"You know the only reason pot isn't legal in Australia is because the government hasn't figured out a way to tax it yet."

"That's such a load, Kimble! Pot is illegal because it's a narcotic."

"So are tobacco and alcohol. But the government earns millions from the sales of grog and ciggies, so they'll never outlaw them, even though they're seriously bad for you."

"Are you saying we should ban everything unhealthy? What about fried food? Soft drinks?"

"Maybe we should. There's a health crisis in this country right now, it couldn't hurt."

"Kimble, you're an idiot." Meg dismissed him with a flick from her wrist, but Sparrow knew the truth; Meg loved bantering with the Kiwi, who was her opposite in almost every way. The severe brunette turned narrowed eyes on their lunch guest. "You, what do you think?"

Thomas had been eating quietly at the outdoor table, following the conversation but not engaging. Sparrow could see he was clearly out of his comfort zone among the eclectic group, but he hadn't run shrieking yet. Clearing his throat, he said, "Um... I think this avocado might be the best I've ever tasted."

Sparrow smiled at his sly compliment, but Meg wasn't about to be thrown off topic. "Oh my God, typical white male response to a problem too big for him to fix; look the other way!"

"Shh, girly. You hurt my ears." Mrs Hently from next door elbowed Meg in the ribs, reaching for another slice of smoked salmon and a chunk of cheese. Sparrow invited the elderly lady to eat with the Haven crew whenever she felt like it, and she took them up on the offer a couple of times a week, gracing their table with her candid demeanour. "Eat your lunch and change your tampon; you'll feel better."

Meg swelled up like an over-ripe tomato while Kimble laughed, hyena-style.

"What's a tampon?" asked Will, our ten year old neighbour who was sitting beside Sparrow.

His question caused more laughter from around the table, even from Shen, their Chinese housemate who lived in the back bedroom and spoke about ten words of English.

Sparrow hugged Will around his shoulders. "Oh, sweetie. That's a question for your dad when he gets home from work later, okay?"

"Cool." Will hung out around Haven most weekends; it was just him and his dad, who worked at the sporadic casual hours at the local bottle shop. Will was a great kid and easy to mind – most of the time, he helped more around the house than the people who actually lived there. "Hey, is that the new iPhone?"

He pointed across the table to where Thomas' device lay. The guest spoke. "Yeah, I just picked it up on my way here on Friday."

"So cool..." As with most young boys, Will was easily impressed by anything tech. "Can I have a look sometime?"

"Sure!" Sparrow was surprised by Thomas' easy permission, imagining him sleeping beside his precious phone, attached permanently to it like a new-born. "Hey, I can do you one better. I've got my old phone with me at the hotel - do you want it?"

Will's eyeballs almost exploded. "Seriously? You're serious?"

"If it's okay with your dad. Ask him and let me know, okay?"

"Yes! Crap-balls, yes!"

"Will! Language," Sparrow admonished as the delighted kid shot out of his seat and proudly shook Thomas' hand.

In the grand scheme of Thomas' wealth, she imagined that an old phone meant very little to him; the fact that he knew how much it meant to Will was endearing. Sparrow touched Thomas gently on the leg and allowed her hair to fall forward like a shield to hide her words. "Thank you," she whispered.

He blushed and murmured back, "No problem."

"Hey, I meant to tell you guys," Meg said, apparently recovered from her earlier mortification, "Jacinta sent me an email – she's back in town in a week and she wants to know if she can crash here again."

"Dude, why do you even ask?" Kimble rolled his eyes languidly. "Everybody is always welcome here."

It was true; Haven policy, which was basically just Sparrow's loose framework of culture, meant that they would never turn anyone away. They were a collective, a shifting family, and the door was never locked.

Still, Sparrow paused, and Meg caught it. "Problem, Sparrow?"

Thomas leaned into the conversation. "Who's Jacinta?"

Certainly, she hadn't been Sparrow's favourite housemate. The lithe blonde was a bewitching siren, who seemed to have a different man, or woman, in her bed almost every night. Sparrow wasn't against casual sex, but she did have an issue with the way Jacinta seemed to target her lovers. With a calculating cunning, she'd sleep simultaneously with brothers, best friends, co-workers, and then sit back and watch the fall out as the other two parties discovered they were bedding the same girl.

