landscape rolling by. The awkwardness of a first meet evaporated in the familiar rhythm of their banter.
“So, Dylan’s flat out, eh?” Robert asked, eyes on the road.
“Hospitality. He’s managing a new bar. Won’t be done until late.” She twisted the strap of her handbag. “So you’re saving me from a very boring afternoon of unpacking.”
“A public service,” he said, smiling. “The lads’ll be stoked. They’ve heard all about the Aussie crack shot who carried me to that Victory Royale.”
The bay was a sparkling curve of green water and rocky outcrops when they arrived. Two guys were already unloading gear from a beat-up hatchback near a boat ramp. They waved.
“That’s Jono and Mike,” Robert said, as they walked over. “Don’t be scared, they’re mostly house-trained.”
Introductions were a blur of calloused handshakes and friendly, curious stares. “So you’re the secret weapon,” Jono, the taller one with a beard, said. “He doesn’t shut up about you, you know.”
“Ignore him,” Robert said, throwing a folded towel at his mate. “Right, sun’s out. Let’s get changed and get this tub in the water.”
The men pulled wetsuit tops and board shorts from their bags right there by the cars, turning their backs with unselfconscious practicality. Olivia rummaged in her suitcase, her fingers finding the tiny triangles of fabric she’d packed on a whim. A black bikini. The bottom was a thong. It had seemed like a good idea in a Brisbane department store, a private joke for herself. Now, standing on a windy New Zealand boat ramp, it felt like a statement she hadn’t meant to make.
But it was all she had. She slipped behind the open door of the Hilux, shimmying out of her sundress and into the scant fabric. It was cool against her skin. She tied the halter neck, took a deep breath, and stepped out.
The conversation stopped.
Jono was holding a fishing rod mid-assembly. Mike froze while tying a lure. Robert, who was checking the boat trailer, straightened up slowly.
The wind caught her hair and whipped it around her shoulders. She felt impossibly exposed, every inch of her skin aware of the three pairs of eyes on her. It wasn’t a leer; it was pure, unvarnished surprise. A silence stretched for two beats too long, filled only with the cry of gulls and the slap of water against concrete.
“Right,” Jono finally said, his voice deliberately light. “That’s… not a lot of fabric to get sunburned in, Liv.”
Mike recovered, chuckling and shaking his head.“Mate. Kiwi girls wear wetsuits.Even in summer. You’re gonna freeze your arse off.”
Robert walked over, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at her body; he looked at her face, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You’ll stand out more than the lures,” he said, his tone dry. He reached into the cab of his truck and pulled out a faded red hoodie. “Here. You’ll want this once the wind gets going.”
He tossed it to her. It was warm from the sun and smelled like him. She pulled it on, the thick fabric falling to mid-thigh, engulfing her. The moment passed, the tension breaking as the guys returned to their preparations, the chatter starting up again about tides and bait.
But as she helped push the small aluminium boat into the cool, clear water, the hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands, she felt Robert’s gaze. It was a warm, steady pressure on her back, a silent acknowledgement of the bold, unspoken thing she’d just done. He handed her into the rocking boat, his grip firm and sure.
“All good?” he asked, his voice low, just for her.
She nodded, pulling the hoodie tighter around her. The diesel outboard coughed to life, and they puttered away from the shore, the city shrinking behind them, the wide expanse of the Hauraki Gulf opening up ahead. The real journey, it seemed, had just begun.
The real journey, it seemed, had just begun. The boat carved a foamy path through the green water, the city skyline dissolving into a hazy silhouette behind them. Robert steered with one hand, pointing out landmarks with the other—a rocky island where gannets nested, the distant outline of Rangitoto. The wind was sharp, cutting right through the thick hoodie. Olivia huddled deeper into it, the scent of Robert—salt, diesel, something purely masculine—wrapping around her.
Her phone buzzed in her handbag. Once, then twice.
She ignored the first one. The second came as Robert cut the engine, letting the boat drift near a buoy. The silence that followed was vast, filled only with the lap of water against the hull. Jono and Mike were already casting lines, their conversation a low murmur.
She pulled the phone out. Two messages from Dylan.Sorry babe. Total nightmare here. New guy didn’t show. Gotta close up. Can’t make it tonight.
A cold knot, different from the sea air, tightened in her stomach.
A second message followed. We’ll do breakfast yeah? My treat. You can swing by the bar later for the key if you need it.
She stared at the screen. The brightness felt obscene in the pristine afternoon light. Swing by the bar. For the key. After she’d flown four hours. She’d pictured a quiet night in, takeaway Thai, maybe a welcome that made the white lie worth it. Not a key handoff.
“Everything alright?” Robert’s voice was close. He was baiting his hook with a piece of squid, his fingers deft, but his eyes were on her face.
She tried to arrange her features into something neutral, but the disappointment was a live wire. “It’s Dylan. Work’s blown up. He can’t… he’s not free tonight.”
