Chapter 19
CHAPTER
Cruz hadn’t lit the fire pit in over ten years, and the simple act of piling red gum logs over kindling made his gut churn as he remembered the last time.
It had been a productive day on the farm and his father had been in a mellow mood for once.
A new buyer had come on board after touring the farm, signing on to regularly purchase several tonnes of Kinstead avocados.
Mac had suggested they have a barbecue for dinner and Cruz didn’t know whether to be pleased his dad wanted to spend time with him or wary, because they hadn’t cooked outside for years.
His mum had a meeting with the Country Women’s Association and Cruz knew she went to the pub for a wine with a few friends afterwards.
Usually, he would vanish to the studio, where he’d been living since he turned eighteen, but curiosity got the better of him and he’d accepted Mac’s invitation for a barbecue, just the two of them.
He should’ve known his father wouldn’t want to spend time with him alone, because Mac had just put the steaks and sausages on the hotplate when Roger had arrived.
From that moment, Mac pretended like Cruz didn’t exist, except to bark orders at him.
Get us another beer. Fetch the bread and tomato sauce. Flip the steaks.
Cruz hated being a third wheel, watching as Mac and Roger laughed and slapped each other on the back all evening.
He’d never understood his father’s overt macho vibes around some men, almost like he was trying too hard to be one of the boys.
Yet other times, he’d catch his father smelling flowers or flicking through Ferne’s magazines, indulging a softer side no-one ever saw.
Mac had always been a contradiction, which Cruz could’ve lived with.
What he couldn’t stand was his meanness, his surliness and the disregard with which he treated Ferne.
Cruz knew he’d been a fool, expecting his dad to treat him with respect, as an equal, after all the years of being seen as nothing more than an heir to the farm.
From that night on, his determination to leave took on a harder edge, and he confided in his mother that he’d be gone in another six months.
Ferne had helped him and he’d been eternally grateful.
So why the hell had he suggested lighting the fire pit now and inviting El to join him?
After kissing her palm in the car, and their almost-kiss when parked out the front of the pub, he was toying with fire, literally, and had a feeling he’d get burned.
No good could come of indulging his attraction to the beautiful marketer.
What if they slept together tonight and it interfered with her work promoting the farm?
This could get messy.
The hint of a headache had begun to pulse behind his eyes, but he struck a long match, held it to the kindling, and blew on it gently.
It caught quickly, unlike the last time he’d done this, when Mac had laughed at his incompetency and called him a wuss who belonged in the kitchen alongside Ferne. Misogynistic prick.
Cruz didn’t miss him. Considering they only saw each other once a year since Cruz left home ten years ago, they’d been virtual strangers, obliged to fake it in front of Ferne at their Christmas catch-ups.
Cruz begrudged having to head home to the farm annually, but he made the effort for his mother. Ferne would go to a lot of trouble to prepare a traditional feast of roast turkey, veggies and gravy, while Cruz took care of dessert.
The first year after he returned, he stuck to his mum’s favourite, mango pav, but as he worked in various restaurants across Melbourne and gained experience, his Christmas Day offerings became more exotic.
Lychee-infused custard tarts, apple crisp Macchiato crumble, orange cheesecake with a cranberry glaze and chocolate champagne cake.
Ferne adored anything he cooked, and it gave him great pleasure to see her taking seconds and sometimes thirds.
Mac would merely grunt his appreciation and leave the table as soon as possible, though Cruz caught him raiding the fridge late on Christmas night for another helping of dessert on several occasions.
Cruz never called him out on it. What would be the point, when his mother had to live with him for the remaining three hundred and sixty-four days of the year?
Lost in memories of his dysfunctional family, Cruz didn’t know El had arrived until she laid a hand on his arm.
‘You’re a million miles away,’ she said softly.
‘The fire hypnotised me.’
Despite the scepticism in her eyes, she didn’t push him and he respected her for it.
