“Wow! That’s incredible. What is it?”

  Lily’s face creased in a wide smile. “Ghost mushrooms! I saw this crop this afternoon but I wasn’t sure if they were ghost or not. In daylight they look a lot like oyster mushrooms, but at night they do this. Lucky I didn’t pick them for the risotto.”

  A wave of nausea hit CC at the thought of eating poisonous mushrooms. “I’m glad you checked.”

  “I know my way around shrooms. Even if I’d used them, these babies won’t kill you, just give you some solid cramps and make you chuck. Handy for cheating lovers and annoying brothers.”

  CC laughed. “Remind me never to cross you.”

  Lily pushed to her feet, grinning. “You’re safe. Come on, I could murder a drink.”

  The Kooramook pub had been built in 1925 as a shack for intrepid recreational fishermen prepared to make the journey in unsprung vehicles along rough and corrugated roads. Over the years it had been expanded and renovated many times, but it still occupied its original location, nestled between dense bush of stringybarks, messmates, prickly moses and blackwoods, and overlooking a golden beach and thousands of kilometres of blue-grey Southern Ocean. In today’s world there was no way building permission would be granted so close to the dunes, but the title was grandfathered, which was likely the reason the pub was still operating when other businesses in Kooramook frequently failed. An enormous deck dotted with umbrellas and picnic tables crossed the front of the old weatherboard building, maximising the view, and a huge glass wall connected the deck to the original pub and an open fire—a real drawcard in winter. During the summer months the pub catered for the PFMs, but it still retained its country roots, serving the locals who were the backbone of the business. Any talk of removing “Roast of the Day with Five Veg” from the menu or banishing the Friday-night meat raffle risked riots. Although a few of the younger blokes in the district now drank the craft beer brewed onsite.

  Fifty metres from the entrance CC and Lily were greeted by the bass beat of the pub band playing a banger from the nineties. They pushed open the old door with its gold lettering of Dining Room stencilled across the glass, and music and yelled conversations blasted around them. CC longed for the peace of the shack.

  “I’ll find a table, you get the drinks,” Lily instructed.

  CC didn’t argue—she was earning decent money and lacked a social life to spend it. The bar wasn’t too crowded and she was served quickly. The young bartender recommended the tropical punch beer. Without really thinking CC agreed, then immediately spied a bottle of her favourite pinot gris and was flooded with buyer’s remorse. She carried the condensing cans of boutique beer away from the bar and glanced around, looking for Lily.

  A few people writhed on the pocket-square dance floor, urging the fifty-year-old guitarist to attempt a knee slide. CC was instantly reminded that there was always something awkward about being sober in a crowd of well-lubricated people. Unlike them, she could only see the slide in terms of ligament tears and a fractured patella.

  A group of men were gathered in a corner and CC recognised the bloke in the middle from the Kooramook Facebook page—Jacko Sampson, AFL star. He and his wife were as close to celebrities as the village got. No wonder the pub was heaving.

  “CC!” Lily was waving from a bar stool positioned next to an enormous barrel that doubled as a table. Her eyes lit up when she saw the brightly decorated pink, orange, blue and green can of beer. “Good for you!”

  CC had no idea what she was talking about. “Good for me how exactly?”

  “For breaking away from wine and embracing the drink of the common man.”

  CC took a slug of the beer and almost gagged on the sweetness. “Do you see any blokes here drinking girly beer like this?”

  But Lily’s expression stayed serious. “You know what I mean.”

  CC really didn’t, but like many things with Lily she’d learned not to dig too deep lest Lily tell her she was too Italian, too career-driven and far too serious in working for the man. They’d shared that conversation too many times before and CC didn’t want things to head there or into big pharma territory. Although, if Lily was now taking Ritalin, CC wondered how she would justify it, but she really didn’t want to find out. She was planning to turn the conversation back to Lily—always a safer option—when her cousin’s gaze drifted and she tensed.

