Abby could see the headlines.

       She'd visualised nothing else since she'd received the phone call from Mark Pyman, CEO of Finesse, saying she'd scored the lucrative gig for the magazine's summer spread, boarded a plane for Sapphire Island and checked into this exclusive resort.

       What she'd seen of the place so far had fired her imagination and she knew with a little creativity and a lot of hard work this would be her best shot at the top job ever.  Mark had hinted at it and the powerbroker of Australia's fashion magazine industry didn't hint at anything lightly.

       Oh yeah, thanks to a little healthy visualisation she could see those headlines: in huge Arial font, bolded, cut out from Finesse's summer issue and taking pride of place over her desk back home in Sydney.

       This was it.  Her chance at the big time.

       Wandering into the hotel's poolside bar with an extra spring in her step, she marvelled at the staggering array of tropical plants and exotic orchids, her excitement growing as she scoped out yet another great site for a shoot. 

       Sapphire Island had proven to be a gold mine, providing the perfect backdrop for displaying the fashions of Australia's leading designers.  True to form, Mark had organised several top models, which made her job a heck of a lot easier. 

       Dealing with professionals and seeing the results always made her proud of working in the cutthroat industry of fashion.  Though she hadn't sighted the photographer yet, she knew Mark only used the best.

       As the topic of photographers drifted through her mind she wondered which part of the world Judd was currently hiding in.  They hadn't spoken for three months, an anomaly in their close relationship.  Well, as close as they could get over the phone and internet.

       She hadn't even received one of his infamous one-line postcards and she smiled, wondering what he'd say if he knew she'd kept every single one and made a collage out of them that adorned her study wall.  Probably something witty designed to cut her down to size, in typical Judd Calloway fashion.

       Some things never change. 

       And she wouldn't have it any other way. 

       Luckily they'd got past the little anomaly on graduation night and had managed to sustain a strong friendship.

       Nothing like denial to get through the last eight years as his best buddy and confidante.

       "Well, well.  Amazing what the ocean can wash up these days."

       Abby jumped and whirled around, seeing but not quite believing what she'd initially thought her imagination had conjured up. 

       "No way!" 

       She reached out and poked Judd in the chest: yep, he was real.  Very real, if the rock-hard wall her finger had barely made a dent in was any indication.  "What are you doing here?"

       He smiled at her, the same lazy grin that lit up the gold flecks in his hazel eyes and had her instinctively grinning right back at him, despite the fact she hadn't seen him since that fateful night of the grad dance. 

       "Now is that any way to greet your new star photographer?"

       "You're doing this shoot?  But we're shooting fashion, not wildlife."

       He slid onto one of the barstools and patted the seat next to him. 

       "I'm not too sure about that.  I've seen the way some of your crowd party and it ain't pretty."

       "They're not my crowd.  I just work with them."

       "And you date them," he teased, reaching for a stray curl and tucking it behind her ear.  "No accounting for taste, is there?"

       Abby fought a losing battle with a blush as the heat surged up her neck and settled somewhere in the vicinity where he'd touched her.

       He hadn't touched her in a long, long time: those hot dreams on sultry Sydney nights of him touching her like she wanted him to definitely didn't count.

       "No, there isn't, seeing as I keep in contact with you."

       Judd chuckled, the familiar sound warming her like the hot chocolate sundaes with extra fudge they'd shared as kids.

       "So, tell me the whole story.  Your last postcard said you were in the wilds of South Africa shooting zebras and now you're here.  What on earth would tempt the world's best wildlife photographer to do a fashion shoot of birds of the non-feathered variety?" 

He'd scoffed at what he termed 'the shallow world of fashion' ever since she'd started working in the industry so she knew something, or someone, important had to be behind this.

       "All will be revealed in time."  Judd beckoned the waiter.  "Drink?"

       "The usual, please."

       He grinned, his eyes crinkling in the corners just like they used to.  "Is this some kind of test?"

       "You bet."

       Shaking his head, he chuckled. "You're still drinking the same poison you used to in high school?  How sad is that?"

       "Like you'd remember anyway," she scoffed, more than a little impressed when he nodded at the waiter and said, "Soda and lime for the lady and a beer for me, thanks, mate."

       "So, did I pass?"

       "You always did have a good memory," she muttered, seriously thrilled he'd remembered something as innocuous as her favourite drink.  "Now, tell me why you're really here."

       "A friend set this up.  She begged me to do it as a favour for a guy she gets a heap of assignments from, some big shot called Mark Pyman, so here I am." 

