14 #2
Graham’s laughter echoed off the walls. ‘Just like the school excursion! Remember? Year six, you took down half the display fridge trying to get a better look at the cheese wheels.’
‘So what I believe you are telling me,’ Leo said, keeping his voice low, ‘is that you have always been this graceful. It is not just my devastating presence making you, as you would say, weak at the knees.’
Emily wanted to die. Also maybe to kiss him. The two feelings were confusing.
‘I’m a disaster,’ she admitted.
‘My favourite kind,’ he said, steadying her with a hand at her elbow, his touch careful but sure.
They made their escape with some overpriced cheddar. At the Hilux, Leo opened her door without fanfare, his palm settling briefly between her shoulder blades as she climbed in. The warmth of it lingered through her jumper long after he’d walked around to the driver’s side.
‘Where would you like to take me next?’ he asked, putting the key in the ignition.
‘The bakery. Just up here on the right. Try not to let me fall over anything else.’
‘I make no promises. You seem very determined.’
The bakery hadn’t changed since Emily was a child. Same striped awning, same bench out front where farmers solved the world’s problems over drip coffee, same smell of butter and meat and sugar that meant home more than any house ever had.
‘Best vanilla slices this side of the Great Divide,’ she told Leo as they walked in. ‘We call them snot blocks, but don’t let that put you off.’
‘Snot blocks,’ he repeated. ‘Australians have such a poetic relationship with food.’
The woman behind the counter—Marie, according to her name tag, though Emily had known her as Mrs Peterson her whole life—lit up when she saw her.
‘Emily! Your mum said you were working on some big radio station in the city now.’
‘Just the street team,’ Emily said quickly. ‘Nothing fancy. This is Leo, he’s visiting from overseas.’
Marie gave Leo the kind of once-over that would’ve made lesser men shuffle their feet. He just smiled and complimented her on the smell of her pies.
‘What’ll it be, love?’
‘Two pies, two vanilla slices, and whatever else you recommend for someone who’s never experienced the joy of a proper country bakery,’ Emily replied.
Marie beamed, already reaching for paper bags. ‘I’ll sort you out.’
Back outside, Emily bit into her pie immediately, inevitably burning the roof of her mouth on the meat filling.
‘Hot?’ Leo asked, watching her do the frantic breath-cooling dance.
‘Perfect,’ she managed around a mouthful of pastry.
He laughed.
The rest of the hometown tour unfolded in snapshots. The closed-down milk bar where Emily had spent her pocket money on mixed lollies. The bowls club, where her dad used to drink before he met Wife Number Two. The single-screen cinema that showed movies six months after everywhere else.
‘Right,’ Emily said, needing to break the spell before she did something stupid like ask him to stay. ‘Next stop. You can’t say you’ve seen country Victoria without visiting a vineyard. They are probably a little different this side of the world compared to what you are used to.’
Russet Hill appeared through the afternoon light, all stubborn vines and red-brown earth clinging to a slope that caught the late-afternoon sun just right.
Inside the cellar door, they worked through the tasting methodically. When the woman behind the bar poured a deep red shiraz, Leo made a sound of genuine appreciation.
‘This is exceptional.’
‘Wait till you see the view from the top of the hill,’ she said, winking at Emily like she knew exactly what twenty-one-yearolds did with good wine and golden-hour light. ‘Perfect time of day for it. Take a glass each.’ She topped up their glasses.
They climbed the hill slowly, glasses of shiraz in hand, Emily’s ankle still tender from Saturday’s stage trip, Leo’s free hand finding hers over the rough bits.
At the top, western Victoria spread out in all its understated glory: brown grass and distant mountains, the kind of view that made you understand why people wrote songs about wide open spaces.
Emily sat down on the grass. Leo folded down beside her with more grace, their knees touching through denim.
When she turned to look at him, he was already watching her. That look she’d started catching more often, like he was trying to memorise her face.
‘What?’ Emily asked.
‘Just thinking.’
‘Dangerous.’
‘Very,’ he agreed, but he was smiling.
She didn’t know who moved first. Maybe they met in the middle. But suddenly Emily was kissing him on a hilltop in the middle of nowhere.
His hand came up to cradle her jaw as he kissed her back with intention. No crowd to blame this time. The wine warming her blood, the low sun painting everything gold, and Emily felt the kind of want that made her whole body hum.
She pressed closer, her fingers twisting in his shirt, their glasses of shiraz discarded. He made a sound low in his throat that sent heat straight through her. His other hand found her waist, his fingers spreading wide like he wanted to touch as much of her as possible.
When they finally broke apart, Emily could see her own desire reflected in his eyes.
‘And now I’m thinking of parmas while we…’ she started, not sure how to finish.
‘Parmas,’ he said seriously, voice raw, ‘are clearly an Australian aphrodisiac.’
‘It’s the cheese. Very seductive.’
She pulled him closer and he came willingly, one hand sliding into her hair, tilting her head back. The wine, the sun, the weight of everything unsaid, all of it dissolved.
‘We should probably head down,’ Emily said eventually, not moving. ‘The pub’ll be getting busy.’
‘Probably,’ he agreed, also not moving.
When they finally stood up, she noticed with satisfaction that his white sneakers now wore a fine coating of red dust.
‘Looks like you’re mortal after all,’ Emily said.
‘Worth it,’ he said.
They made their way down hand in hand, no pretence anymore, and Emily held on to the feeling. Filed it away with all the other moments she was already hoarding.