Chapter 4 #2
Spencer let out a long breath. Whoever he chose at the end of this competition would need to leave their friends, family and home to be with him. And, in Emily’s case, an established family business. Could he really have that on his conscience if he wasn’t feeling a rock-solid connection?
‘Do you still want to do this?’ Spencer asked quietly, watching her as carefully as he could behind the gauze-fronted bee-keeping veil.
‘The bees or the TV show?’
‘Either,’ he said softly. ‘If you’re not feeling it, you know you can always call things off.’
Emily gave a dry laugh and tapped the recording box strapped to the small of her waist. ‘I don’t want to call it off, I want to skip to the good part, where it’s me and you, no cameras, no microphones, no other women.’
She studied his face. ‘What about you? You back away nearly every time I snuggle into you or try to steal a kiss. You never mention your wife but she’s clearly the elephant in the room. I’m putting myself out there, Spencer, and with all these mixed messages, I’ve got no idea where I stand.’
Spencer reached for his tool bucket, not wanting the cameras to document the alarm that had surely skittered across his face. ‘Of course I’m interested, it’s just different to what I expected. Seeing you in that bee suit …’
The words wedged in his throat and he studied the smoke can, wishing it would have the same sedative effect on his pounding chest as it did the bees.
Behind him, Spencer could sense rather than see the cameraman repositioning, and he knew that Dana would be gesturing to the sound guy and the extra camera to ensure they captured every word.
As he’d done so many times these last five years, he turned his attention to the beehive and the colony relying on him to keep them alive.
‘They’re pretty quiet this time of year,’ he said stiffly, easing the clamp and undoing the thin metal strap holding the hives together.
‘Like hibernation?’
He nodded. ‘Exactly. So we’re not collecting honey or moving hives today, just checking the queen bee’s still present.’
He opened the timber box and extracted a frame. ‘We’re also looking for mould, small hive beetle and brood rot.’
‘I’m not hearing much dialogue, guys,’ interrupted Dana.
She strode over with her clipboard. ‘We’re already losing key visuals because of these big bee suits, and it’s going to be boring as batshit if we’re just watching you lean over wooden box after box.
Can you talk us through things, tell us what you think about the setting, the work, the sight of a strong handsome man being so tender with those delicate little insects? Pretty hot, right, Emily?’
Previously, they’d laughed together about the producer’s prodding and poking, but today, Emily studied the ground before tugging at the zip on the beekeeper’s veil. ‘I’ve got a headache, I need to get out of this suit.’
Dana looked between them and Spencer couldn’t tell if it was dismay or glee on her face as she watched Emily stride towards the marquee, pulling ineffectively at the headgear with her gloved hands.
‘She was a bit on edge when I told her the suit belonged to your late wife,’ Dana said, stepping aside as the cameraman moved closer. ‘Tell me how you’re feeling right now, Spencer? Do you still think she’s the one?’
In the first fortnight of filming, he’d admitted on camera that the chemistry with Emily had felt the strongest, and although the producers had taken this angle and run with it every chance they got, it still felt like a loaded question.
Was it the pink bee suit?
Or was it just him?
‘Spencer,’ Dana groaned. ‘There’s only so much footage I can use of you staring off into the cloudy distance, grimacing at the muddy paddocks.
I’ll have to start filming the catering lady for some sunny content, in her sunflower dresses and bright lipstick.
She’s the only one who seems to be happy about this show. ’
Spencer wasn’t sure what exactly it was about the dark-haired Clem Crossley, with her quirky clothes and the aquamarine eyes she’d passed on to her two little girls, but he suddenly appreciated her calm presence and sense of humour.
The way she’d been bagging out reality TV in the school car park was funnier in retrospect, especially given she’d been right about most of it. He looked up to find Dana studying him curiously.
‘Clem the caterer. She’s got a kid at your school, doesn’t she? I’m sensing there’s some shared history there?’
The brainpower required to keep the three remaining ladies separate in his mind, plus Belle, was hard enough; Spencer risked whiplash if Clem Crossley was thrown into this game of mental ping-pong.
‘Hate to break it to you, Dana, but your senses are up the creek. Nearly every family in the district goes to my school. My in-laws are a big fan of Sunny Cross Cafe, but you’re grasping at straws if you think there’s anything romantic going on. Coffee maker; customer. Parent; teacher.’
His mind formulated an extra line, but he’d be damned if he was going to let that one slip from his lips.
