Rushcutters Bay Park was nestled between Pott's Point and Darling Point, only a three minute walk from Aurelia's apartment. Taking up an attractive spot by the water, its walking paths and open lawns reminded her a little of Primrose Hill, if Primrose Hill was flat, had a view of water, and was twenty two degrees in April.
As she approached the bench, Aurelia couldn't help but be drawn to the residential vibe of the place. A dog was losing its mind at a tennis ball across the grass, and people jogged past in fluorescent exercise gear. Further away, a group of teenagers, undoubtedly the kids of Sydney's elite judging by the Kambala School uniforms they wore, were giggling at something on a phone.
She'd promised herself that she wouldn't arrive first. She'd spent quite a lot of time keeping herself busy so that she'd actually be a little late; lingering for a while after filming had finished, chatting to the doorman outside her building before she left. Waiting made her nervous, like something was going to happen, catch her out, even.
Despite her great efforts, she was five minutes early.
She'd picked a spot that looked unassuming, a bench underneath a group of London Plane trees, the view of the harbour broken by the canopy. Nothing dramatic; just grass and shade and ordinary people who weren't looking for anything.
After two minutes, she realised her left knee was bouncing up and down and crossed it quickly over the other leg. Two minutes after that, she'd started bouncing the other leg as well.
Then she saw him.
She actually saw his t-shirt first. It had an image taken from the Bayeux Tapestry, with the words "I'm too Saxon for my shirt" underneath in bold writing. She had to bite her tongue to not laugh out loud.
She could tell he was trying to be casual, but when he spotted her the involuntary expression that flashed across his face betrayed him immediately; relief, something that could have been fear, and then a softening around his eyes that made her blush. As he approached, she stood, and they hovered nervously, caught for half a second in the ridiculous question of how they should greet each other. The kiss couldn't be repeated. A handshake was absurd.
"Hi?" Teo broke the silence first, almost tentatively like her was asking a question.
"Hi." She heard how she sounded and regretted it immediately. She sounded so controlled, like she was greeting a colleague.
He gave a short laugh, that wasn't all humour,
"This is weirder than I thought."
"Yes," She said, grateful for his honesty, "It's so weird."
There was another hesitation, and then Teo made the decision for both of them, stepping forward and offering a quick, gentle hug, his arms around her for just long enough to acknowledge that this was real, and that whatever had happened before didn't need to be repeated at full volume to still matter. When he let go, they stood a fraction closer together than they did before.
"This is definitely neutral," He said, his eyes scanning the view of one of the most expensive suburbs in Australia, "You picked well."
She gestured for him to sit down with her,
"I went for somewhere quieter, in case we ended up recreating the barrier scene again."
Somebody laughed behind them, and they both spun round, but it was just the schoolgirls packing up their things and preparing to leave. Breathing out slowly, Teo rested his forearms on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. It looked to Aurelia like he was rehearsing lines in his head, and they were all failing before they reached his mouth. She realised, quite suddenly, that this was the first time she'd seen him nervous without using humour to mask it.
"So…" He said eventually, through a shaky laugh, "We should probably talk about… whatever the hell that was, back in the Gardens."
"That seems sensible."
There was a beat. Neither of them said kiss. Neither of them said running into each other like idiots in front of half of Sydney.
"I keep trying to categorise it historically," Teo glanced sideways at her, "You know, like – moment of heightened emotion, dramatic reunion, poor decision-making under pressure, that sort of thing."
She nodded,
"And?"
"And," He said cautiously, "I don't think that's exactly what it was," His words landed somewhere deep in her chest, "It wasn't nothing."
"No," She agreed, tucking one leg beneath her, "It wasn't."
The honesty sat between them like a third person in the conversation – not heavy, but undeniably real. She turned slightly towards him, choosing her next words carefully,
"I think we need to acknowledge that what happened the other day wasn't reality."
He nodded immediately, relief flickering across his face,
"Exactly."
"I think it was a mix of a few things," She continued, "A lot of shock. Even more history… and a fair bit of adrenaline as well." She made a vague gesture towards him, "Plus a lot of unfinished business."
"I was possibly a bit toey as well," He added, and she laughed, properly this time, the tension between them loosening further,
"I don't even want to know what that means. But-" She met his gaze, her voice softening, "- none of that means it wasn't honest."
She could feel him studying her face,
"That's the problem," He said, "It felt too honest for two people who barely know each other."
That was it. The crux of the issue. He went on;
"We don't know each other. Not really. Just versions."
She nodded. London versions, interview versions, imagination versions. Fantasy versions, ones she knew she could never tell anybody, because she hadn't supposed to have been thinking about them.
He looked a bit embarrassed now,
"I think I built you up a bit," He admitted, "Not just after we met, before even. I can't pretend I didn't know you existed, I mean… you're you. Jesus, that's so mortifying to say out loud."
She was almost overcome with relief when he said, and shook her head eagerly,
"No, I promise you it isn't. I did the same." When he looked at her, surprised, and even a little sceptical, she added, "I knew about you before London. I watched your videos and… well, I think most of the UK knows about the ideas I had about you in my head."
"My thighs." He teased.
It took everything in her entire soul not to look at them. It failed.
"Something like that."
He smiled faintly, but his expression turned serious again,
"So. If we're going to do…" He searched for the right word and failed, "…anything; I don't want it to be with the ideas we've built in our heads."
"No. We need to get to know the real versions," She said, and there was a strange, unexpected relief at hearing herself say it.
They sat with the decision for a moment, the silence more comfortable. A ferry horn sounded across the harbour, and the traffic from New South Head Road seemed to echo it.
Teo shifted next to her, bracing himself,
"Okay. Practical question time."
She already knew what it would be.
"How long are you actually going to be here?" It wasn't an accusation, just caution.