       He signed for the drinks while one word penetrated her brain. 

       She. 

       He'd said she. 

       So who was this mystery woman he held in such high esteem to leave his much-loved wildlife and return home?  Something he'd avoided doing at all costs once he'd finally escaped Pier Point just like he'd always wanted.

       Taking a sip of her drink, which turned into a choking gulp that almost sent soda streaming out through her nostrils, she aimed for nonchalant. 

       "Do I know this friend of yours?"

       "Probably.  Paula does loads of work for Finesse."

       "Paula, as in Australia's top super-model?  Yeah, we've worked a few shoots together.  She's nice.  I didn't know you knew her?"

       He continued to swig his beer, oblivious to how green she was at the thought of Paula having such an influence on her best friend. 

       "We met in South America.  I was shooting anacondas and took a short break in Rio afterwards where Paula was doing a bikini shoot."

       "You never mentioned it," she said, aiming for casual yet knowing it sounded lame.  Since when did he have to tell her if he met someone new? 

       He shrugged, drawing her attention to the breadth of his shoulders; yet another thing that hadn't changed much. In fact, all that hefting camera equipment around had broadened his shoulders to spectacular proportions and she briefly wondered if they still felt as firm, as solid, as they had that one night when her hands had gripped onto them for dear life while his lips wrought havoc on hers.

       "Paula's a great girl.  We have a lot in common."

       "Oh?" 

       She barely managed to restrain herself from wrinkling her nose, the stab of jealousy nothing new.  She'd been envious of the few lucky girlfriends he'd had, relieved when they hadn't lasted beyond a week or two. 

Pitiful, considering she'd dated extensively-in the vain hope to prove to herself and him that she'd gotten over him-had always confided in him about her dating disasters and they'd spent hours laughing over her exes bad points.        

       So why did the thought of Judd hooking up with leggy Paula leave a sour taste in her mouth?        Had to be the extra dash of lime in her drink.

       Yeah, right.

       She knew exactly why.  The women he'd dated had meant nothing to him yet he'd left his precious travels to return home for the first time in eight years for Paula?  Not good.

       "Yeah, we've both travelled the world and love doing it, we both hate being tied down to one place and we share a passion for ice cream sundaes."

       How sweet.  Not.

       "Ice cream?  You're kidding me?  Paula the Pretzel eats ice cream?"

       His eyes narrowed as he cast a speculative look her way.  "It's not like you to be bitchy.  What gives?"

       Abby shook her head, wondering if the heat on the island had melted her brain.  Judd was her best friend, she hadn't seen him in eight years and here she was giving him grief over a favour for a friend.

       "Nothing.  Just tired, I guess." 

       His face relaxed and before she knew what was happening he placed a finger under her chin and tipped it up. 

       "Sounds to me like you're jealous."

       "In that case, you need your hearing checked." 

       His touch confused her and it shouldn't.  She'd been there, done that and had the T-shirt to prove it-before she'd folded it up and stored it along with her giant crush when he'd left town never to return.

       More than a little disconcerted by the erratic beat of her pulse, she tried not to react as he leaned towards her, glimpsing tenderness in his eyes before he planted a brief peck on the end of her nose. 

       "I've missed you, Weiss."

       His aftershave wafted over her, an expensive musk blend that suited him.  He'd never worn the stuff in high school yet had smelled just as good. 

       And she should know.  She hadn't washed the rugby top he'd given her the day after the dance for almost a month, preferring to wear it to bed every night and dream of him.

       The sad thing was she still had it folded neatly in the back of her underwear drawer, a memento of the one time she'd thought they might have a chance at more than friendship.

She pulled away quickly, annoyed by the flashbacks to a time long-gone and saw the surprise flicker across his face. 

       "We talk all the time.  How could you miss me?"

       "Talking over the phone isn't the same as this, is it?" 

       He smiled and reached for her hand, the warmth of his fingers enclosing hers more than welcome despite the hyper reaction her body was having in response to seeing him after all this time.  She'd missed their physical contact: the playful pinches, the casual hand-holding, the bear hugs.  They'd been inseparable in high school, probably the main reason she still harboured a tiny smidgeon of the same crazy crush she'd had back then.

       Judd was right.  Regular phone contact had nothing on this, the shared affection of two close friends chatting like they'd never been apart.

       "It has been a while."

       "Hey, what's eight years between friends?"

       From "HOT NIGHTS WITH A PLAYBOY" by Nicola Marsh

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