I pulled my tent out of my trunk and contemplated where to set it up. Tiger's site was large—although having my car there too shrunk it—but I didn't want to encroach on his space.

"Are you sure you don't mind sharing your spot?" I asked. Before I'd met him, I'd planned to leave Karijini earlier this morning. After he'd talked me into abseiling, I needed another accommodation for tonight, and he'd offered to help.

He grinned as he screwed a tri-pronged fold-out camp stove onto a bottle of butane. "Little late to be asking that, isn't it?" The sun was setting on the horizon, though the lack of clouds meant a lacklustre sunset awaited.

"I can see if—"

"I'm joking, Goanna." With his pocketknife, he opened a can of baked beans. "This site could hold a dozen tents. Why pay for another if we're hanging out? I've camped closer to total strangers in Darwin and Uluru, and you're much better company."

"If you insist."

"I do. Can you channel those animal connection powers to bring us a dingo?"

I lugged my tent to the far corner of the site near the shrubs, a reasonable distance from Tiger's claustrophobic nightmare coffin tent that didn't rise higher than my hips. "I was hoping to avoid those, if possible."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Goanna?"

I unzipped the tent bag and pulled out the bags of poles and pegs. "Self-preservation. Wouldn't a dingo eat a goanna?"

"Not under the watchful eye of a tiger." After he'd poured the beans into an aluminum pot and covered it with a lid, he offered to help me set up.

We unfolded the tent whose tarp bottom saved me from needing a groundsheet. Seamlessly, we got the poles in and erected my shelter. Tiger scavenged for large rocks to weigh down the tent corners since the outback ground was far too hard to accept pegs.

"Do you want the fly on? It'll be a beautiful night for stargazing together."

I tucked the gray and red tarp into the tent for now. Now that he was feeling more whole, would he get bolder with me? Was stargazing an attempt to come on to me?

He hid his hands in his shorts pockets. "Did I say something that upset you?"

"No, I just..." None of his actions so far made him anything like most of the men I'd met travelling, though he had held me in the gorge today. "Why'd you mention stargazing?"

"The constellations are completely different in the Southern Hemisphere, and this corner of the country is top-notch for its dark skies."

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and let out a breath of relief. He was consistently Tiger, saying exactly what he meant. "That sounds incredible."

"Putting the fly on later helps to survive the outback chill. I forgot once and couldn't feel my nose in the morning."

"I've slept in a quinzee before. I'll live."

Neil cocked his head to the side. His freckles were growing more prominent after spending a few days in the sun together. "What's a quinzee?"

"A less intricate igloo. Make a big snow pile, let it sit for hours, then hollow it out. It's like a snow tent."

"Incredible, and you slept there in the winter?"

"Yeah, just for one night. It's no hotel, but we survived." Somehow they'd even given me high school credits for the wilderness class.

"I could sense you were tough the night we met. That must be what animals see in you, resilience."

"Are you always so complimentary?"

"Only when it's deserved."

We headed toward the fold-out table he'd pulled out of his jeep. As we left, a light flapping noise echoed behind us. When we turned, a rust-coloured bird, with bands of red and white over its eyes like war paint, sat beside my tent. Similar to the Australian crested pigeon, a mohawk of feathers stuck straight up from its head.

Neil's jaw dropped. "Incredible." He crept toward the open trunk of his jeep to grab a camera with a fancy zoom lens. I didn't dare say a word until he'd finished shooting and stashed the camera in its bag. "You're my good luck charm, Goanna. Great things happen when you're around."

"I make no promises about the dingo. Cool looking pigeon though." I crept into my car to avoid scaring the bird and grabbed my much less impressive camera.

"A spinifex pigeon," he said with the excitement and innocence of a kid learning about dinosaurs.

His attention shifted to the pot of beans, which he frowned at. Had bugs gotten into it already?

"Are you sure you're alright with beans and toast again? It's not terribly exciting or appetizing. If I'd have known I'd have company during this stay..."

"Food is food, friend. I've been living off instant noodles and peanut butter sandwiches, so I'm not complaining." When he smiled at me, dimples marking his chin and cheeks, I asked, "What?"

"Friend is a nice upgrade from awkward stranger."

I squatted to ground level and photographed the pigeon who held its head up like a model. "I never called you awkward."

"But I probably wasn't what you were expecting."

As I stood up, my leg muscles ached. "If you were, we wouldn't have spent three days together."

Neil grabbed a pack of matches to light the stove. "Do you always expect the worst from people?"

It was an honest Tiger question, not a jab. The world had me on defence, especially once I'd started travelling solo. Most of the straight men who'd befriended me expected it would lead to a hookup. The ones who weren't overt about it would grow sulky and bitter when I'd hang out with others over them. If more women travelled alone, I'd join up with them—and I had when the opportunity arose—but it was easy to understand why they didn't.

"If my expectations are low, I can only be pleasantly surprised."

He set the beans on the heat and stirred them. "In an ideal world, people would always treat you well enough that you'd expect the best from others."