  CC turned to see who Lily was looking at, but in the crowd it was difficult to tell. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  Lily blinked like someone whose hypnotic trance had just been broken. “Absolutely. It’s so great that you’re now officially part of the shack. You can come down whenever you want.”

  The low buzz of excitement that had been part of CC for twenty-four hours fizzed again. “I know! And the timing couldn’t be better. I’m doing a rotation in Portland soon and I was thinking it might be more fun to stay at the shack than the house the hospital provides.”

  Lily’s brow wrinkled slightly. “You sure? The shack’s an igloo in winter.”

  “By all reports, so’s the Portland house.”

  “But it’s closer to the hospital. You need to be careful.”

  CC was struck by the oddness of Lily being cautious. “Did something happen when you were living here last winter?”

  Lily shuddered and took a long draught of her beer. “Black ice and fog. The guardrail was the only thing that stopped me going over the side.”

  “Oh God. That sounds scary.”

  Lily nodded, then instantly brightened. “Show me the photos you took today.”

  CC opened her phone and handed it to Lily, who swiped over the images murmuring her appreciation of them, before sending the best of the family shots to her own phone.

  “Now, let’s find you a man,” she said.

  “No, thank you,” CC said firmly.

  Lily raised her brows. “Woman then?”

  CC shook her head. “This weekend’s all about us and I want to catch up with you. Besides, right now I’m not looking.”

  Lily was still holding CC’s phone and she swiped back to the home page. Damn it! CC knew by her cousin’s grin that she’d spied the dating apps.

  “And she lies and lies. Now let’s see …” Lily’s fingers flew across the screen.

  “Lily!” CC thrust out her hand, demanding the return of her phone. “I do not want to meet anyone tonight.”

  But despite the terse tone, Lily ignored her. The phone pinged with a familiar notification.

  “Seriously, Lily. The phone. Now!”

  Lily handed back the device, saying, “You’re welcome,” then walked away as a bloke approached.

  CC wanted to slide under the table. Hell, she wanted the ocean to throw up a tsunami and drag her away—anything to get her out of this excruciating situation. Then she recognised the bartender who’d served her, and relief kept her in her seat. This wasn’t a match—he was a decade younger than her. He was only here to clear away glasses.

  “Hey.” He slid onto the vacant stool.

  “Ah …hi?” Confused, CC pushed her empty beer can towards him.

  His lips parted in a smile and he leaned forward. “I’m on a break. Fancy a walk on the beach?”

  She was instantly thrown back to when she was sixteen and an invitation to walk along the beach was code for making out in the dunes. She tried hard not to sigh. “You do know I’m at least ten years older than you, right?”

  He shrugged and this time his smile resembled a leer. “Yeah, but you’re hot.”

  It was a long time since anyone had told CC she was hot, but she wasn’t a teen anymore and the statement no longer resembled a compliment.

  She peered at his name badge. “Thanks, Jesse, but I don’t think so.”

  His bottom lip curled. “Then why did you swipe right?”

  She rolled her hands palms up, hoping for understanding. “I didn’t. It was my cousin—she got to my phone. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

  He gave her an assessing look and CC saw the moment he decided she wasn’t worth the effort. Pulling out his phone, he walked away. CC assumed he was searching for someone else to invite to the dunes.

  She needed another drink, but as the band was also on a break the bar was two deep and she didn’t want to leave the barrel table and risk losing it. She texted Lily: Come back!

  While she waited she used the time to read a medical journal article from her never-ending “must read” list. She was deep in the research about the link between autism and antenatal nutrition when she heard someone say, “CC?”

  She looked up in surprise and came face to face with the keyboard player and lead singer from the band. He was holding a glass of white wine in one hand and a beer stubbie in the other. Perhaps it was her who-the-heck-are-you expression or her lack of acknowledgement that she was CC, but as he placed the glass of wine in front of her, he added, “It’s from Lily.”

  When she stayed silent he pointed his stubbie towards the deck. “She’s the tall woman over there.”

  Lily waved. CC groaned, and the bloke looked a little taken aback.

  “Lily’s my third cousin,” CC said by way of explanation.

