CHAPTER 1 — LEO
Adelaide, South Australia — 1987
Leo woke slowly, the soft cracks of morning sunlight filtering past the edges of his curtains, gently nudging him awake. Another Saturday morning.
Another chance.
He opened his eyes with the same nervous excitement, the same hope that had quietly defined his weekends for the past year.
All he needed—all he wanted—was a chance.
It was the first Saturday of spring. The equinox had passed three days earlier, and the day promised to be a scorcher—thirty-three degrees and sunny, according to the papers. Leo could already feel it, even though his watch said it was only eight o’clock. He usually liked to sleep in on weekends, but his bedroom window faced east, and on especially hot, dry mornings, the rising sun did its best to turn the room into a sauna. His old tower fan tried, but it never stood a chance.
The upside of being up this early was making the eight-thirty group fitness class—before the weekend rush of the busier, later sessions. Smaller classes meant more chances to get face time with her.
That was assuming she was working today—and coaching that time slot. Still, he took it as a sign that he’d woken up this early. An omen. Either way, he needed to go.
He took a two-minute cold shower to cool off—he’d woken up in a light sheen of sweat. He always ran hot at night, usually sleeping with just a top sheet and the fan blasting beside him. After drying off, he dressed quickly: black gym shorts, a plain black T-shirt that had long since fallen out of his going-out rotation, black crew socks, black sneakers, and his usual workout cap—a royal blue hat with BUY ME FLOWERS stitched boldly across the front. The gift had come from his friend Michael—who’d just launched a clothing brand—after Leo beat him and two other mates at golf a couple of months ago.
He downed a tall glass of cold water from the jug in the fridge, filling his water bottle at the same time. Grabbing his red gym towel, he headed out the front door and started jogging towards the fitness studio. It was a five-minute run to the studio, and since he always left it to the last minute, he usually found himself sprinting there. He didn’t mind—it was a good way to get his body moving and fully awake.
About a hundred metres from the front doors, he slowed to a walk. He didn’t want to arrive puffing, flushed, or looking slightly dishevelled. As he neared the entrance, he took a few deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart. Was it the run—or the anxious excitement of not knowing if she’d be there? Not knowing if he was seconds away from seeing her again?
He knew the truth.
She didn’t work every Saturday—and even when she did, she didn’t coach every class. He’d made considerable effort to figure out her roster but had never quite cracked it. Weekdays were tough with his job as a physiotherapist at one of the city’s top sports medicine facilities, and even when he’d managed to make a midweek session, she hadn’t been there. Same with Sundays, though he usually preferred to take it easy then—nursing a mild hangover from his Saturday night out. He assumed the job was probably just a weekend gig for her.
That’s why his fingers were crossed that today was one of the lucky ones. And for some reason, it felt like it might be.
In the quiet space between his heartbeats, as he reached the door and looked inside in anticipation, he saw her.
Millie.
His heart stalled for a beat—then surged twice as fast. She was there, setting up the weights and equipment for the class. He had just a moment to admire her from afar before she looked up and caught him. Their eyes met. She smiled—warm and inviting.
He smiled back, a little sheepishly, then looked away, reminding himself to play it cool. Over the past year, he’d done his best not to flirt obviously or come across like he was hitting on her. He didn’t want to be that guy. Guys like that were creepy—especially in a gym or exercise setting. And this was her workplace, after all, which made it feel like the wrong place to try and get to know her properly.
Besides, Millie had a boyfriend. A long-term one. Leo had seen him drop by the studio a few times—attractive, sure, but bland. He’d stay just long enough to steal a kiss or wrap her in a big bear hug. Those moments bothered Leo more than he liked to admit.
He’d been impatiently waiting for her relationship to end, doing his best to respect that she was taken. Maybe, one day, he’d get his chance. In the meantime, he figured it would serve him well if she didn’t realise how interested in her he really was. He’d even asked about the availability of a couple of the other girls in class—just to throw her off the scent.
Because he was interested in her. In fact, he was just plain into her. No question.
She was a classic beauty. Olive-toned skin, dark brown curls gathered casually in a ponytail, with a few loose strands framing her symmetrical face. Full lips and bright, white, perfectly straight teeth completed the striking picture. He was a sucker for a good smile, and she had a great one. That, combined with the bottomless depth of her big brown eyes—the exact colour of dark chocolate—was enough to stop him, or any man, cold. And that was just her face.