‘I love sitting around a fire. It’s been too long since I’ve done it.’
‘When was the last time?’ He sat on the bench and patted the seat beside him, wondering if she’d choose to sit so close.
She sat next to him and he exhaled in relief.
‘I already told you my folks moved around a lot, but for a while, when I was about ten, they’d visit a campsite near Mount Hotham in spring.
The nights would be freezing, so we’d have a mini bonfire, toast marshmallows, just sit around and chat.
’ Her eyes glazed. ‘Those were some of the happiest times we ever had as a family.’
She blinked several times and he gave her time to compose herself.
‘We rarely sat around this fire pit,’ he said.
‘As a teen, I preferred to distract myself with video games and music in my room, and when I started working on the farm after I finished school, I was too tired at the end of a long day to want to sit around pretending to like my dad and making small talk.’
‘Sounds like we’ve both had interesting childhoods.’
‘Yeah, though I make sure mine doesn’t define me. What about you?’
‘Same.’ She flexed her biceps and winked. ‘I’m strong, thanks to them.’
‘Here’s to forgetting the shitty childhoods that made us stronger.’ He raised an imaginary glass, then laughed as he realised he’d forgotten to pour the wine. ‘Fancy a glass of merlot so we can toast for real?’
‘I’d love one.’
He poured the wine and handed her a glass. Their fingertips brushed and the tiny zap of awareness that a simple touch elicited made him acknowledge that he’d been fighting a losing battle against the undeniable attraction between them since they met.
He gulped the wine, the burn down his throat a welcome distraction from her proximity and how badly he wanted to kiss her.
‘I’m surprised you asked me to have a drink with you,’ she said, sipping her wine and staring into the dancing flames.
‘Why?’
‘Because I expected you to retreat to your man cave.’
‘It seemed only fair we celebrate a Galahs trivia win.’
He’d deliberately misunderstood her and she rolled her eyes.
‘I can’t figure you out, Cruz Wardlow.’
‘That’s probably a good thing.’
She tilted her head, studying him, the firelight casting beguiling shadows across her face. ‘You don’t get to kiss my palm and then pretend it didn’t happen.’
‘Fair enough.’ He paused. ‘To be honest, I’m not the wining and dining type. I’m too busy for relationships, so my interactions with women are brief and transient, but I didn’t want to complicate our working relationship, so I am retreating.’
‘Interactions?’ She snorted, amusement tilting her kissable mouth. ‘Is that what thirty-year-olds are calling sex these days?’
‘Stop being ageist.’
‘Stop being na?ve.’ But her words held no bite. ‘I’m well aware of how brief my time here will be. I’m just out of a crappy relationship where the prick cheated on me with his housemate, yet, for some bizarre reason, thinks I’ll take him back. So a brief interaction sounds perfect right now.’
Hell. The beautiful El had just offered herself to him, no strings attached. What was he waiting for?
‘I like your bluntness.’ He held out his hand to her and she took it. As he closed his fingers around it, he wondered if he was about to make a huge mistake. ‘But I still have reservations.’
She made a cute pfft sound. ‘You overthink too much.’
‘True.’
Thoughts whirled through his head, most of them centred around how much it would suck if they slept together and then had to work through awkward tension.
‘Okay, so here’s the plan. We’re going to finish our wine.’ She raised her glass with her free hand. ‘Then soak up this romantic ambience. Stare deep into each other’s eyes. Flirt a little. Hold hands.’ She squeezed his. ‘Then I’m going to drag you to bed.’
He chuckled, before tipping the rest of his wine down his throat. ‘There. Wine finished. Can we fast-track the rest?’
Her coy grin set his heart racing as she stood and tugged him to his feet. ‘I’m all for fast-tracking.’
‘You sure you wouldn’t like to be romanced?’
‘You can romance me in bed.’ She eyeballed him, and the desire he glimpsed fired his libido. ‘Now.’
Cruz didn’t have to be asked twice.