Chapter Six
NOAH
M y eyes blur as I scroll through the spreadsheet. I should be paying more attention, cross-checking the figures and making sure everything is in line before I close off the quarterly books and send everything to the accountant. But I learnt long ago that half the numbers don’t make sense to me anyway. The previous manager and bookkeeper created these reports, and so much of it is calculated automatically from the formulas they set up in the beginning. I input this quarter’s invoices and sales figures, take the production data and payroll information and drop those in their designated spots, and voila, the front-end report fills itself in.
I just scroll and check if the number at the end is green or red.
For as long as I’ve been in charge, they’ve always been green. Sales are increasing, revenue jumping. The winery I never thought I’d be able to keep afloat is not just maintaining, it’s thriving.
I inherited this place a little over a year ago, from a grandmother I’d never met, and when I first stepped into this office I was certain I was going to run the place into the ground. I knew nothing about wine, or running a restaurant, or owning a business. Some days, I still feel like I know nothing. But I’ve learnt to take each day as it comes and somehow we’re growing to be one of the biggest and most sought after wineries on Melbourne’s Mornington Peninsula. Our events calendar is fully booked for the next eighteen months, the hot air balloon contractor that uses the winery as its lift off point is filling every basket of sightseers. And the wine has gone from ‘run of the mill pinots and chardonnays’ to ‘the best bottle of Rosé this side of the equator’ according to Australian Wine Magazine.
With the help of my team of experts, we continue to grow and expand. We’re even toying with the idea of adding luxury accommodation to the property.
So maybe my initial worries were unfounded. Maybe I could have told my friends the real reason I had for moving down to Melbourne. But I was scared and unsure. The expectations I had on myself were hard enough, I didn’t want to add the pressure of everyone else knowing. Now, they all think I just run the events, and none of them have any clue the whole winery is mine.
Aside from the lawyer that signed over my grandmother’s will, and the team here at the winery, the only other person who knows is Callum. My cousin’s boyfriend started digging early in their relationship. Cassidy’s business was struggling and he had this grand billionaire plan to buy the winery and hire her on as a permanent florist. When he made an offer, I had to turn him down. His idea was great though, considering I’d already had the same one.
Having Cassidy as our go-to florist not only eases the burden for couples booking weddings and events with us, but it also means I never have to worry about fresh flowers for the tables or cute decor for setting up luxury picnics. She handles it all, and as a result, she never has to worry about her floristry business drying up. That, combined with her idea to go into business with Amira, means my cousin’s business is thriving too. I like to think my paternal grandmother would be proud of how widespread my achievements have been.
Giving up on the spreadsheet, I reluctantly book the next available appointment at the nearest optometrist. I’ve known for years my vision is far from perfect, it just never mattered before. I spent my days teaching surf lessons and my weekends pouring drinks behind a nightclub bar. I wouldn’t have been able to wear glasses most of the time even if I had them. Moving here, taking on the winery, I knew my eyesight would become a problem. I’ve put off doing something about it for long enough.
When the email notification dings with the incoming confirmation of my appointment, I drop my head into my hands. I press my palms into my eye sockets, blocking out all the light. Storm clouds fill my vision as I use more force than I need to, but the tension headache that had been building begins to ease.
“Knock knock.”
I groan inwardly at the interruption, assuming it’s one of the waiters coming in to ask something that can definitely wait. But Cassidy’s sharp voice proves me wrong.
“I said knock knock,” she calls from beyond the large sliding barn door.
“Come in.” I lean back in my chair and drop my hands away from my face. I blink rapidly while my eyes adjust to the sudden light, fighting the urge to reach behind me and pull down the window blind.
Cassidy makes herself comfortable in one of the armchairs, leaning back and curling her legs under her. Her dark T-shirt is wet in the front, and stray pieces of her hair have fallen from her messy bun to stick against the sides of her face. But her resting expression is bright and her green eyes twinkle. She looks … happy. Thrilled. She loves working with flowers, and it shows.
“You okay?” she asks as she pulls one of her ankles closer to her body. It looks uncomfortable, all squished into the tiniest of balls, but she always does it, so it must work for her.