  Confusion crossed his features, scrunching his ski-jump nose. “So you know her?”

  “I do. Ten minutes ago she was sitting here.” CC indicated the seat he was standing behind.

  “Okay …” He glanced towards Lily, then back at CC. “Third cousin. That’s pretty far removed, right? So you’re dating and this is a romantic gesture?”

  “No, we are not dating.”

  He flinched at her tone and rubbed his jaw. “She wants to date you?”

  CC sighed. “Lily’s on a mission to set me up with someone tonight. When I rejected the bartender, you must have been her next victim. Sorry.”

  He pushed back a flop of dark blond hair. “So you’re not gay?”

  “Nope. Or bi. I’m also not looking.”

  In her peripheral vision CC saw Lily giving her two thumbs up. Lily had even less of an idea than she did about who was perfect for her, and a musician who looked like a surfer was not it. Still, an idea bloomed.

  “If you’ve got time before your next set, I’d appreciate it if you sat down and drank your beer,” she said. “That way Lily might just back off and leave me in peace for the rest of the night.”

  He laughed and CC caught a glimpse of straight white teeth. Then he stuck out his hand. “I’m Tom. Tom Greely. What’s CC short for?”

  “Cecilia, but I’m only called that when I’ve seriously ticked off my mother.” She shook Tom’s hand, matching the firmness of his grip, then raised her glass and took a sip, savouring the fresh and fruity flavours. At least Lily had bought one of her favourite wines. “So, Tom Greely, is life in the band all sex, drugs and rock’n’roll?”

  He tilted his head to the side and again his hair flopped forward. He pushed it back. “It’s more like free beer, limiting “Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again” to once a set and taking Beroccas the next morning.” His grin revealed a dimple in each cheek. “My mother’s horrified. She paid a shirt-load of money for me to learn classical piano.”

  CC laughed. “So there’s a day job?”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s where the drugs come in.”

  Was this bloke seriously telling her he was a drug dealer? She took in his tanned face, longish sun-streaked hair and golden stubble—classic look of a bloke who spent a lot of time at the beach. Despite the professional surfing community being anti-drugs, she knew recreational drug use on the coast continued to be higher than the state average.

  He gave her a “gotcha” smile. “No need to panic, CC. I’m a pharmacist at the Portland hospital.”

  Her cheeks fried with embarrassment and she gulped her wine. “You got me good.”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t resist. By the way, don’t ever play poker.”

  “Actually, I’m pretty good at poker because I know I’m in the game,” she said, recovering her equilibrium.

  He ducked his head as if dodging the lob and sipped his beer. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not being set up by Lily?”

  “I’m about to start my training in rural and remote medicine, but I’m struggling with what to specialise in. Right now I’m tossing up between obstetrics and emergency.”

  Genuine interest crossed his face. “I can see some crossover there. Both come with an adrenaline rush.”

  She couldn’t believe he got it. “Right? I love both, but at some point I need to make a decision.”

  “Where are you working?”

  “I’m currently doing an obstetrics rotation in Geelong, but I’m coming to Portland soon.”

  “You move around a lot?”

  She shrugged. “At the moment anyway. My friends are scattered all over pursuing their specialisations. Thank God some are getting married because weddings are our only chance to catch up IRL.”

  He smiled. “Well, you now know one person in Portland.”

  “I guess I do.”

  “Tom! Move your ass,” the guitarist yelled.

  “No rest for the lead singer.” He drained his beer and stood. “Thanks for the chat, and this time “Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again” is for you.”

  She laughed. “Smooth.”

  He grinned. “Always. See you round, CC.”

  She watched him lope to the keyboard, all long legs and easy grace—the complete opposite of the A-type personalities she dated. He positioned the harmonica rack and, to the hoots of the crowd, launched into the wailing prelude of Australian Crawl’s “The Boys Light Up”. Lighters appeared, flashing on each time “up” was sung. Given the weatherboard building, CC wondered why the pub’s owners hadn’t banned the song.

