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The corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re right. I’m not.”

I narrow my eyes. “Then where exactly do you think you’re going?”

“To make sure you get home safely.” His gaze flickers to the driver. “No offence, mate, but we don’t know you.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Nolan, you do realise we don’t know each other either?”

“Technically.”

“Technically?”

He shrugs. “You know my name, and I know yours. We’ve kissed, and I’ve already given you a nickname. I only do that with people I like, so I’d say we’re making pretty good progress. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be besties by the end of the week.”

I slump back into my seat with a sigh. “I highly doubt that,” I mumble under my breath.

This man is impossible.

“I have the drop-off destination as Smithfield,” the driver says as we exit the city. “Is there somewhere in particular you’d like me to take you?”

My eyes are closed as I rest my head against the seat, but I’m not asleep. How can I sleep? My mind is racing. Work aside, how am I going to care for Jonah with these things?

They’re not even hands anymore. They’re two useless white lumps strapped to the ends of my arms. How am I supposed to change him? Bathe him? Do anything that requires fingers when mine are currently trapped inside what feels like bulky oven mitts?

“Dais,” Nolan says, reaching into the back seat and tapping my leg. “The driver needs your address, darlin’.”

I don’t even bother opening my eyes. I’m too tired to fight this. This man has a way of getting what he wants, no matter how hard I try to resist him. “Fairfield West Caravan Park, Polding Street, Smithfield.”

There’s a brief silence, and when I crack one eye open, I find Nolan staring over his shoulder at me, frowning. “You live in a caravan?”

There’s no judgment in his eyes, only confusion, and somehow that makes me feel even more exposed.

Chapter 4

Nolan

I drive out to the western suburbs often; it’s where I get most of my content for my secret squirrel business. A side hustle I’ve had going for years that nobody knows about. I know this part of Sydney well enough. At least, I think I do.

Growing up comfortable teaches you a lot about your own world, and not nearly enough about everyone else’s. I’ve seen enough to know that luck has far more to do with where you end up than most people like to admit. It’s why I like to give back.

The Uber driver pulls alongside the 7-Eleven, where a narrow road disappears down the side into the caravan park. “Do you want me to drop her here, or drive inside?” he asks.

I glance over my shoulder and find Daisy’s eyes are still closed. Somewhere along the way, she’s fallen asleep. A smile tugs at my lips when I notice her mouth hanging open, like she’s trying to catch flies.

“Dais,” I say, reaching into the back to tap her leg. “Daisy.”

“Huh.”

“We’re here,” I tell her. “The driver needs to know which van is yours.”

“Oh.” She peers through the window, still looking half asleep. “Keep going. It’s right down the back.”

The driver flicks on his indicator, pulls away from the kerb and turns down the narrow make-shift road. It’s dark and eerie, and I already hate the idea of her walking through here alone late at night.

As I predicted, it’s run-down and has definitely seen better days. Still, this isn’t neglect so much as survival. People are making homes out of what little they have, and there’s a quiet dignity in that.

“Turn here,” Daisy says from the back seat.

The headlights wash over a patchwork of white boxed relocatable homes and ageing caravans that line either side of the tight road.