Sparrow searched for an easy explanation for Thomas. "She's a unique creature, who believes in free love and forgets that sometimes there's a cost."

He wagged his eyebrows at her. "I think I know a few girls like that in Sydney."

Meg looked carefully at Sparrow, waiting for her approval as the unofficial leader of the clan. Slowly, Sparrow nodded. "Tell her, we'll see her soon."

"Yay! Great!" Meg started tapping on her laptop, ever-present in case inspiration struck her in the bathroom or half-way through a meal.

"Is that the little tramp who broke up the Carters' marriage?" asked Mrs Hently. "She slept with the wife first you know."

"Okay!" Sparrow clapped her hands, trying to dissipate the negative energy and distract Will before he could formulate any more awkward questions. "Thank you for sharing lunch, everyone! Will, would you please find the hose and give the gardens a good water for me? Thanks, honey."

"Sure, Sparrow." He scooted off, and everyone else began to drift off to their various afternoon activities.

"Mrs Hently?" Sparrow called to the wizened lady and offered her an uneaten Turkish loaf. "Take this with you, please? We have too much bread and it'll just go to waste."

Dignified in her floral mumu, she accepted the gift. "Well, only if it's going to go to waste..."

As she left, Meg hissed, "Sparrow! You know that's a lie! We've got nothing left in the cupboard or the fridge! Why are you giving away good food?"

"Because, pension day isn't until Tuesday. We will always find a way to eat, Megs, but she's an old lady. We have to look after the people who can't look after themselves."

"We can't look after ourselves most of the time," she grumbled, reaching for Nashi pear.

Kimble reached for her shoulder, his dark eyes relaxed. "Come on, Meggie. Let's go down to the beach and have a swim, yeah?"

Her face softened slightly. "Fine, but just so you know, I'm not sure where I morally stand on the issue of invading shark territory."

"Sharks don't care about your morals, girl."

"That's what I'm worried about."

They wandered off, and Sparrow smiled after them dreamily.

"What are you grinning about?"

"Oh!" She started, turning back to face Thomas. His presence at the table had been so natural, and the way he felt beside her was as comfortable as if she'd known him for years. "I was just wondering how long it'll be before those two admit they have feelings for each other."

Thomas' manicured eyebrows shot up high. "Really? I wouldn't have picked them for a couple."

"Neither would they," she grinned, "but that's how it happens sometimes." Sparrow began to stack mismatched plates and odd cutlery. "How did you enjoy lunch?"

"Well, I have to admit..." He looked a little dazed as he said, "It was good! You have some interesting people in your life."

"I love it," she said, scraping bread crusts into a bucket. "Life is too short to spend it alone. Living at Haven means there's always something happening, and we help as many people in the community as we can. We've held exhibitions for local artists here before, and over summer, we borrow an ancient projector from the library and screen old-school movies against the side of the house, raising money for different charities."

He stood and lifted a heavy stack of plates from her arms. "But aren't you guys a bit of a charity yourselves?"

"There's always someone worse off than you. We've survived so far."

They quickly cleared the table, and Sparrow could sense Thomas' eyes on her the entire time. She wasn't unused to being stared at because of her wild hair or her odd dress style, but his gaze left her feeling heated and off-centre.

When they were done, she asked, "Would you like to take a look around the gardens?"

"I would."

They stepped along the uneven flagstones, which meandered between the beds and trees. Will waved at them from the back fence where he was hosing down the passionfruit vines, and the smell of warm, damp earth filled their nostrils.

Sparrow spoke lovingly about her project. "So, we were really lucky, because when we moved in, this whole yard was just an overgrown mess, but there were all these amazing fruit trees hidden underneath. Lime, pear, apricot, and of course, Old Man Avocado."

She patted the trunk of the enormous tree, its branches leaning over the fence line, heavy with fruit. A wooden swing hung from a lower bough and she slid into it, rocking back and forth. "We designed the gardens around the trees, we made our own mulch, borrowed tools, people donated cuttings and seedlings. Now, we have this; a fully functional organic garden, which produces enough for us to eat as well as sell."

