Chapter 6
Eva
“Mum, please don’t make me wear them, they’re as big as bowling balls,” I whined, pushing my new glasses up my face. I wanted to cry, but that wasn’t an option right now - not here.
Not when Cooper Dane was sitting on the other side of my big brother Sebastian, in his ripped jeans and Billabong t-shirt. I didn’t care what Bella said, he was way hotter than Randy from Home Improvement. And I’d know, we watched that show as if it were our religion.
“They highlight the beauty of your gorgeous eyes, baby. Promise.” She kissed the top of my head but it only made me want to cry more.
She had to say things like that, she was my mum.
She lifted her camera, snapping a quick photo and I knew when she finally got around to having that printed, I would be wearing a scowl to match the tears welling in my eyes and my stupid glasses probably covering half the picture.
“Okay everybody, let’s cut the cake,” Mum called and like a herd of elephants the boys all ran towards my brother. He was twelve and this was the best part of having a birthday.
There were arms everywhere, the stench of sweaty boys thick in the air and that was just gross.
I pushed my chair back just as everyone began singing to Sebastian, my mouth moving but no words coming out.
I hated singing in front of anyone and I knew if I pretended Mum wouldn’t mind.
I could sing to him tomorrow when we made our own cake.
“Ouch.” I looked up and into the cranky red face of Seb’s friend Derek. “You stepped on my foot, four-eyes,” he whispered, his mean words making my tummy hurt.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I chanted in my head as I tried to move around to where Mum was taking photos but there were so many people, and I couldn’t get out.
I tried to push harder, to squeeze through as everyone sang, ‘hooray’, only a hand on my arm stopped me. And when I looked up it was Cooper who was standing in front of me.
I liked Cooper. He was Sebastian’s very best-friend and he always let me play with him and Seb and never said anything mean. He even told me he thought my glasses suited me the first time he saw them.
He wasn’t smiling like normal though. His face was red and I knew it wasn’t just because he was hot.
He looked mad. But he wasn’t looking at me anymore, he was looking behind me and even as everyone started to move away, Cooper didn’t.
Instead, he stuck his foot out to the side and tripped Derek over.
On purpose!
“Be mean to her again and you’ll regret it,” he spat, turning to look at me for two whole seconds before running over to stand next to Sebastian, as if nothing even happened.
As if he hadn’t just implanted himself in my heart.
I stared at his email reply disbelievingly.
Sounds good. Free tomorrow?
Excuse me?
Four fudge-stick words. FOUR! The number alone was enough to make me sweaty.
Was he serious right now? Four words.
Was four words even worthy of an email? May as well have sent a passive aggressive thumbs up.
It was obvious after my four-hour debate on how to word my email, he spent less than five seconds drafting a reply with no salutation or farewell.
Still rude and arrogant apparently.
Hitting reply, I didn’t spend hours pondering whether to maintain any semblance of professionalism when he clearly couldn’t have been bothered.
In just four words, he reminded me how much of a nuisance I was.
And with that, a flurry of feelings I’d worked hard to forget came gushing back.
Once again, even as a thirty-two-year-old, I was still that annoying younger sibling in desperate need of saving.
Hi Cooper,
Yes, I am free tomorrow.
I’m working in the morning - how does 4:00 pm sound?
Evangeline.
Changing the font to white, I added a final line, meant only for me.
I do hope you are fisted without lube in the meantime.
Ex oh.
It wasn’t my finest moment and didn’t align with my, I am mature and not in need of saving campaign, but it did leave me feeling satisfied.
Sometimes the quiet wins clapped the loudest and I grinned like a fool knowing I could throw some spice at my potential boss with him being none the wiser. After all, I was just a kid.
White font for the win, ladies and gentlemen.
Golden Spades Distillery was nothing like I imagined.
While I’d obviously stalked the absolute shit out of this place as soon as it opened, followed its Instagram via an anonymous account and done a quick online search for the street view, being here felt different.
A large brass sign identifying his brand and logo sat stark against the black brickwork lining the building with a twisty vibrant green vine carefully placed around the edges.
The harmonious balance of the man-made and natural feel worked at enhancing the warmth and vitality of the greenery giving a wild and unexpected beauty to the place.