Robert didn’t say anything for a moment. He finished with the hook, wiped his fingers on his board shorts. “So what’s the plan?”
“He said I could swing by for the key.” The words tasted flat. “I guess I’ll… I don’t know. Find a hostel or something for tonight.”
“A hostel?” Robert snorted, a short, dismissive sound. “Don’t be daft. You’re not staying in some backpacker dive.” He looked at her, his green eyes steady. “You can crash at mine. Just for tonight. Spare room’s made up. Saves you the hassle.”
The offer hung between them, simple and enormous. Jono pretended to be intensely interested in his reel. Mike stared pointedly at the horizon.
“I couldn’t,” Olivia started.
“Why not?” Robert shrugged. “It’s a bed. It’s free. Beats a bunkbed with some German bloke snoring above you.” He gave her a half-smile. “Public service, part two.”
The relief was immediate, a warm flood that loosened the cold knot. It was also dangerously tempting. She looked down at her phone, at Dylan’s last message. We’ll do breakfast yeah?
She typed back, her thumbs cold and clumsy. All good. Don’t worry about it. A friend’s putting me up for the night. Get the key tomorrow. x
She sent it before she could overthink the word ‘friend’. The three dots appeared, then vanished. No reply.
“Okay,” she said, looking up at Robert. “Thank you. Really.”
“Sweet,” he said, as if it was nothing.“Right. You’re not just a passenger. You want to fish or what?”
He showed her how to cast, his arms around her to guide the rod, his chest against her back. She felt the solid warmth of him through the hoodie, the way his breath stirred her hair. The line sailed out, the sinker plunking into the deep.
They didn’t catch much. A few snapper that were too small, thrown back. The conversation was easy, peppered with jokes from Jono and Mike, who were clearly sizing her up for their mate. The sun began its slow slide toward the hills, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple.
“Water’s actually not too bad,” Mike said, leaning over the side to splash his hand. “For someone in a full wetsuit.”
Robert looked at Olivia, a challenge in his eyes. “You swim?”
“I’m Australian. Of course I swim.”
“That water’s straight from the Antarctic,” Jono warned. “It’ll freeze your tits off. And you’ve got less on than us.”
Robert was already pulling his wetsuit top off over his head. His torso was exactly what she’d imagined—lean, defined, a light dusting of dark hair across his chest. He kicked off his jandals. “Chicken?”
She was. The idea was insane. But his grin was infectious, and the pent-up energy from the airport, from the text, from everything, demanded an outlet. “Give me the hoodie.”
She shrugged it off, the air hitting her skin like a shock. The three men politely averted their eyes as she stood there in her tiny black bikini. Then Robert, without ceremony, plunged over the side.The splash hit the boat. He surfaced, gasping, his hair plastered to his forehead. “Fuck! It’s fresh!”
She didn’t think. She just stepped onto the bench and jumped.The cold was absolute. It wasn’t a shock; it was a theft. It stole her breath, her thought, her very sense of self. For a second she was just pure, screaming sensation, sinking into a green, silent world. Then she kicked, bursting back to the surface with a ragged, gasping shriek.
“Oh my god!” The words came out in a spray. Her skin was on fire with cold.
Robert was treading water beside her, laughing, his face alive with delight. “Told you!”
She was shuddering uncontrollably, but she was also laughing, the sound shaky and wild. The water was so clear she could see her own pale legs kicking beneath her. The boat seemed a mile away. He swam closer, his movements effortless.
“Alright?” he asked, his voice lower now.
She could only nod, her teeth chattering. He was close enough that their legs brushed under the surface. The cold amplified every point of contact—the accidental bump of his knee against her thigh, the swirl of water his arm created near her hip.
“Come on,” he said, softly. “Before you turn blue.” He swam back to the boat, hauling himself up in one smooth motion, then turning to offer her a hand.
She took it. His grip was sure, pulling her up easily. The air felt tropical compared to the water, but she was still shuddering violently. Robert grabbed a towel from the chilly bin and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms vigorously through the rough fabric. His hands were warm and strong.
“You’re a madwoman,” he said, his voice gruff. His face was close, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.
Jono tossed a towel at Robert. “Get that on her, mate. She’s vibrating.”
Robert took the dry towel and draped it over her head, scrubbing her hair. It was an intimate, caring gesture. Through the terrycloth, she heard him say, “Let’s get you home and warmed up.”
Home.
The word resonated in the quieting bay. The engine started, the boat turning toward the darkening shore. Wrapped in towels, her skin tingling with cold and something else, Olivia watched the lights of Auckland begin to prick through the twilight. Robert’s place wasn’t just a spare room now. It was a destination. The first day was melting into night, and nothing had gone to plan.
“You’ll want a hot shower,” he said, raising his voice slightly over the engine. “Water pressure’s shit, but it gets hot.”