Thomas gazed around the sprawling garden, his expression impressed. "It's pretty amazing, what you've done here."

"Thank you." She felt a hot burst of pride in her chest. "Before I came here, I thought achievement was a finish line, something you did, and then it was done. Now, I know that true achievement is an ongoing process."

He was silent as he sat on a smooth rock beside the swing.

"So, what about your achievements, Mr Thomas? Tell me about your life."

"My life... Yeah, you pretty much nailed it already." He laughed uncomfortably, his eyes darting around. "I work. It's what I'm good at, who I am."

"I don't believe anybody is defined by any one thing – especially not something as simple as what they do to earn a crust."

"Maybe that's true for you, Sparrow, because your life is made up of a hundred different things. Mine is just work."

"Are you happy?" She asked him, scanning his face.

"I'm not unhappy. I don't think I am, anyway." He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, and she smiled inwardly to see how it has grown pink, unused to time in the sun. He went on, "I'm good at my job, and I have enough money to do and buy the things I want to. That's the definition of happiness for a lot of people."

"Is it yours, though?" She spun the swing seat to face him. "What gets you out of bed in the morning? What's the legacy you want to leave behind?"

He shifted his body away slightly, trying to avoid the tough questions. "I get out of bed because people's jobs depend on it. And legacy... Does anybody really know that? I don't know. I have a fortune to my name; does that count?"

"Not if you don't do anything with it. It's not like your account balance transfers with you when you pass."

"Well, surely that's better that leaving a legacy of debt!" He began to arc up, standing up from the rock and pacing passionately. "So, no. I don't have a legacy, and I have no idea where my life is going, besides doing what I'm doing right now for the next forty years until I'm senile and they drag me out of the office. Is that what you want to hear?"

"It's not about what I want to hear," she said, rising to her feet. "But maybe, it's what you need to admit to yourself. Do you really want to die alone at the office, with your pockets full of cash you'll never spend? What about adventure? What about family, connection, love?"

"Love. Right." He reached up to a low branch and viciously pulled a leaf free, twisting it in his fingers. "Be like my mates; marry the girl their mother likes, fall into a sexless marriage, have a couple of kids I never see, and end up screwing the cute intern down the hall on my desk a couple times a week."

Her heart hurt to hear him describe the relationships in his world with such derision. "Thomas, that's not love. Maybe that's how it goes for some people, but that's not what it's meant to be like. Love is about finding that person you can't live without, the one who brings out the best in you and loves you despite you broken pieces. They're the one you'd never cheat on, because they're the only one you want to share yourself with, and when you decide to have kids together, it's so joyful and amazing, because it's like seeing a piece of your love spring into physical being..."

Old memories swirled up, causing her chest to hitch. She looked up through the sunlight-dappled leaves, willing the tears to recede. "That's love."

"Sparrow..." Thomas' voice was thick with emotion. She turned to look at him, and saw the same longing for that perfect union on his face as she felt throughout her entire being.

"You do want love," she said.

"I do."

"Then, you have to start living. Put yourself out there – be adventurous, be brave. Don't look back and regret all the things you could have done and didn't."

"You're right." He moved so swiftly, she didn't have time to react. In a single fluid move, he pressed her against the smooth trunk of the tree and snaked his fingers up into her hair.

Sparrow gasped, shock rendering her of her usual perception. "W-what are you doing?"

He smiled, the first genuine smile she'd seen on his stressed-out face since they'd met. "Taking your advice. Being brave."

He lowered his lips to hers, and the universe exploded around them. Every fibre of her being burst to life, reaching for him, and she moaned, boneless against him. Her hands moved to the flat planes of his chest, the pads of her fingers sensing his heart, thrumming in excitement within him.

Her lips parted and she breathed him in, his delicious essence. He was a burning wind to her cool earth, and as their lips fused, she felt her life shift, tilting hopelessly towards him.

But an image flashed into her head; me, sliding down a shaft, bound for ruin. Fear flooded through her, overpowering anything positive, and she pulled away.

