One More Shot At LOVE

Amelia POV

As the aircraft taxied approached the Melbourne terminal, the flight attendant urged passengers to "wait until the plane comes to a complete stop before leaving your seat."

With a sigh, Amelia sank back into her chair and closed her eyes briefly to get the energy to get up. She was tired after thirty-four hours, two layovers, and too many time zones to tally. She was lucky enough to have completed the customs process upon her arrival in Sydney. However, she needed to spend two more hours in the automobile before finally falling asleep peacefully.

If her mother let it, that is. Amelia probably wouldn't see her bed for at least six hours, given her knowledge of Julia Farraday. The only bright spot was that Julia could get sidetracked by Zoë, Amelia's sister, and the hurried wedding planning. Amelia intended to slip out when the bride's mother became distracted. Did moms who were even more of bridezillas than the brides have a term for them?

She had been intending to return home soon anyhow, but this was the reason she was coming home. Even though Amelia wasn't sure she was ready to cope with "home" just yet, her sister's wedding was a good reason to take the long-haul trip home.

The 'fasten seatbelt' indicator dinged off as the aircraft came to a complete halt. Amelia took her time getting to the front of the passengers, attempting to get off the aeroplane. Rather, she turned to face the tarmac outside the window. As airline baggage handlers and other support personnel worked tirelessly to unload the bags and prepare the jet for its return flight to Sydney, the summer heat glistened off the ground.

Amelia had dressed appropriately for the four degrees below zero she had experienced when she boarded the plane in Italy. The pilot helpfully informed them that the temperature in Melbourne was in the high thirties. A day and a half later—which, with the time difference, was three days, despite the entire flying time only being about twenty-two hours (not including layovers)—Amelia still couldn't get to make any sense in her head despite having been the one to make the trip. Before they left for home, maybe Zoë would allow her to change.

House. Was Hope Springs still where you lived? She was ignorant. Amelia had never once given thought to leaving the little rural village.

She believed it was where she would live and die, but at this point, she was ignorant.

As the people in the aisle began to disperse, Amelia waited until the plane was almost empty before standing up and retrieving her carry-on bags from the overhead bin. She exited the aircraft with the remaining survivors, grinning and thanking the flight attendants as she went, and made her way down the tunnel leading to the terminal.

She switched on her phone and waited for it to start while she was out and about. She let out a sigh when a message from her sister appeared on the screen.

Z: I'm a bit behind schedule. I'll text you an estimated time of arrival when your aircraft lands.

Amelia chose not to respond right away. Zoë and her fiancé, Blake, had already arrived, or they had not. If not, from baggage claim, she would text them.

Thank goodness the airport air conditioning was turned up, so Amelia didn't feel like taking off her boots, pants, and silk long-sleeve blouse immediately. The scarf and overcoat, which she had discarded upon boarding the aircraft, now weighed excessively on her arm. Perhaps she should get dressed in the ladies' room before getting her bags. Placing everything on the conveyor belt always took them a long time.

Amelia turned toward the restrooms rather than going straight to baggage claim, only to run straight into a wall of masculinity. She bounced off and was about to fall, but then a powerful arm caught her and pulled her back against that hard chest again.

Her breath stopped in her chest as she stepped back and gazed up at the stranger when she had her feet.

Nothing to say.

She had practised this speech a thousand times or more in anticipation of seeing him again, but there were no words. They were in an airport, she was jet tired, and she wasn't ready. This was not how it was intended to happen. She was expected to run into him in Hope Springs, looking amazing and not reeking of bad foreign travel odours.

Her eyes were listing him as she was having these frightened thoughts. He was different and yet the same. Even though nine months wasn't much, she could see he had changed based on the tightness in his jaw and the fatigue around his eyes. The carefree person she had fallen in love with had vanished, and someone tougher had taken his place.

There was a hint of scruff on his face, and she was quite familiar with how those sharp whiskers felt on her flesh. The depth of his tan would also make sense, given that his blonde hair appeared brighter, as though he had spent some time in the sun. Although she wouldn't describe him as little, he was slimmer. His broad shoulders and strong thighs gave him a brick-shithouse build, but he appeared more muscular today, with less flesh to soften the harsh contours.

Amelia assumed she seemed different as well. She hadn't shed any pounds—who in Europe, surrounded by butter, carbohydrates, and chocolate, can lose weight? However, she was aware of her more subtle changes. Even by her admission, she had grown up. Upon reflection on their five-year relationship, Amelia realised she bore a significant portion of the blame for the way things transpired. She had been so immature and insecure that she had thought he would fill in all of her gaps.

She was aware now that was not how relationships operated.