"We don't live in an ideal world. It's one where people assume what you want and treat you with contempt when it doesn't match their biased expectations."

He dropped the spoon into the beans and turned to me. "Have I treated you that way, Sadie? Is it the food, or the animals, or the tour today?" His eyes widened, and he balled his hands into fists before releasing the tension. Was he angry with me or himself? His lack of eye contact made me suspect the latter.

"No, sorry. It's not you. It's misdirected anger from the past."

He sought my gaze. "You'll tell me if I upset you, right? I'd hate for you to hold on to that anger."

"I'll tell you if it ever happens, Tiger."

He smiled and fished the spoon out of the beans. "Thanks."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts much less to hear it when it occurs and I can fix it than to think everything's going well and have the habits I didn't realize were flaws used to hurt and ridicule me."

"Your ex?"

Neil's gaze flickered at the red outback dirt, and he nodded. "And my friends and sister."

"That's the 'usual drama' you mentioned days ago?" After he nodded again, I said, "I'm sorry you're going through that, Neil. You're one of the most decent guys I've met. I couldn't think of a thing I'd change about you, except erasing this painful past."

He smiled. "Likewise."

When the spinifex pigeon was joined by another, Neil hurried to his camera. Even with the lines in his forehead deepening, his jaw, dotted with a few days of dark stubble, relaxed. If people had been so cruel to him, I could understand why he took comfort in wildlife. Watching from a distance kept him out of harm's way.

A scorched scent filled the cooling air. When we peeked at the beans, some of the sauce had stuck to the pan and had darkened into a crust. Neil rushed to grab the pot with his bare hands, pulling away seconds later with a cry of pain. Scrambling, I found the separate pan handle and pulled it off.

"Fric, I can't believe I did this. I'm so sorry, Sadie. I must have set the heat too high. Listen, I'll drive out to Tom Price—"

"That'll take you hours. Let's just dip the bread in the unspoiled beans or I have a container of peanut butter. I make a mean PB and honey."

He sighed. "Whichever you prefer, I've lost my appetite."

When he sunk into his chair with his head hung down, I tried to rub his back but he jumped. "Please don't," he muttered.

"Sorry. What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Please tell me, Neil. We just talked about this."

He cradled his head in his hands and refused to look at me.

I sat next to him on my camp chair. "I know I've upset you somehow. Can you tell me? I want to make sure I don't do it again."

"It's one of my bloody flaws," he muttered.

"I'm here, I'm listening, and I promise you I won't judge you for it."

When he raised his head, his eyes were red. "I've tried working on it. Sometimes it's not as bad, and other times it is."

I waited for him to compose himself.

"I don't like to be touched unexpectedly."

Was it that? We'd touched plenty at the falls from him holding me, to clutching my hand and helping me up, but he'd initiated each one with an unspoken extended hand or arm. The only time he hadn't waited for me to act, he'd apologized. How had I missed that?

"That's a boundary, not a flaw. I'm sorry I didn't think to ask. I will next time."

Neil blinked a few times. "You're not upset?"

"Me upset with you? I made a snap assumption about what you wanted and acted on it. When people do that to me, it's infuriating."

"I'm not touch-averse, but I'm more comfortable when I know the person and agree to it."

"Right, and you weren't expecting me to touch you just then."

Neil nodded.

"Was abseiling okay? Those guys were always adjusting our gear and guiding us."

"I didn't like the congratulatory pats on the back, but in signing up for the tour, I had done my research and was expecting they'd have to touch us. That made it easier."

"But I'm unexpected."

He met my gaze and pushed his chestnut hair off his forehead. "You're a beautiful and scary surprise."

The corners of my lips lifted into a smile. "Thanks, I think? I'll try to work on being less scary though you dragged me up and down half a dozen waterfalls today."

Neil chuckled and sat up straighter. "You're not scary. It's that you're so wonderful and understanding I'm afraid I'll mess it up somehow."

"That's unlikely."

"You don't seem to have the best experiences with men based on what you've told me. What makes my odds any different?"

"The thing is, Tiger, other men make me feel hunted while you make me feel safe."

"Is that a good thing?"

"To me, it is a wonderful thing." I grabbed the loaf of bread and pot of semi-scorched supper then dunked my slice in the beans. The flavour of tomato sauce with a hint of smokiness hit my tongue.

"You don't have to eat that."

"It's not that bad, here." I extended the bread to him and he tried it.

"That's disgusting. Throw it in the boot, and I'll toss it out tomorrow. Again, I'm sorry."

I laughed and took another scoop of beans, which were better upon a second try. "I'd rather have unpleasant food and great company than great food and unpleasant company. Plus, it's growing on me like one of those weird fungi that are brightly coloured and weirdly shaped."

"That sounds truly unappetizing and poisonous. I will treat you to a meal in Port Headland tomorrow."

I took another breadful of beans just to watch him cringe. "You're on. I'm in no position to turn down free food."