“Yeah just … spreadsheets.” I have to gulp down the word. I know she isn’t meaning to be nosey, but whenever we start talking about my work, I can’t shake the feeling she is waiting for me to slip up. As though she knows there’s more to my position here than I let on. Lord help me when I bite the bullet and actually hire someone to do the job I tell everyone I hold.
“Have you finished setting up?”
This afternoon’s wedding is a smaller, more intimate affair. The couple opted to hire out only the cellar door, not the main restaurant floor, so we’ve been able to continue trading for lunch while the events team, and Cassidy, set up. At some stage, I should head around the building and check out the space, if for nothing else than to make it look like I’m in charge of that part of the business, but for now I’m leaving it up to Cassidy and the team.
“Nah,” she says with a sigh. “I underestimated how many gum leaves it would take to cover the arbour. Amira is bringing more down but I’ve done all I can for now.”
Something catches in my chest; it pulls and tugs and begs me to make sure I’m there when Amira drops off the flowers. Just to see her. It’s been three weeks since the wedding, and I haven’t seen her or spoken to her since. I wanted to reach out, but it felt odd. Out of place considering we weren’t on those kind of terms before the wedding. And just because I spent the evening playing the part of her boyfriend doesn’t mean our casual acquaintance style friendship has suddenly shifted into anything more.
Even still, I can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t get my mind off how incredible she looked or how her smile lit up the room even when I knew she was miserable. And I can’t get rid of the gaping hole in my chest after her admission.
Truth is, I never really thought I had a chance with Amira, even if I still hoped desperately for something to happen between us. Now, it feels like that hope was torn from my chest with a blunt knife and I’ve been left to bleed out. It’s pathetic really, for a thirty-five-year-old man to be this obsessed and heartbroken over a woman he has never even had a real date with. But there is something about her I can’t shake off. It’s been there since the first moment I laid eyes on her, and the longer it goes on, the more I doubt it will ever go away.
“Woah,” Cassidy’s voice rings in my ears. It sounds distant even though she’s still seated across the desk from me. “Earth to Noah?”
I push my fingers through my hair, rolling my shoulder back a little. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“You alright? You kind of went missing for a bit there.”
“I’m good.” But even as I say it, my head shakes a little.
Cassidy stands up but doesn’t leave. She shifts on her feet a little, before planting her hands on the desk and leaning towards me.
“You know, Amira hasn’t told me anything about the wedding. But I warned you.”
She did. I nod, encouraging her to continue.
“Whatever you thought was going to happen, was never going to happen. Amira was only ever in it to get her dad off her back. You want different things. In all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her come close to settling down. She’s carefree and open and she’s having fun with her life. You’re … not like that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Too late,” I mumble, barely audible. I only really meant it for my own ears.
Cassidy cocks her head and raises her eyebrows. She stands tall, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hmm?”
Rolling my chair back, I stand up and mirror her position. Even from across the desk I’m more than a foot taller than her. She glares up at me like we’re kids on a playground and I just stole her favourite toy. I imagine if we’d been closer as kids we would have shared more than a handful of moments just like that. But my mother’s move to Sydney took the opportunity away from us, and I’m not mad about it, but I like that Cass and I have been able to build a strong friendship now we live in the same state again.
“Look, don’t worry about me, okay. I knew what I was getting myself into. I’ll deal with the burden.”
“For someone so good at giving out advice, you’re pretty shit at following it. You know that right?”
I tip my head back and roll my eyes. “Yes Cassidy, I know.”
With a sigh, I drop back into my chair and reopen the spreadsheet.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Cassidy chimes. “Seems like very important event coordinator work.”
I don’t miss the infliction in her tone, and fight to keep my face neutral. Without looking up from the screen I wave her towards the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”
The door begins to roll shut as she closes it after her, but before it clicks into place Cassidy leans back into the room. “Tell the owner I think they are doing an incredible job here. They should be proud of how far the winery has come.”
I close my eyes, counting to ten in my head and hoping she leaves. Keeping the fact I own this place to myself seemed like the perfect option at the time. There was no pressure, no external weight pulling me down when I already thought I was going to struggle. Now that I’m not struggling, it seems silly to suddenly announce I’m not just the event coordinator.
