Chapter 32: Home

The plane touched down at Tullamarine with a soft, controlled thump, as though even the landing had been negotiated rather than imposed. Melbourne light filtered through the cabin windows immediately, flatter and more subdued than Las Vegas, stripping the world of spectacle. Purdey felt it settle on her shoulders as they taxied toward the gate, the city asserting itself without ceremony.

The calm didn’t last.

Customs stretched into an ordeal. Lines folded back on themselves in the overheated terminal, bodies packed too close, tempers thinning with each shuffle forward. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, unforgiving and bright. Purdey’s blouse clung to her back, the fabric damp and irritating. Her hair refused to cooperate, plastering itself to her temples in defiance of every attempt at order.

She didn’t speak much. Neither did Zach. They moved together out of habit rather than intention, documents presented, bags collected, questions answered in clipped, automatic phrases. Two hours passed like that, the kind of time that left residue rather than memory.

All she wanted was home.

The idea of the house formed in her mind with architectural clarity. Clean lines. Open space. Cool air. A shower that didn’t require negotiation. She imagined herself stepping inside and letting the day fall away layer by layer. The girls wouldn’t be back until Sunday. Ian would drop them off late afternoon, backpacks and noise and competing demands arriving all at once.

The silence before that would be hers.

The thought brought relief. And something else, less defined. She didn’t linger on it.

The taxi ride south unfolded quietly. Freeways gave way to suburban streets, concrete softened into coastal scrub. The air changed as they moved further from the city, carrying salt and damp earth instead of exhaust and heat. Melbourne always announced itself this way, gradually, without insisting on attention.

Aspendale arrived without fanfare.

The house stood waiting, lights off, its darkened windows reflecting the fading sky. The garden showed signs of neglect, flowers bowed along the sandy path, leaves curling inward. She noticed immediately. Architecture trained you to see absence as clearly as presence.

“Ian’s got the girls until Sunday,” she said as she unlocked the door. “So ... we have the place to ourselves.”

The words came out neutral. Informational. She didn’t examine why she’d said them.

Zach stepped inside and let out a low whistle, the sound instinctive rather than performative. “You designed this?”

“Every inch.”

He moved slowly through the space, not wandering, not invading. Fingers brushed concrete countertops, eyes tracked the way light played across the timber-clad walls. He paused at the junction where the kitchen opened into the living area, taking in how the space unfolded rather than declared itself.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Clean lines, but it doesn’t feel cold.”

She watched him notice things most people overlooked. Recessed lighting. Sightlines. The way the ceiling lifted just enough to create air without grandeur.

“Architecture fascinates me,” he added, glancing back at her. “Creating spaces where people actually live. It’s intimate in a different way.”

“Different from Vegas?” she asked, smiling despite herself.

“Very.”

Something in her shoulders loosened then, a release she hadn’t realised she was holding.

They didn’t rush.

Shoes were abandoned by the door, bags dropped where they stood. The house seemed to recognise movement again, responding to sound and warmth the way it always did after absence. Purdey moved through the space automatically, switching on lights, opening windows, letting the air circulate.

The domestic motions grounded her.

She filled the kettle. Zach rinsed two mugs without being asked. They moved around each other with an ease that didn’t require commentary. No declarations. No tension. Just shared space reasserting itself.

What followed wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be.

His kiss was hungry after hours of restraint on the plane. His hands found her waist, lifting her onto the cool concrete surface. Papers scattered – bills, school notices for Olivia and Lila – but neither paid attention.

I want to try everything with you,” he murmured against her throat, his breath warm and tingling against her skin.

“There are so many possibilities.” The kitchen light cast a soft glow across his face, highlighting the hunger in his eyes.

“I’m counting on it.” Her voice trembled with anticipation.

They started in the kitchen, Purdey’s skirt pushed up around her waist as Zach knelt before her on the cool tile floor. His mouth was relentless, his tongue circling and pressing in rhythms that made her grip the edge of the marble counter until her knuckles whitened. The faint scent of lemon cleaner mingled with the heady aroma of their desire.

The living room followed – Zach on his back on her expensive wool rug as she straddled his face, her hands braced against the textured wall. She gasped as his tongue explored her most intimate places, places no one had touched in years. The soft lamplight cast elongated shadows across their bodies as evening deepened outside the large windows.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire, echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged room.

She complied, repositioning herself so they could pleasure each other simultaneously. His mouth found her again as she took him between her lips, both of them moaning against each other’s bodies. The taste of him was salt and musk, intoxicating.

In her home office, he bent her over her drafting table, entering her from behind. Her architectural plans crumpled beneath her palms, the paper crinkling loudly in the otherwise quiet room. The irony wasn’t lost on her – her professional life literally crushed under the weight of her new passion. The desk lamp cast a harsh spotlight on their joined bodies, illuminating beads of sweat on his chest.

“I want to try something,” he whispered, his finger circling the tight ring of muscle above where they joined. His touch was feather-light but electric.

She tensed momentarily, then relaxed. “There’s lubricant in the bathroom.” The hardwood floor creaked beneath his footsteps as he walked away.

When he returned, he worked her open slowly, carefully, one finger first, then two. The sensation was strange – intrusive yet exciting. The cool gel warmed against her skin. When he finally pressed himself against her, she braced herself, expecting pain.

Instead, the slow stretch as he entered her most forbidden place brought an unexpected pleasure that bordered on transcendent. Each careful movement sent dual waves of sensation through her body. The scent of their lovemaking filled the room, primal and heady.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice strained with effort to maintain control, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.” Her voice barely audible over the sound of their bodies moving together.

“Your bedroom,” he panted after they’d finished, their skin cooling in the air conditioning. “Where is it?”

She led him down the hallway, past doors closed on her daughters’ rooms. The plush carpet muffled their footsteps. Her own sanctuary lay at the end – minimalist, serene, with windows overlooking her private courtyard garden where moonlight filtered through swaying branches.

Zach pulled her onto the bed they’d yet to christen, both of them sticky and exhausted but still wanting. The crisp cotton sheets rustled beneath them. Their movements were slower now, more tender. He kissed every inch of her body, lingering over scars and stretch marks, the physical story of her forty-five years. His lips felt like velvet against her sensitive skin.