4. Reservation
4
RESERVATION
Mitch walked away from the Whitmans’ with some reservation. He wondered if the woman knew how beautiful she was—flaunting an attitude, makeup-free, and fresh from sleep. Would she make the meeting? He wouldn’t hold his breath.
As he passed Norman’s cottage, he stopped. He still found it hard to go inside. The old man had been Mitch’s last remaining link to his late father, and he’d felt his death keenly. Although he’d renovated the villa until all traces of Norman had been scrubbed from its interior, every time Mitch entered the kitchen, his late grandfather’s presence lingered. Even after all these years. What would Norman think of his plan? He’d probably be grinning from ear to ear.
Mitch whistled for the pug. “Come on, Mr. Edward. Let’s go get some breakfast, boy. I have a feeling we’ll need a full stomach for this one.”
Ned looked up as Mitch entered the large packing shed with Edward at his heels. After Norman’s death, Ned had continued to manage the orchard until Mitch took over the reins. Now in his eightieth year, Ned still helped run the packing shed, despite the operation being substantially larger than it was in Norman’s day .
“You been at the Whitman place all night?” Ned chuckled, his hands busy as he sorted lemons into a box.
“Very funny. I’d be in the river weighted down with a concrete slab by now if I had. Tayla Whitman hates me with a passion.”
“But she seems so wholesome and sweet. You could do a lot worse if you ask me. Besides, a little love-hate tug can be fun.”
“How would you know?”
“I’m old, not dead.” He winked. “Maggie and I still spar sometimes. Making up is the best part of marriage.”
Mitch chuckled. He enjoyed Ned’s sense of humor, always had. The older man had an intuition about him that Mitch admired. “Okay, that’s enough of the relationship advice. I’m going upstairs to get something wholesome and sweet of my own—toast and honey. Tayla may be polite to you, but I’m on her search-and-destroy list, especially now.”
Ned stopped what he was doing. “So you’ve told her?”
“Yep. She’s coming over after lunch. We’ll need some privacy, so keep everyone away while she’s here, okay?”
“Will do.”
Mitch entered his office and sat at the desk. He leaned back in his seat with a sigh, closing his eyes briefly until he heard a knock on the window overlooking the packing shed.
“Morning.” His friend Luka stood in the doorway. “I’m just heading up the Valley. Mum said you have a box of fruit for her.”
“Yeah, it’s on the bench outside the door.”
Luka studied him. “How did the meeting go?”
“Not the best. Do you remember the Whitmans’ youngest daughter, Tayla?”
“The goth girl who worked at the supermarket?”
“The very same.” Mitch stood and followed Luka out the door. “Turns out, she’s their power of attorney.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Let’s put it this way. While we were in Simon’s office, I felt like she had my balls in a vise and was twisting them slowly every time I opened my mouth.”
Luka winced as Mitch picked up the box of fruit. “Ouch. She always seemed such a timid thing.”
“Not anymore. She’s as cold as a hoar frost…but twice as beautiful.”
Opening the back door of his truck, Luka flashed his usual shit-eating grin. “You’re interested?”
“Maybe. But not in the way you think.” He slid the box onto the back seat. “Last week, I might have looked the other way, but this could be bigger than the both of us.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m not too sure myself. I’ll fill you in on Wednesday.”
Back in his office after lunch, Mitch checked his email for orders. Although he’d never expected to enjoy the lifestyle, after a shaky start, he now loved running the orchard with a passion. Having witnessed way too much destruction at the hand of man, he saw organics as a way to do his bit.
He picked up his phone and checked the notifications.
Prue: Hey. I haven’t heard from you for a while. Are you okay?
Mitch reread her message. Was he okay?
Mitch: Yeah, all good.
Prue: Can we catch up when I’m in CF next? We really need to talk.
Mitch: There’s nothing more to say. Is there?
Prue: I still love you. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry ?
Mitch: I’m sorry too. But it’s over.