Panting, she said, "Thomas, stop. This isn't what I meant."

Their faces were still close, and she had a front-row seat to the transition in his eyes, from desire and joy, to hurt and confusion. "What?"

"Not me. I'm not the girl you need."

"Sparrow, I know it's only been a few hours, but I actually think you are." He reached for a lock of her auburn hair, twisting it gently around his fingers. "You're the most interesting, most vibrant woman I've ever met. People don't normally challenge me; you do. I'm not asking you to marry me today, but I'm here for a few weeks and I want to spend time with you, get to know you. I'm feeling something here, for the first time I can remember – don't you feel it too?"

She was feeling it. Foolishly, she'd been ignoring the building heat between them since their market meeting, pushing aside the way he'd felt so right beside her, how their energies tangled in the most perfect way.

Her lips parted slightly, as if preparing to taste him again. He saw it. His hand dropped to cup her chin, and she felt her traitorous body respond, her head tipping in his direction.

But the memories of old scars surged again, and she withdrew. "Thomas, I like you. And yes, I do feel something. But did it occur to you that what we're feeling is just connection?"

"I don't care what you call it; I want more."

The tension between them was too tempting at such a close distance. She slipped out from between his arms, seeking more space, seeking sanity. "A friendship connection. I'll bet you don't have a lot of close friends – maybe you're just mistaking the feeling of finding a kindred spirit with something deeper."

"That's true, but I've never wanted to go quite as deep with my friends as I do with you." His silver eyes darkened in a haze.

She needed something more to throw at him. "Also, how do I know you're not just looking for an easy lay while you're in town? Just because I'm a free spirit, doesn't mean I drop my panties for every wealthy city boy who crosses my path."

He grinned wickedly. "I'd assumed free spirits such as yourself didn't wear panties at all."

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" she baited in return, winking despite herself.

"Yes, I would. But point taken." He raised his hands in surrender. "So, be my friend then. What do friends do?"

She felt some of the tension dissolve. "They hang out. Tomorrow night, do you have plans?"

"I'm all yours."

His words were simple, but the implication was clear. She pushed on, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened. "Meet me here at six. Dress casual."

They started walking back to the house as he asked, "Smart casual or business casual?"

She laughed. "Oh, you're a little bit cute, aren't you?"

"Hey! That's a legitimate question!"

"I'll leave that ball in your court."

When we reached the street, he turned to her. "So... Do friends hug?"

"They... They do." Sparrow swallowed, her mouth suddenly as dry as flour.

"Good." Thomas slowly threaded his arms below hers and around her waist, interlacing his fingers at the small of her back and drawing Sparrow flush against him.

Bending her elbows, she allowed her hands to rest flat against the broad planes of his back as her chin turned and her cheek pressed to his chest. With his heart beating in her ear and their bodies vibrating in easy harmony, she knew she was fighting a bigger battle than she'd originally thought.

Still, Sparrow tortured herself, enjoying the hug for a good ten seconds, beyond the time of a normal friendly cuddle. She could sense he was never going to be the one to let go first, with his chin resting firmly atop her head, so she withdrew. "Goodbye, Thomas. See you tomorrow."

His grey eyes were content as he said, "Thank you for today, Sparrow. It's the best Saturday I've had in a very long time. Hey, tell Will, I'll bring his new phone around when I come tomorrow."

"You'd better," she laughed. "See you."

"'Bye."

I should go inside. Instead, she stood by the gate, watching his tall form stroll away down the road.

A small voice startled her. "I like Thomas," declared a muddy and happy Will from atop the stone fence she was leaning on.

"I'm glad."

"You like him too."

"Well, yes. Thomas is my friend."

"No, not like that." With the new-found maturity of someone in his second decade, Will rolled his eyes. "You like him. Like the kinda like with long kissing and stuff."

Torn between the urge to laugh or defend herself, Sparrow accidentally found herself being honest. "I'm not allowed to like him that way, Will."

"Why not?"

As Thomas' slender silhouette reached the end of the street and raised a hand in farewell, she spoke out-loud the true reason she'd have to keep her new friend at arm's reach. "Because, he's rich."