Sydney TV news reporter Josephine "Josie" Larsen is approaching 30 and coming dangerously close to failing at life. Lost in a vortex of other people's career milestones, engagement parties, and baby showers, Josie is perennially single, abandoned by her globetrotting family, and invisible to her boss - except for the one time he tuned in while she was mid-panic attack on live TV. As a punishment, Josie is shipped off to cover another reporter's six-month leave at a regional bureau in Newcastle.But Josie has more waiting for her in Newcastle than yawn-inducing stories about bicycle lane protests. The city is also the domain of Zac Jameson - her best friend since high school. This should be a happy turn of events, but Zac has barely spoken to Josie for the past two years. Not since his fiancee tragically died in his arms in a car accident and he left Sydney to try and cope with his grief.Now thrown back into each other's lives, Josie and Zac have to navigate their neglected friendship and secret attraction to each other while struggling with their careers and mental health.Hilarious, sexy and heart-warming, this is the perfect romcom to sit on the shelves alongside Emily Henry, Sally Thorne and Ali Hazelwood.
I'd forgotten that the cutest sound in the world is Zac Jameson's laugh. The first time I heard it was when I secretly mimicked our Year Eight science teacher, Mr Rosebottom, who spoke painfully quietly and had a twitchy eye. Not kind, but hysterical to thirteen-year-old Zac. He'd laughed so hard that I'd suffered a fierce attack of the giggles too, and Mr Rosebottom had banned us from being lab partners for the rest of the term. Banished to the opposite side of the room, Zac would toss scrunched-up notes at me that said things like: 'Dare you to twitch your eye every time Rosebottom looks your way,' and 'Do you think he speaks so softly so he can hear the voices in his head better?'
Now, Zac's standing three feet away from me, yet it feels like twelve thousand.
I'd forgotten that the cutest sound in the world is Zac Jameson's laugh. The first time I heard it was when I secretly mimicked our Year Eight science teacher, Mr Rosebottom, who spoke painfully quietly and had a twitchy eye. Not kind, but hysterical to thirteen-year-old Zac. He'd laughed so hard that I'd suffered a fierce attack of the giggles too, and Mr Rosebottom had banned us from being lab partners for the rest of the term. Banished to the opposite side of the room, Zac would toss scrunched-up notes at me that said things like: 'Dare you to twitch your eye every time Rosebottom looks your way,' and 'Do you think he speaks so softly so he can hear the voices in his head better?'
Now, Zac's standing three feet away from me, yet it feels like twelve thousand.
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