Her body was another story entirely: fit, lean, strong—yet unmistakably feminine. Her usual active wear revealed much of her head-turning figure, but left just enough to stir Leo’s vivid imagination.
But it wasn’t just that she was gorgeous. He barely knew her, but from what he had seen, what he’d observed, he had a feeling. About her. About them. An instinct. Maybe he was delusional, as his friend Marie liked to say, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there could be something there between them. She was different.
Different from all the other girls he’d dated—or slept with—and there had been more than a few. Maybe it was because she was English. He had a weakness for the right kind of British accent—and hers was definitely the right kind. There was something magnetic about her, something that set her apart.
He knew they’d have fun together. He admired her bright, bubbly energy, but he sensed there was more beneath the surface—something deeper, waiting to be let out.
He took his usual spot in the room and dropped his towel to the floor, then sat down to stretch. He was five minutes early, and the class wasn’t busy as he’d hoped. As he rolled out his back, trying to loosen the stiffness in his spine, he noticed her moving in his direction—subtle, but unmistakable.
“Hey,” Millie said, coming up alongside him to set up an exercise station—her British accent music to his ears, as always. “I like that hat. Has it ever worked?”
“Not once,” he said, trying to compose himself and quickly come up with something witty. “I know, right?” He shook his head with exaggerated disbelief, then gave a shrug. “Tragic.”
That made her smile. He loved that smile—which, in turn, made him smile.
“I feel for you,” she said. “I hate to admit it, but I’ve never bought a guy flowers. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“Who doesn’t like flowers?”
“Most guys, I’d say.”
“I’m not most guys.”
He silently cringed at his response. It sounded a little too arrogant, so he added the cheekiest grin he could muster to try to soften the blow.
She rolled her eyes—but with amusement, not dismissal. “That’s what they all say.”
She walked off to continue setting up. The class was about to begin, and more people had trickled in while they chatted.
“Sunflowers,” he blurted out as she stepped away.
She turned, eyebrow raised, head tilted.
“In case you were wondering what to buy me.” His eyes danced with mischief, and he failed miserably at hiding a grin. “They’re my favourite flower.”
She shook her head in playful exasperation. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Leo was distracted for the entire class, replaying their interaction on a loop in his head. Had he been clever? Charming? Had he shown his hand—or was he nailing the hard-to-get routine?
It had been one of their longest conversations yet. Usually, she just said hello—sometimes stopped for a quick chat—but he’d never read too much into it. After all, it was her job to be friendly, to mingle with the members and make them feel welcome and comfortable.
But today felt different. She’d seemed especially warm. Extra interested, even.
Flirty? He dismissed the thought almost immediately. That was probably just wishful thinking.
Still, he stole glances whenever he could—quick, cautious looks across the room while she coached, each one timed for when he thought he could get away with it. He nearly got caught a few times, forced to snap his gaze back to whatever movement he was meant to be doing.
It was like she could sense it—like she knew when his eyes were on her.
By the end of the class, he was sweating more than usual—thanks to the sweltering heat of the day. Not wanting to spoil what he’d now decided was a very positive interaction, he chose not to his luck by lingering in hopes of another conversation.
He grabbed his towel, wiped the back of his neck, and walked to the exit. At the door, he paused—just long enough for one last look. She was already looking back at him.
Watching him? No—that felt too good to be true.
He gave a small wave and a sheepish grin, silently praying she was actually looking at him—and not just through him.
She raised her hand in farewell. Brief. But unmistakable.
He started the walk home, overthinking whether his wave had come off awkward. Still, the day was off to a great start—and it was only going to get better.
It was VFL Grand Final day—Australian rules football’s preeminent league—held on the last Saturday of September every year, and always one of his favourites. Carlton versus Hawthorn—a rematch of last year’s final. He smiled in anticipation, practically floating.
He lived for days like this. He was headed to the pub with a group of his best mates, and there was nothing better than a cold beer on a hot day.
Or six.
Despite the excitement of the day ahead, Leo couldn’t help wishing he could fast-forward time to the moment his eyes opened the following Saturday morning—the next chance to see the beautiful girl with the big brown eyes and curly brown hair. To drink in her intoxicating presence again. To feel that surge of anticipation in his chest—the one he was starting to crave.