Single mum; childless widower who’d always dreamed of becoming a father.
Spencer pressed his lips together. Apparently Dana’s fanciful ideas were contagious.
‘Acquaintances, nothing more,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve got to check the rest of the hives, I’ll be back at the farmhouse in an hour.’
‘The caterer looks a lot like your late wife too, doesn’t she?’ Dana said lightly, tapping her finger against her chin. ‘They’re not related, are they?’
He felt his back go ramrod straight.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do,’ he said, and with a shake of his head, Spencer picked up his tools and hightailed it to the furthest pallet of hives.
‘Ten bucks says these ladies are three wineries deep into a wine tour.’
Clem looked up from the blueberry bagel she was buttering to see three bicycles peel into the cafe car park in wobbly succession. A cyclist in a bright-pink puffer jacket nearly fell off her bike with laughter when she and one of her companions collided, and a third made a shaky dismount.
‘Pissed as newts.’ Kev sighed. ‘They’ll be feeling mighty sorry for themselves if the Sarge spots them in that state. If I were a nasty bugger, I’d tip him off.’
‘That sounds like a Marco move,’ Clem said, recalling how the Brew Haven owner had campaigned long and hard to evict a teenage squatter from a vacant farmhouse in Penwarra last year. She turned her attention back to the trio of women ascending the cafe steps.
‘We’ll feed them up, ply them with enough water that they can float and hope the booze wears off before they get back on those bikes,’ Clem said, marching to the entrance and opening the door to welcome the ladies inside.
With a warm smile on her face, Clem subtly angled her body to protect the produce stall.
The perfectly imperfect butternut pumpkins and locally-grown apples were piled up in cane baskets and she suspected they could be as dangerous as ten-pin bowls, given how unsteady the ladies were on their feet.
‘You! You’re the sunflower lady! With the apple crumble cupcakes!’
Customers turned, curious about the noisy new arrivals, and recognition dawned on Clem as the women shucked their jackets, scarves and bike helmets to reveal the three remaining contestants from Love on the Land.
Clem caught Sebastian’s eye, grateful for his initiative as he pulled out seats at a far corner of the cafe, set down menus and beckoned the women over.
‘You’ll warm up quickly by the fire,’ Clem said, leading the way with a water jug and glasses. She snuck discreet glances at them as she ran through the specials and took their orders.
The women weren’t as dolled up as they’d been when she’d delivered the food to South Giddi Giddi, and despite their obvious inebriation, there was a weird energy between them.
Almost like bridesmaids who’d never met before being lumped together at an elaborate hen’s night, where the bride was their only shared connection.
Except these women are competing for a husband, not supporting a dear friend, Clem thought, returning to the service counter with their orders. Delicacies she’d included in the South Giddi Giddi catering had been at the top of their requests, much to Clem’s delight.
‘Good to see them downing water at a rapid rate too,’ Kev said, pulling a fresh jug from the fridge. ‘Red wine hangovers are the worst.’
‘Better than tequila shots,’ Clem chuckled. She dusted icing sugar over the sweets, balanced the plates on her arm and carried them over with the replacement water bottle.
‘You liked the choc-orange madeleines, then?’ Clem said, smiling as she delivered the sweets.
‘It’s my namesake, of course I loved them!
’ the blonde with dead-straight hair and a faint British accent said.
‘I can’t cook for quids, but even if I could, I’d never be able to knock up something this decadent without eating the entire batch in one sitting.
I bet the batter’s as good as the finished product? ’
Clem nodded. ‘Sure is. Though most customers eat them after their lunch, not the other way around,’ she added brightly, hoping it might prompt them to order a round of savouries to help soak up the alcohol. ‘Can I get you a bagel? A locally grown pumpkin and herb frittata?’
‘Kyra, Emily and me aren’t most people, and today we’re on a terribly well-deserved day off. I don’t know about those two, but I’m ready to eat and drink whatever the dickens I want today.’
Kyra tipped her head back and laughed, revealing a gap between her front teeth. From the tint on her lips and teeth, Clem guessed she was a fan of the region’s world-famous red wine.
‘Sounds good to me,’ Clem said. ‘We’re open for another hour, so you’ve got plenty of time.’
‘I’ll drink to that!’ said Madeleine, downing her water like it was a shot and slamming the glass down on the table. ‘And I’ll have more little choccy cakes too, if you can add them to my order.’