OK, FINE... YOU WERE RIGHT...
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“It’ll happen when you least expect it.”
God, how fucking annoying is that sentence to any single person. I’ve genuinely wanted to put heads through walls when people say it. When you’re in that deep, forever-alone hole, it’s hard not to hear that phrase and immediately want to mock it back in your most childish sibling-taunt voice.
But, fuck me… it’s true.
I feel like Will Ferrell in Elf yelling, “I’m in love, I’m in love, and I don’t care who knows it!” Here's the reference, obviously. I don’t know how, and I don’t know what method of manifestation finally paid off, but I’ve somehow found a man who ticks all of my boxes and isn’t even a little bit of a piece of shit. He’s like a little (big) glimmer of magic. Like glitter. No, not glitter, glitter’s annoying. He is pretty rock on beach. Yes. Better.
Was it the housemate crafternoon, where we all went thrift shopping and made collages, and mine was just one giant vision board of love hearts, couples, and affirmations like respectful, caring, sexy, kind? Was it the one million 11:11 wishes? My blog? (Which, horrifyingly, he read before we started dating. Truly some deeply incriminating content, and yet he still likes me? Unbelievable.) Whatever it was, it worked. And if I had to go through every frustrating date, every red flag, every soul-sucking Hinge chat again just to feel this way, I would.
Because this feels right.
No apps were involved. That might be the secret sauce. There was no “I guess he’s hot” swipe or “he asked me one question so maybe I’ll meet this man with nothing but Japan holiday photos to his name.” Just organic, real-life kindling. My first ever. I’ve never dated someone I didn’t meet on an app and let me just say: to hell with you, Hinge. You are...
STINKY!
I’ve known Luke for a while now but please join me in smashing my face into a porcelain sink because I never properly noticed him. I’d wander into Suzie Wongs on a gig break or just to harass Ellen, and there he’d be: playing his guitar, doing his little stompy stomp cool shit. His face was always hidden. Hat, hair, mystery. I must’ve walked in like an actual buffoon, blindfolded by the universe. I knew his sound though. My brain would clock it: oh, that one-man band guy, he’s good. And then I’d leave. Like a goddamn idiot. For years.
But timing is everything, right?
Cut to the 16th of February. My band had an early start filming the music video for Carolina. Afterward, starving and slightly delirious, we, Chloe, Ellen, Wren, Lulu and I, headed to Newmarket Hotel for a late lunch. I remember hearing the live music from the entrance and saying, “Oh yay, there’s music!” Ellen said, “It’s Luke!”, which meant nothing to me, because onstage he goes by L.R. and I was hungry.
But when we got to the corner… there he was. Hatless. Hair tied back. Face visible. And suddenly I was clocked in. I sat there, mouth on fire from the world’s spiciest calzone and then heard the riff. Da na na naaa naa na na… David Bowie’s The Man Who Sold the World. The first ever song I sung by myself in front of people. A core memory from my teenage years. That song means a lot to me, and I never hear it covered in Brisbane. It reminds me of a really lovely time in my childhood, when my family and I would huddle around the TV watching taped episodes of Rockstar INXS, a show where the remaining members of INXS searched for the next Michael Hutchence. A female singer named Jordis Unga performed that song too, and I loved it so much.
I whipped around like a hawk and just blurted, “OMG I LOVE THIS SONG,” but everyone was too busy chewing. So I just sat there quietly stunned, overwhelmed by Bowie and beauty and chilli.
Luke came over during his break and stood at the opposite end of the table talking to Ellen and Wren. Not me. Which is fine, I probably couldn’t have formed a sentence anyway. My mouth was on fire, I was freezing (forgot my jumper), and he was stupidly, unfairly beautiful.
Later that night I went on a date with a guy I met at a singles event. I don't know why. It was one of those “sure, why not” moments that turned into “WHY DID I DO THIS” within 20 minutes. The date involved takeaway GYG on his couch (a couch for 1.5 people at best), watching reruns of Below Deck. Sir? You promised a rooftop sunset. Should have known better for a man who lives in Peppers.
I got home, slammed through the garage door, and yelled to my housemates, “WORST INTIMATE EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE!” (Okay, I used a three-letter word starting with S, but let’s just keep some mystery alive here.)
What I didn’t know was that Luke was sitting at the dining table.
My housemates had invited him over after his gig.
I nearly died.
Trying not to crawl into the wall cavity, I quickly changed the subject, grabbed a bowl of leftovers, and sat down next to him, our closest proximity yet. I don’t remember what was said. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally stable. But I do remember turning to Wren the moment he left and saying, “He has one of the nicest faces I’ve ever seen. Like his bone structure?!” She agreed, naturally.
Unbeknownst to me, Luke had noticed me too. For months. He’d seen me around. He wanted to talk to me. I was dumb. He was patient. And somehow, finally, the universe stopped being silly.
The next day, Luke messaged asking how he could learn Auslan. Cute. I sent him a course link. The next day, I popped into Brooklyn Standard and, surprise, he was playing. We hugged (awkward), I stayed for his set (magical), and from there we started messaging. Stressed and unsure if the other was interested, we danced around it for weeks. We even went to Mariachi Monday together (Ellen lurking in the distance like a supportive cryptid), still pretending everything was platonic when it so clearly wasn’t.
Luke went away for gigs. His birthday came and went. I felt weirdly sad that I missed it, so I brought him cake at his next Suzie Wongs gig. He was surprised. I was awkward. I cut the cake in silence. Classic me. Then I trotted over to Brooklyn for jam night, confessed my crush to our mutual friend Adam and Adam, being Adam, immediately told Luke.
Two days later we were having breakfast together. A breakfast date. Before 9am. For a man who doesn’t do mornings, this was basically a love declaration.
That night, we kissed. On the lips. Five stars.
A few weeks later, we had another date, he came back to mine… and he never left. He’s paying rent now. Pretty hunky dory, if you ask me.
Luke makes me feel seen. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met. It didn’t take long to realise I loved him. Like, really loved him. He makes me breakfast nearly every day and leaves little love notes. He shows up to my gigs. He scratches my back. He does my nails. He is thoughtful and hilarious and gentle and mine.
And finally… finally… we can all exhale. Jesus Christ, it was looking grim for a minute there.
I won’t apologise for shouting my luck from the rooftops. I deserve this.
WOO!
Wishing you all an exceptional week, or perhaps just an average one. Average is perfectly fine.
Song recommendation of the week: 'Feel like Makin' Love' by Bad Company
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