“Smith," she said, finally finding her voice and being able to speak. What did it matter if her eyes were gobbling him up like they were half-starved and her speech sounded breathy?

With a low, dark growl that made her blood boil, he said, “Amelia."

They stood uncomfortably, warily glancing at one another as they waited for the other to speak.

To the person who destroyed your heart, what in the world were you expected to say?

Holy fucking balls of crap.

Amelia.

Amelia is fucked.

She looked amazing, I swear.

Superior to excellent. Her appearance left hurt fucking eyes.

Her longer blonde hair curved over her shoulders in a way that itched for his fingers to get lost in the silky, honey-coloured strands. She smelled just as he remembered. Smith had heard that scents could elicit strong emotions, but damn, he was unprepared for the barrage of memories that hit him the moment he smelled her.

Her silky top was unbuttoned just enough for him to see the pale flesh beneath her throat, and the trousers she wore hugged her contours. He wanted to breathe her in and bury his nose in the bend of her neck. Then perhaps the hole in his heart would close itself.

“Smith," she whispered, evoking yet another wave of recollections. She remembered how, with her nails sinking into his exposed shoulders, she had gasped in terror as she called out his name.

He foolishly answered, “Amelia," since he was at a loss for words. Although he knew he might run into her in the town, he had not anticipated running into her at the airport.

His need to express himself was immense, and he remained silent about several things that finally led to their breakup. All those months ago, he had been a filthy coward and had allowed her to leave his life. He ought to have pursued her, but he chose not to, and as a result, she fled the nation, leaving him behind. He was left with little choice but to move on with his life.

He nearly let out a loud snort of distaste. He was hardly able to go on with his life. For the previous nine months, he'd been so engrossed in his work that he'd barely seen his family. He was finally home for real; his contract expired, and the idea was to start moving on with his life. Wasn't he over Amelia already? Nine months seemed like a long enough time for him to heal from his heartbreak and move on, but...

His hungry gaze went across her.

Yes, it was clear that he was still in love with her.

Amelia had changed, but he was unable to pinpoint the precise alteration. Her hair and the way she applied makeup. Not only did her looks change, but so did her wardrobe, though. It was in the way she carried herself, the way her shoulders were straight, and her chin tilted toward him rather than the earth. He thought it was good. Though he had always appreciated everything about Trina, even before they were a couple, he did like her newfound confidence. He was fascinated with his younger sister's closest friend for some time before eventually finding the bravery to take action.

Even though it was a more mature crush than the teenage wet dreams he'd experienced all those years before, he was still madly in love with her now that she was all grown up.

But because he had never truly stopped loving her, could it still be considered a crush?

Fuck, he was a mess, and they had been standing there gazing at one other longer than was appropriate, which made their awkward and uncomfortable silence.

She looked down at her phone as it beeped, snapping out of the strange bubble that had encased them and bringing him back to reality.

"It's good to see you, Amelia," he remarked as he lifted his duffel bag and turned to go.

He didn't glance back, even though he wanted to. Even though he didn't look around, he insisted he could feel her gaze on him as he continued to move. What was the purpose? Now, Amelia had another life entirely without his presence. She moved on, realising that he had lost his shot with her. Because he followed her on Instagram, he was aware. He was one of her six hundred thousand fans, yet he never liked or commented on anything.

Yes, six hundred thousand.

Amelia had discovered her style, and it was quite attractive to her. According to what he understood, her lifestyle blog was taking off, and had been funding her trips for the last nine months. He was incredibly proud of her and longed for her company. He had been deluding himself into believing he was past her. He wasn't, obviously, and he wasn't sure if he ever would be.

With a short pause to settle his long-term parking charge, Smith strolled through the airport and into the parking garage. As much as he wanted to turn back and catch another look at her, he forced himself not to give in.

After placing his duffel bag on the truck's tray, he entered the driver's seat. He didn't let himself take a deep breath until the engine grew beneath him, and he was leaving the airport.

Amelia was home, and he knew why. On the weekend of Valentine's Day, Zoë got married. Not only was he invited to the auspicious occasion. He hadn't fully considered everything when he accepted the offer. Though he felt Amelia would be there, he had no idea how surreal it would be to see her again. He was unaware that seeing her again would cause his heart's barely healed scar to burst, leaving him bleeding profusely.

Smith violently hit the steering wheel with his hand. He wasn't prepared to handle this, and he wasn't sure when he would be. Could he be too hurried to extend his agreement with the mines? He shook his head in disagreement. If he decided to go back to the Pilbara, Mia, his baby sister, would murder him. He was here to stay in Hope Springs, but was Amelia? If that's the case, what did that signify for the pair?