Chapter 10
CHAPTER
Cruz didn’t sleep well. Though his mum had said she’d cleaned out the master bedroom for him, he chose to sleep in his childhood bedroom because he’d felt oddly vulnerable after dropping off Elora’s dinner last night.
He’d hurt her with his curt behaviour. The look in her eyes when she’d asked if he’d be sharing dinner with her had been like a puppy being ignored by its new owner, so when he’d stomped back to the homestead, he’d been equal parts annoyed at himself and relieved he wouldn’t be spending the evening with her.
He’d contemplated drowning his sorrows in bourbon, before realising that would make him bleary-eyed for his meeting with Kyle, so he tried watching a nineties comedy like Elora had recommended but couldn’t get into it, so opted for channel surfing mindless television before going to bed.
Opening the door to his childhood bedroom had made Cruz’s throat tighten.
He’d left this place ten years ago, but Ferne had preserved it like he’d slept in it yesterday.
The double bed had a plain navy doona and matching sheets and pillowcase.
The bedside table had a stack of sporting biographies on it that he’d never read.
The desk had a lamp and a stack of unused notebooks on it, left over from his schooldays, and the bookcase had a few cookbooks by celebrity chefs: Jamie Oliver, Nigella Lawson, Gordon Ramsay and Yotam Ottolenghi.
Ferne understood the enjoyment gained from flicking through cookbooks rather than looking up recipes online, but his father had screwed up his nose in disgust whenever Cruz had pored over the recipes of iconic chefs.
Mac had stacked a few farming manuals on Cruz’s bookshelf in an attempt to sway his reading choices and Cruz had pretended to flick through them half-heartedly, earning yet more disapproval from his tyrannical father.
Ferne had kept his childhood books too: The BFG by Roald Dahl, Choose Your Own Adventure tales, and the complete Hardy Boys set.
Not a speck of dust rested on anything, so she must clean regularly.
His mum had always been house proud. Not that Mac noticed.
Nothing Ferne nor Cruz did had ever been good enough for Mac.
Cruz stripped off and crawled into bed, burying his face in the pillow and inhaling deeply, the familiar scent of floral fabric softener and sunshine not comforting him as expected, and by the time the first rays of dawn stole through the window, he’d barely slept.
Sleep deprived and disgruntled, he showered, downed a coffee and grabbed a homemade muesli bar—Ferne had left a double stack of them in the pantry because they’d been his favourite growing up—before heading for the study.
He fired up the computer and opened several folders: latest farm turnover; avocado growth and sales projections; prospective buyers.
He perused the latter, disappointed to see Ferne had made a list of new buyers for their avocados rather than the entire farm.
Then again, what had he expected? What was the point of listing buyers for the farm now when he had to fulfil his father’s wish to work here for a year?
He crammed the muesli bar into his mouth, barely tasting the delicious blend of cranberries, sunflowers, pepitas, maple syrup and peanuts.
He looked over the other two folders. The latest turnover figures were disappointing.
No wonder his mother had hired Elora to boost their profile.
If she didn’t succeed, the place would be worth next to nothing when it came time to sell.
With half an hour until his meeting with Kyle, Cruz brought up a search engine and typed ‘Elora Curtis’ into it. It felt stalkerish, going through her various social media profiles, but he attributed it to good business sense to check out who Ferne had employed.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by the vibrancy of her Instagram, TikTok, Facebook and Snapchat profiles.
On each, her wide smile and penchant for bright colours came through the screen like a ray of sunshine on a dismal day.
She loved posing and the camera loved her.
Even her selfies were cute and quirky rather than forced and fake.
And the screen didn’t mute her vivaciousness, it enhanced her vitality.
A strange pang twanged his chest. What would it be like to love life that much? To be so happy you wanted to share it with the world?
He couldn’t think of anything worse than putting himself out there, though he occasionally posted photos of dishes he created, more so he could look back on their perfection than anything else.
He had his doubts about how Elora would make avocados on the farm look appealing, but she took great photos and added catchy captions, so he’d trust her judgement for now.
When he couldn’t stop staring at a particularly gorgeous photo—she wore a vivid crimson overcoat, matching lipstick, long black boots, her hair artfully tousled as she stood beneath an oak tree in autumnal bloom—he shut down the computer with a groan.