Two large oak barrels hugged the entryway, each adorning their own lush, leafy foliage, further highlighting the industrial and organic aesthetic. Surprisingly impressed with the quality and details, I headed inside to see how the rest looked.
The smell of wood grain wafted through the air, the barrels lining the walls held by ricks, their round tops a trypophobia nightmare as they impressively lay positioned along the perimeter.
It was beautiful and a calming presence washed through me as I looked around, genuinely fascinated and feeling perhaps this was a fortuitous opportunity after all.
Despite the list of reasons this could be awkward, the surroundings were already working to soothe.
Perhaps seeing him again wasn’t going to be prodigious as it was only a few short weeks ago that I’d straddled the back of his motorbike, cast in the role of damsel in distress… a part I played so well by now.
But today was uniquely obtuse.
It felt for most of my life I was the one who was on the outside.
Younger, immature and lacking any kind of wisdom that he or my brother seemed to have.
Yet today I was here for something I knew, and I knew well.
There was comfort in that knowledge which was my guiding strength to push my shoulders back and wander further inside.
I was intelligent, confident and not the same person he once knew.
I would slip that masked ambivalence around myself and do what was needed to graduate.
There really was no other choice at this point.
If Golden Spades Distillery didn’t take me, I would have no choice but to pay back the scholarship.
The not so kind email I received this morning from the department handling said opportunities made the deadline clear with a subject line reading: Forty-Eight Hours.
Again, that blasted number. It was a siren wailing in my head as a numbered reminder, because of course I was the fool who couldn’t finalise anything without the help of others.
Once more, I reminded myself I had a tenacity I never used to possess, though by this point, I would’ve agreed to almost anything he asked just to get him to sign my paperwork.
Reefing my jeans up, and regretting my decision not to wear a belt, I walked around the empty reception area, scanning as much of my surroundings as possible.
Frustratingly, there were too many aisles to currently count, each holding rows of oak barrels.
The perfect symmetry disrupted only by visual blemishes indicating what I assumed was age.
I wanted to run my fingers over the scuffed metal hoops.
To lean in and smell the oak beneath the sweet, boozy vapour dusting the air.
To make sense of the soft chalk markings on the wood, reflecting something I currently knew nothing about.
Mostly, I wanted to count every single crate of aging spirit. To understand the etymology of their names.
Solstice Mist: Foundation Label
The Protector’s Pour: Love, like whiskey, burns slowly
52225 Reserve: Transcendence
I snapped a quick photo, desperate for more time, as soft voices emanated from the far corner, drawing my attention. A group of men stood around some kind of large machine, the tapping of metal on metal, sporadic yet shrill.
“Hi there,” I greeted, and all four heads whipped around at the sound of my voice. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m looking for Cooper.”
Two of the men turned back to whatever it was they were doing, while a third watched on curiously as the youngest gentleman in the group stepped forward.
“Argh, sure.” His hesitation made my nerves increase, already worried I was an inconvenience. “I’m Grant,” he said, as he guided me around the copper monstrosity and through another labyrinth of aging products. “We didn’t hear you arrive.”
“Sorry, there was no one at the front desk. I did ring the buzzer, but I don’t know if it worked.”
“Oh, I’ll look. We don’t usually get visitors like yourself around here,” he added under his breath.
“Visitors like me?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Under fifty,” he joked.
“Oh.” Unsure what else to say, I smiled. “I’m Evangeline by the way. Probably should have started with that.”
“Nice to meet you.” His gaze followed me more than where we were walking, and I wanted to ask questions about the place. Instead, I focused on taking in as much of my surroundings as possible, playing mental maths as a distraction.
Each aisle held barrels four deep - of course - that number always my shadow. The air hummed around us and other than a constant dripping sound and an occasional shrill beep, we walked in silence for most of the way.
I hated social situations like this. Times where I felt uncomfortable under the assessment of someone new and desperate to fill the quiet space with random thoughts.
“So, you work here?”
No, Eva, he just hangs around offering tours. Ugh I shouldn’t be allowed out in public.
“Sure do. I’m the main Still Operator at Spades. And I do compliance. Bit of a number guy.” This piqued my interest. Common ground.