What exactly am I supposed to do? Call a backwards intervention? ‘Hey friends, remember that winery I’m working at? Turns out I’ve owned it all along. April Fools.’
I groan at the thought. It’s too late now, and with Cassidy here for more and more events, I know the secret will be out soon. If she hasn’t already figured it out.
The spreadsheet is a sea of green, filling my spirits a little. Maybe if I can see the year out, start following through on the hotel plans, and still be green when the financial year is done, I’ll stop hiding it. Maybe.
The numbers behind the green are still a blur, and trying to focus has my headache reforming. I save the sheet, attach it to an email for the accountant and leave the draft unsent. I’m still a few days off having to send it, so I leave a sticky note under my computer screen to double-check it again in the morning. As though it will make a difference.
Giving up on work altogether, because sometimes as the boss you just need to say ‘fuck it’ and take the afternoon off, I straighten my keyboard and stand from my desk. I don’t even have one foot out of the room before I hear it.
Hear her.
Specifically, her laugh. It’s sweet like sugary icing and full of sharp notes like the crispest red wine. And it flows through the large restaurant with ease. The lunch rush has mostly died down, so it’s easy to spot her. Seated at the bar with her hair tied in a high ponytail. Her black jeans contrast with her vibrant hot pink shirt, and even with my view of just the side of her face, I can see the way she smiles into her wine glass. She flutters her eyelids across the bar, lowering her laugh into something closer to a breathy giggle.
A waitress stands opposite her, drying a wine glass. Her long hair is pulled into a braid hanging over her shoulder and she wears bright red lipstick that adds a pop of colour to the otherwise all black uniform we all wear. Kylie, her name might have been. I don’t like being the kind of boss who doesn’t know everyone’s names, but we’ve grown so busy recently that we have ten new waitresses and another handful of event staff. And I’ve never been any good at remembering names. They’ll stick eventually.
Regardless, if she keeps batting her eyelids at Amira, she might not make it through her probation period. Fire courses my veins at the thought. It’s jealousy, mixed with self-loathing. I never pictured myself as the jealous kind, but there’s something about seeing Amira here, in my winery, flirting. With someone who isn’t me . It’s wrong. It’s painful. I don’t like it. Even though I’m in no place to tell her not to. Regardless of how I feel, Amira has every right to own her sexuality. To bat her eyelids and flirt and smile and be .
My shoulders curl as I stalk over to the bar. Seeing me, Kylie—I confirm her name with a hopefully subtle glance at her name tag—jumps. She drops the wineglass onto the tray, winks at Amira and saunters off. I don’t miss the way she sashays her hips as she heads along the bar. I track the movement in Amira’s eyes as she watches.
“I was enjoying that conversation,” she drawls as she spins on the bar stool to face me.
Her deep brown eyes reflect golden sparkles from the chandelier above our heads and for a moment, I get lost in them. No wonder Kylie was flirting back. “Sorry, Cupcake.”
“You should be. It was bad enough hanging off your arm all night at the wedding, you’re interrupting my attempt to pick up now, too? It’s rude.”
I lean one hip against the bar and cross my arms. The position presses my muscles against the tight band where I’ve rolled up my sleeves, and I’d relax into a more comfortable position but Amira’s eyes dart down to my stance. She pulls her lips into her mouth as she rakes her gaze over me. I think, think, she’s checking me out. But … that wouldn’t make any sense.
Nevertheless, her physical reaction to my above-average but far from impressive physique tugs at the ounce of hope I’ve been trying—and failing—to shove way down low. It floats to the surface, lodging itself in my throat, and no matter how many times I try to swallow it back it finds a place behind my Adam’s Apple.
Amira’s mouth falls open slightly. Her near-empty wine glass dangles in her fingertips.
“You good?” I ask.
In lieu of answering, Amira hums, her gaze still locked on my forearms. And I could stand here and appreciate how goddamn fuckable her mouth looks with her plump lips and rosy lipstick, I could tense my biceps or run my thumb along her chin and catch her gaze with my own. I could step closer, I want to step closer. I could let myself believe her dazed state is because of me, not because she was just flirting with the woman behind the bar. But even though she was more than a little drunk when the admission slipped out, I can’t forget what she told me. It wasn’t a phase.