  Lily slid back onto the bar stool, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed and questions written all over her face. “So?”

  “So, don’t ever do that to me again,” CC said.

  Disappointment pulled at Lily’s mouth. “But Tom’s great.”

  Five minutes wasn’t long enough for CC to agree or disagree, but even if she had been hit by lightning the moment she’d laid eyes on Tom—and she hadn’t—she wouldn’t have told Lily given how she’d gone about setting her up.

  “You know him?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Lily said easily. “I know everyone. I lived here, remember?”

  “Did you date him?” CC surprised herself by wanting more information.

  Lily laughed. “He’s a bit young for me, but perfect for you to have some fun with.”

  Memories of past dating disasters sank CC’s stomach. “Meaning he’s a commitment-phobe like most of the blokes I date?”

  Lily made a tutting sound. “Sounds like your chakras are out of balance. Lucky I always travel with my crystals—tomorrow morning at dawn we’ll meditate on the beach.”

  “Meditate?” CC had never known Lily to sit still long enough to meditate, but there was no judgement because she struggled to do it herself. Whenever she tried, her mind immediately launched itself into overdrive.

  “You know, CC, you really need to look beyond the paradigm of illness⁠—”

  A woman’s voice cut across Lily’s. “I told you to go. Why are you still here?”

  “Same as you,” Lily ground out. “Enjoying a drink.”

  Lily’s usually soft eyes sparked like flint and antagonism circled her. The controlled anger was at odds with a woman who was at ease with chaos in ways CC never was, and she turned to see who’d set it in motion. She came face to face with a woman in her mid-forties, her mouth bracketed by deep lines that were now set hard. Although she was dressed in similar clothes to Lily, the woman carried more weight so the overall effect lacked the style Lily so effortlessly conveyed.

  “Can I help you?” CC asked.

  The woman ignored her, keeping her gaze fixed on Lily. “We had an agreement.”

  Lily shrugged. “You made a statement. I didn’t agree.”

  “You signed a contract! This is our town, our pub. You don’t belong here.”

  Lily kept her gaze fixed on the woman and slowly sipped her beer.

  A contract? CC glanced between them, uncertain as to exactly what was going on, but unable to stop her rising anger at the unknown woman’s entitlement.

  “Last time I looked, no one owned Kooramook,” she said. “And unless you’re management, you don’t reserve the right to anything to do with this pub.”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” the woman hissed.

  A man stepped in close and gave Lily a quick nod before placing his hand on the other woman’s back as if to turn her away. “Trina, the Morellis are waiting.”

  “I see you’ve still got your head stuck firmly in the sand, Chris,” Lily said, her tone conversational. “Sadly, it’s only a matter of time before she spits you out too.”

  “Be fair, Lily,” Chris said wearily. “Trina, let’s go.”

  “No! She’s the one who leaves!” Trina leaned forward, raising her arm. Chris caught it a second before it would have struck Lily.

  Lily leaned back, but she crossed her arms. “I’m your worst nightmare, Trina, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  Trina twisted away from Chris and lunged.

  Without thinking, CC pushed herself between the two women to stop a full-on brawl. Suddenly every nerve ending in her face exploded in pain, recording the sting of an open palm to her cheek. Her hands flew up to block any more blows but none came.

  As Chris hurried away a screeching Trina, CC heard the howl of the harmonica and realised the band was now playing Paul Kelly’s “Dumb Things”. Most people had joined in, belting out the chorus, but a few folk had noticed the kerfuffle and were looking on with expressions that ranged from open interest to judgement and disgust.

  CC, who never sought the limelight, gave in to her overwhelming desire to flee. “Let’s go home.”

  Instead, Lily pushed a cold can of beer onto CC’s face. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

  “I … um … I will be.” The cold soothed the burn, but CC was struck by how Lily was brushing off a violent act as if it was no big deal—as if she was familiar with it. She had a thousand questions, but none she wanted to ask Lily in the noise and crush of the pub, or where anyone else could overhear. She repeated her request to leave.