"Contractually, I'm here for a year," She said, "But the project is pushing hard for a second season, so… maybe more?"
He absorbed what she was saying,
"And after that?"
She hesitated,
"I don't know." The honesty felt frightening, but ultimately necessary, "I've only just arrived, and I don't know what Sydney means yet, or what work looks like after Dreamtime Protocol is done. I don't know where I'll want to be."
He was watching her carefully, and she could see him working hard not to attach hope to something she hadn't offered,
"That's fair. I don't want to be something that pulls you off course, though."
She knew he hadn't meant it unkindly, quite the opposite in fact, but it was the same thing they all said, over and over again. It frustrated her that people always felt that this wasn't her decision to make, or that she couldn't make it for herself.
"I'm not fragile," She tried to keep the edge out of her voice, "But I appreciate the sentiment. My career isn't something that's going to collapse because I go on a few dates."
"Noted."
They lapsed into silence again, the quiet hanging between them, heavy with unsaid thoughts and the weight of decisions yet to be made. There was a sudden glow as the streetlights came on, the dusk creeping up on them slowly from the west.
"If we take this any further," She spoke plainly, "There needs to be expectations. No promises we can't keep."
"Yes. Maybe let's not plan futures we haven't earned yet, either."
"And honesty," She added, "Even when its uncomfortable."
"Especially then."
She opened her mouth – and stopped. Something had risen instinctively to the surface, a truth she held very close, a confession, even. She almost said it, it was on the very tip of her tongue, but then her past pressed painfully against her ribs, like a dark animal trying to break out.
She wasn't ready, not yet.
If Teo noticed the hesitation, he didn't push her. Instead, he was gentle.
"Shall we start again? No mythology, no crazy online stuff, just… two people?"
She smiled,
"Just two people."
Their hands were resting on the bench between them, inches apart. Neither moved at first, but then his fingers shifted slightly, not reaching, just existing closer to hers. She let her hand drift the remaining distance, and their fingers touched. It felt deliberate in a way the kiss at the gardens never did. Slow. Chosen. Real. The conversation had taken something out of both of them, not to the point of exhaustion, but the strange calm that followed it. Around them, life continued, unconcerned with the gravitas of their moment.
Aurelia realised she felt steadier. It wasn't something stupid or overly romantic; she wasn't swept away or overwhelmed. She felt present.
Their hands were still joined like they'd barely even noticed they were doing so. Teo's thumb was tracing absent-minded circles against her knuckles, the gesture unconscious enough to feel genuine.
"Well!" He said suddenly, voice bright, "I think we dismantled the Grand Romantic Narrative very well, don't you?"
Her laugh was truly genuine, escaping out of her before she could stop it
"Very mature of us."
"Deeply responsible."
A breeze came in off the harbour and lifted her hair across her face. Without thinking, he reached over and tucked it gently behind her ear – and then froze halfway through the motion, suddenly aware of himself.
"Sorry," He said quickly. She shook her head,
"Don't be."
He cleared his throat,
"I do have one concern."
"Oh?"
"If we're starting again from zero, I need to know something really important." He was staring at her intently, his mouth pulled into a hard line, more serious than he'd been since he sat down, "I need to know," He said firmly, "How you feel about coriander."
Aurelia's shoulders sagged in relief,
"Oh you dickhead. Don't scare me like that."
"I'm deadly serious," But his mouth was twitching, and his eyes dancing wickedly, "This is the ultimate determination of compatibility. There are historical precedents."
She made sure she was staring him fully in the eyes when she said it;
"I hate coriander."
He dropped her hand like it was made of something disgusting, probably coriander,
"Oh, we're probably fucked then. No point trying."
Aurelia folded her arms, raising an eyebrow and turned away from him in mock fury;
"Well, you're probably a weirdo anyway to like that vile stuff," She teased, her lips curling into a smirk. He shot back,
"Says the Pom. Isn't salt and pepper pushing the boat out to you guys?"
They exchanged playful glares, the tension melting into laughter, and then, with a reluctant sigh, he reached across and took her hand again, squeezing it gently as if neither could quite let go of the moment.
"I hope you didn't mind the video," He said, "It's the first time I've experienced anything like that online and… I didn't like them being weird about us. About you. I figured that if I talked about it sideways, it might take some of the edge off." He sounded almost embarrassed by the admission. She squeezed his fingers,
"I think I get that."
His ears turned slightly pink. Then he glanced down at his watch and grimaced,
"I promised my mates I'd do drinks," He said apologetically, tactfully excluding the part where he explained the drinks were in order to make up for the ones he missed when he'd been kissing her, "I'd better go."
"Same," She got to her feet, "I'm due on set at four tomorrow morning. On a sound stage this time, not in the harbour."
They found themselves in the same position as when they started; hesitating over how to say goodbye. Walking away without touching felt wrong. A handshake still felt absurd. A hug didn't quite cut it.
This time, it was her turn to solve it. She reached out, hand on his arm, and kissed him gently on the mouth, fitting easily against him for a brief second. No cameras this time, no running, nobody to see.
Just two people choosing to try.
When the kiss ended, neither moved immediately.
"Just to make it clear," He murmured, "This means we're…?"
"We're seeing where this goes."
His smile was genuine, and a little disbelieving,
"I like it."
They started walking in opposite directions, then both turned back at the same time, laughing softly at themselves.
"Text me when you get home?"
She nodded,
"I will."
She watched him walk away for a moment, and for the first time since coming to Sydney, the future didn't feel like a decision she had to survive. It felt like something she might be able to discover.
Her phone buzzed before she'd even reached the end of the path.
Important follow-up question:
If coriander isn't acceptable, how do you feel about extremely competitive board games and Greek food?
This Saturday, maybe?
The answer was easy.