No good could come of lusting after the woman staying in the homestead’s studio.
He slipped out the back door, leaving it unlocked in case Elora wanted a shower—great, another vision he didn’t need—and headed for the machinery shed.
Kyle saw him coming and raised his hand in a wave.
‘Hey, Cruz. How was your first night at home?’
Cruz almost responded with This place will never be home before saying, ‘Not bad. I keep late hours in the city so I’m a lousy sleeper at the best of times, but I’m not used to the quiet out here anymore.’
Yeah, like the country silence kept him up.
‘How was your date?’
Kyle shrugged. ‘Do you remember Rosie, the prefect from our year?’
Cruz had done his best to forget everything and everyone associated with this town when he left, but he had a vague memory. ‘Was she the one with the ponytail on top of her head like a fountain?’
Kyle laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s the one. She’s divorced, recently returned to town, and asked me out.’
‘And?’
Kyle made a thumbs down sign. ‘She’s still bossy and opinionated, with too much bad mouthing of her ex thrown in.’
‘Yikes.’
‘Yeah, I’d rather stay in, have a beer and watch footy replays than be subjected to that.’
They shared a conspiratorial grin, but Kyle’s faded too quickly when he said, ‘Time to discuss business?’
Cruz nodded, his stomach bunching with nerves. ‘I had a quick look over the accounts this morning. Looks like there’s not much margin for error with the next crop, and if we don’t find new buyers, we’re screwed.’
‘Something like that. I’ve just finished the latest round of fertilisation, with a complete NPK blend containing higher potassium levels, so that should boost our yield.
’ He paused, worry crinkling his forehead.
‘But the last crop of workers we had botched the soil drainage on the first row of trees, so there’s a bit of a problem with Phytophthora. ’
‘Damn.’ Cruz knew the potential issues of root rot. Mac had drummed the importance of taking preventative measures, like maintaining good drainage, into him.
‘I’m on top of it now, but the crop from that batch of trees might be lower than expected.’
‘Have you done much cross-pollination over the last few years? That can improve yields.’
Kyle nodded. ‘We’ve done complementary flowering types, but those trees are still too young, so by the time they produce …’ He trailed off, not needing to elaborate because Cruz understood the implication all too well.
By the time they produce, the farm would be sold. Probably at a rock-bottom price.
‘I had a quick look around yesterday. Want to take me through now?’
‘Sure. Quads or walk?’
‘I could do with the walk,’ Cruz said.
As they paced the rows of avocado trees, Kyle updated him on everything from the number of pickers they’d hired for the last season to the new irrigation system.
Cruz admired the manager’s matter-of-fact way of outlining the farm’s progress and highlighting areas for improvement.
His obvious enthusiasm gave Cruz hope, despite the figures he’d seen on Ferne’s computer this morning.
As they returned to the main shed, Kyle said, ‘Bottom line, if you don’t find at least two new buyers to offload our next crop to, the farm won’t be worth anything when you sell in twelve months.
Everyone in the industry will know you’re struggling and you’ll have to practically give the place away at a bargain price. ’
Cruz’s heart sank, but he put on a brave face. ‘We can’t let that happen.’
‘I’ll put in the hard yards as usual.’ But Kyle’s sideways glance implied that he didn’t think Cruz had a clue when it came to saving the farm.
As if on cue, Elora slipped out the back door of the homestead carrying a toiletry bag and a damp towel.
She hadn’t caught sight of them yet, but Cruz couldn’t tear his eyes from her.
It had little to do with her white capri pants and orange halter top with a jagged hemline, and more to do with her hair streaming behind her like a silken beacon as she practically skipped to the clothesline.
‘She’s a stunner,’ Kyle said, sounding a tad awed. ‘I don’t dally with transients, but I’d make an exception for her.’
‘She’s off limits,’ Cruz snapped.
Kyle held up his hands. ‘Got the message loud and clear.’
‘There’s no message, just that the work she’s doing this week is important to get those new buyers we need.’
‘No explanation needed, mate. I understand.’
Unfortunately, Cruz understood, too, that his warning for Kyle to stay away from Elora had everything to do with his personal interest in the beautiful social media marketer despite logic urging him to stay away.