Road trip with twelve mixtapes, three coffees, one boat ferry, and a minor stop to collect a drifter (a.k.a. my mate Caz), and we made it just in time for entrée at our Sandy Point beach stay. Amber and Jords had the place glowing—wood fire crackling, ambient lights soft and golden, and a bottle of Mr Andrew’s (the sparkly kind) ready to go. Honestly, he’s the only man who's never let me down.

Amber, culinary goddess that she is, served baked brie with caramelised figs, thyme, and a drizzle of honey. Yes, that was just the entrée. We melted into the lounge, catching up over stories and flicking through the many cookbooks dotting the place like little love letters to food.

Morning arrived with sunlight spilling through the upstairs windows. I padded downstairs to find the girl gang gathered in the airy lounge-kitchen space, brimming with light and life—and more indoor plants than a nursery. We strolled the 300 metres to the beach, pausing at Taya’s Coffee Van for a hit of caffeine and a little creative chaos: Amber sketching a portrait of me while Caz and Jords came up with motivational one-liners to save the world. #livefully

The beach was near empty, just the three of us and a few surfers out on the waves. Bare feet in sand, sun on skin—it was the kind of beautiful that lingers, like the friends you share it with. Later, Caz and I tackled a hike at Wilson’s Prom, my calves screaming by the end, but we made it back just in time to catch the sunset. A rainwater shower worked its magic, rinsing off the dust and slipping me into that delicious post-adventure calm.

That night, we lit the outdoor fire and sank into stillness beneath the stars. The silence felt sacred, like the night itself was holding us.

I woke cocooned in linen sheets, ready to slay the day (in theory). Amber had already been for a morning run—queen energy—but my calves were firmly against any form of movement. Instead, I noticed the home’s beautiful touches: clay cupboard handles, hand-formed mugs, thoughtful details everywhere. It was a space built with soul, and you could feel it in every corner.

The 11am checkout was a dream—no rush, just soft goodbyes to a place that wrapped us in warmth, safety, and a whole lot of love. It felt like a hug that lingered even after we’d left. We stopped at a nearby cidery for a cheeky tasting before parting ways, hugs shared a little longer, a little tighter.

We all left with hearts fuller than our clay mugs, already dreaming of the next visit—maybe more than just once.