“That sounds like heaven,” she said, and she meant it.
He smiled, not taking his eyes off the water ahead. “We’ll stop for fish and chips on the way. Proper welcome.”
The ride back to the ramp was quiet, the engine’s growl filling the space where conversation might have been. Olivia huddled in the towels, but the damp had seeped into her bones. The sun was nearly gone, taking the last traces of its warmth with it. Her jeans and sundress were balled in her bag, dry but unappealing. She imagined putting the cold, clinging dress back on over her salty, chilled skin.
“Hey,” she said, her voice raised over the motor. “Can I borrow your hoodie again? Just until we get to your place. I don’t want to put my other clothes on like this.”
Robert glanced over, his profile sharp against the dying light. “Course. It’s on the floor there.” He nodded toward the crumpled red fabric near his feet.
She reached for it, pulling it on. It was still damp from her first wear, but it held the residual heat from his body and smelled overwhelmingly of him—salt, man, a hint of engine oil. She zipped it up to her chin, the sleeves swallowing her hands. It felt like a shield.
At the ramp, they loaded the boat in the near-dark with practiced efficiency. Jono and Mike clapped Robert on the shoulder. “Take care of our Aussie guest, eh?” Jono said, his grin wide. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”
“That gives me a lot of room,” Robert replied dryly. “Cheers, lads. See you Wednesday.”
They parted ways with waves. The sudden solitude in the cab of the Hilux felt immense. Olivia’s phone, buried in her bag, was silent.
“Fish and chips,” Robert stated, turning the key. “There’s a place on the way. Best snapper in the city.”
The shop was a glowing hole-in-the-wall, steam clouding the windows, the air thick with the scent of hot oil and vinegar. Robert ordered for them both—"Two snapper, scallops, fritters, the lot"—and they waited on the cracked footpath, watching the Friday night traffic stream by.
“So,” he said, leaning against the brick wall. “Dylan.”
The name hung in the greasy air. “What about him?”
“He just leaves you to sort yourself on your first night? After you flew over?”
She shrugged, the hoodie fabric rough against her cheeks. “It’s his job. It’s important.”
“Right.” Robert’s tone was neutral, but the single word felt loaded. “Important.”
Their order number was called. He emerged with a giant, grease-soaked paper parcel, the warmth radiating through. “Tuck in,” he said, handing her a plastic fork as they climbed back into the truck. The cab filled with the salty, comforting smell.
They ate in the car park, the engine off, the windows down to let in the cool night air. The hot, crispy fish was a revelation. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Robert ate methodically, licking salt from his thumb.
“This is incredible,” she mumbled around a mouthful.
“Told you.” He watched her eat, a faint smile on his face. “You look about twelve in that hoodie.”
“I feel about twelve. A cold, hungry twelve.”
“You warm enough now?”
She nodded, catching a drip of grease with a chip. “Thanks for this. For… all of it. Rescuing me.”
“You didn’t need rescuing,” he said, balling up his empty paper. “You just needed better intel. And a warmer swimsuit.”
He started the engine, and they left the bright lights of the shop behind, climbing through winding suburban streets. The houses grew farther apart, the gardens bigger, until he swung into a steep, narrow driveway. It ended at a modest, single-story house perched on the hillside, its windows dark.
“Home,” he said, killing the lights.
The silence after the engine cut was profound. Below them, the city was a glittering, silent carpet, the harbor a black sheet studded with pinpricks of boat lights. It was a view that stole your breath.
He grabbed her suitcase and the leftover chips. “Come on. I’ll show you the palace.”
The key stuck in the lock. He jiggled it, swore under his breath, and the door swung inward on a wave of still, slightly stale air. He flicked a switch, and a dim lamp in the corner pushed back the shadows.
The living room was clean but unmistakably male. A large, worn leather couch faced a massive TV mounted on the wall. Two gaming chairs sat in front of it. Fishing magazines were stacked on a low coffee table, next to a lonely coaster. The walls were bare except for a framed map of the gulf. It smelled like coffee grounds, old carpet, and him.
“Spare room’s through there,” he said, nodding to a hallway. “Bathroom’s just next to it. Towels are in the cupboard. Hot water takes a minute.”
He dumped her bag by the couch. “Make yourself at home. I’ll, uh… I’ll be in my room.” He gestured vaguely toward the other end of the house. For the first time, he seemed unsure of what to do with his hands, finally shoving them in his pockets.
The reality of the situation descended on her all at once. She was standing in a strange man’s house, in a foreign country, wearing his clothes, while her boyfriend thought she was at a hostel. The silence stretched, elastic and tense.
“Robert?”
“Yeah?”
She pulled the zipper of the hoodie down, then up again. “Thanks. Really.”
He met her gaze, his green eyes unreadable in the lamplight. “Any time, Liv.”