I click my fingers in front of her face.
She recoils a little. Her mouth snaps shut and she blinks rapidly before clearing her throat. “Sorry,” she rushes out. “Cassidy needed flowers and then Kylie asked if I wanted a drink and then she was … and you are …”
Her cheeks brighten with a blush that matches her shirt, so much so my hand twitches towards her. I want to run my fingers along her cheeks and feel their warmth. I want to know if her bright blush creeps under her shirt.
Fuck . So much for getting over her. My fingers tense against my arms as I force myself to hold them in place.
“You’re cute when you blush, Cupcake.”
Amira hides her face in her hands but gives up quickly to finish the rest of her wine. She downs the half a glass in one swift gulp. “I’m not blushing.”
“You are. Your cheeks are the same colour as your shirt.” I risk reaching my hand towards her and toy with the collar of her shirt. “It’s cute.”
“I’m never wearing this top again,” Amira groans. “You’ve ruined it for me.”
“Don’t, it looks good.” I pull my arm back and shove my hands into my pockets.
In response, Amira rolls her eyes and turns back to the bar. She lifts a hand to catch Kylie’s attention and tilts her head when the waitress walks over. Kylie pours a fresh glass of wine, keeping one eye on me as she places it in front of Amira.
“That’s just—”
“On the house,” I finish for her. “I’ll have one too, please.”
Kylie nods, pouring my drink. Shifting her gaze to Amira, she smiles meekly before turning back to the other end of the bar.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Amira rests her elbows on the bar and drops her head against one of her hands. She takes a long sip of her wine while I swirl my own in its glass.
“She has a boyfriend,” Amira muses. “She accidentally let it slip right before you came over. But she was definitely flirting with me. And now I’m like, I have to stop, right? I can’t be that person.”
“Oh. Well yeah, you should stop. Even if she was flirting with you, there’s a boundary there you should respect. Even if she doesn’t.”
Amira nods and pulls her wine glass up to her lips. Her sip is precise, nothing like the long gulps she took earlier. “Once Cassidy asked me why she attracted all the crazies. I made up some nice story to comfort my friend, but some days it feels like I get them too. I trick myself into thinking I don’t want an actual relationship because it would be so hard to please my parents anyway so why not be their eternal disappointment. But like, some days I feel like it would be nice to find my person, you know?”
Placing my wine down, I move next to Amira and wrap my arm around her shoulders. She feels tiny in my embrace, and she nuzzles against my collarbone. The sweet smell of her conditioner draws me closer until my cheek is resting on the top of her head. Amira’s breath catches in her throat, tiny hiccups as she lets her emotions out as quietly as she can.
“You’re incredible, Amira. Honestly, your parents are fucking idiots if they don’t see how special you are.” I let my fingers trace gentle lines up and down her arm, doing my best to ignore the electricity the closeness is sending through me. To be what she needs instead of what I desperately crave. “If you want to keep having fun, do it. One day, if you want, you’ll find a woman who makes your heart sing. You’ll miss her whenever she’s not around and you’ll find every excuse under the sun to see her. And she’ll be the luckiest woman alive, because she’ll have you.”
It hurts, saying the words. Knowing it will never be me that makes her so happy. But she deserves it, and her happiness is worth more than my own.
“Or man,” Amira whispers into my chest.
My hand stops moving and I lean back a little. Amira wriggles free from my hug and reaches for her glass. She said it like it meant nothing.
“What do you mean? On the way back from the wedding you said it wasn’t a phase. I thought that meant—”
Amira holds the stem of her wine glass with both hands. She spins it on the bar and doesn’t look up when she talks. “It wasn’t a phase. I’m bisexual.”
I don’t move. I don’t think I could if I needed to. Because the hope that had gone and lodged itself in my throat is spreading like wildfire. It’s burning through my veins until I can barely breathe. Amira turns to me and holds up her glass.
“And since my family is already placing bets on my sexuality anyway, I’d put all the money I have on my father thinking having a daughter who is bisexual is even worse than her being a lesbian.”