As another text came through, Mitch slid his phone across the desk. He sat with his head in his hands, knowing it if he didn’t shut down their exchange, he might cave. Tell her that he hadn’t been okay for months. That he still loved her too. Still thought about her every other day. Still questioned why she’d cheated like that.
He stood and clicked his fingers. Edward looked up. “Come on, boy. I need some fresh air.”
Tayla arrived just after two. Standing before him in a floaty dress and Chucks, her light brown locks caught the afternoon sun that filtered through the open packing shed doors.
He still couldn’t get used to her this way. When she was a student, she’d kept her natural features hidden under layers of makeup, and her eyebrows had looked like they’d been tattooed on by some kid with a gun in his garage. But those dark ruby lips had been perfectly applied, the nose ring always in place.
Now everything about her was light. From her hair to her clothes to her barely there makeup. Everything except her mood. Her mood was darker than midnight.
“Tayla. Thanks for coming.” Mitch rose from his chair and stepped toward her. “Shall we go upstairs?”
“Here’s fine.” She took the seat in front of his desk before he’d offered it and shot him a frigid glance. “What’s this about?”
Okay!
As Mitch returned to his chair, he thought back several years. After his grandfather died, he’d asked Tayla to have coffee with him so they could reminisce about Norman, the man they’d both loved. But she’d refused, her demeanor similar to now. “I want to discuss the sale.”
“Apparently, there is no sale. But please, enlighten me.” She paused. “Why make an offer you couldn’t deliver on? ”
Mitch went to speak, but scarcely pausing to draw breath, Tayla continued, “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? You might not think you owe me an explanation, but I disagree.”
“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Gathering his thoughts, he stood and walked to the window. He turned. “Norman attached extensive stipulations to my inheritance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely grateful for everything he’s done for me, but he wanted to make sure I didn’t screw it up. I had to be twenty-eight before the orchard was mine, which suited me fine. I was traveling with my job and didn’t want to give up that lifestyle when I was younger.”
“Yes, I remember him talking about that. What would happen to the orchard when ‘the boy’ took over.”
“I think he’d be happy with how it’s turned out. Of course, he never had a passion for organics. Thought it was some hippy fad.” He leaned his butt against the front of his desk. Tayla scooted her chair back a fraction, as if his presence unsettled her, but her hazel eyes never left his.
“I was due a substantial payout at the end of last year. But there was a hiccup, and the estate trustees refused to release the funds. I’m still interested in buying Cherry Grove, but I can’t raise the money right now without jeopardizing my cash flow.”
Her eyes widened. “So you’ll let my parents go under instead?”
“I hadn’t realized they were in such a dire financial position. Barry acted as if everything was fine. Although I did wonder when he asked me if I wanted to lease the cherries.”
“What do you mean, lease the cherries?”
“I’ve leased Cherry Grove’s trees for two seasons now. It’s common practice. Fruit trees are leased all over the district. Your father wanted the money early, so I paid him for the crop in advance.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned that?”
“I think the dream’s turned into a nightmare for him lately. Cherries need dry conditions with low humidity. Our climate’s not ideal, and as a result, Cherry Grove’s crop hasn’t reached export standard for the past few years. When competing with fruit from Central Otago, they don’t stack up.”
“So, how do you make them profitable?” Her frown deepened.
“Sell them fresh through the farm gate store. Even then, they can be a loss leader. Any surplus, we pickle in brandy or dry them.”
“I didn’t know any of this.”
“But you hold their power of attorney?”
“Yes, but Dad never discusses his finances with any of us. Not even Mum.”
That didn’t surprise Mitch. Barry was a proud man with old-school values. A nice guy who’d lost interest in his business. Simon Harrow was right; he’d stumbled upon the solution with a simple comment of jest. “I’m sorry I had to go back on my word, but I have an idea.”
At this, Tayla appeared to relax a little. “Go on.”
“Are you in a relationship?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”
“Because if you’re not, I want to marry you.”