Chapter 11
CHAPTER
Elora had felt like an idiot, spying on Cruz this morning and waiting until he’d left the homestead so she could take a shower.
She’d watched him meet with a young guy in jeans and a flannie near the biggest shed on the property before they’d strolled away, giving her the perfect opportunity to duck into the homestead.
The first thing that struck her when she’d entered through the back door was the pristine kitchen.
Every surface gleamed like it had been scrubbed twice.
Occupational hazard for a chef, probably.
For a country home, the kitchen appeared oddly clinical, and had obviously been remodelled.
Rather than lots of wooden cupboards, dressers and mismatched crockery, there were glossy black cupboards, white speckled marble benchtops, a double sink with fancy flick mixer, and a state-of-the-art stovetop.
Even the small dining table tucked in the corner had a glass top and grey leather seats with chrome legs.
Had this modern kitchen fostered Cruz’s love of cooking? Had his parents supported his dream to the extent they had renovated? From what he’d told her, he’d had a testing relationship with his father, but this kitchen showed love for a child with a passion for cooking.
Wishing she could explore the rest of the house but not wanting to pry, she made her way down a hallway to find the bathroom, trying and failing not to look at the photos adorning the walls.
There weren’t a lot of them: three large portraits of an older man standing beneath avocado trees; two of a young Cruz holding a giant avocado in his hands, his toothless grin proud; and a single family photo of Ferne, Cruz and who Elora assumed was Mac Wardlow.
Cruz must’ve been in his early teens in the photo; telling that he leaned towards his mother and Mac glowered rather than smiled.
Not exactly an endorsement for a happy family.
She wondered if Cruz had inherited his father’s dour personality.
She shouldn’t judge him because she barely knew him, but he’d been drowning his sorrows in bourbon when they’d met two nights ago and he hadn’t exactly been welcoming yesterday.
As for dumping her dinner outside her door rather than eating together—that reinforced her assumption.
Or did he want to avoid her for different reasons, like the underlying sizzle of attraction?
She felt it every time he glanced her way, that unexpected zap in her gut signalling excitement, wariness and hope.
As for being plastered against his back during that quad-bike tour yesterday, the sensations he’d aroused had kept her up most of the night.
Muttering a curse under her breath, she found the bathroom at the end of the hallway and took a lightning quick shower in tepid water before dressing and heading back to the studio.
At least her lack of sleep had been beneficial for her work.
She’d updated the farm’s Facebook and Instagram pages with a few of the photos she’d taken yesterday and had seen a decent number of likes and shares by this morning.
The graphic designer should be sending through the artwork today, so once Elora designed a new website, she’d feel more in control, like she had something concrete to show Cruz.
From the way he’d looked at her while she’d articulated her plans to put the farm on the map, she knew what he thought of social media: a complete waste of time.
What he didn’t know, that she needed to nail this job to pay off her debt and use it to bring in new business, meant she had to play nice, no matter how badly she wanted to call him a dinosaur for not moving with the times.
Her phone beeped with an incoming text. When she glanced at the screen and saw Satan’s Spawn, her name for her ex, her stomach clenched.
She didn’t want to look at what he had to say, but it could’ve been worse—he could’ve called, though he knew she wouldn’t answer and would let the call go through to voicemail.
This way, he’d see a read receipt when she looked at his text.
Typical Jason: still trying to play mind games even after she’d left him.
She tapped on the message to open it, bracing for more of his usual crap: I’m sorry. She meant nothing to me. We were friends before I met you. I couldn’t stop. I’m weak. We lived together for so long we felt married, blah, blah, blah …
Since Elora had discovered the truth about his cheating and dumped him, Jason had alternated between grovelling apologies and demanding she repay the money he’d loaned her six months ago.
At the time, she’d needed five thousand dollars to pay a few overheads and thought she’d earn it back quickly.
But turns out, being cheated on put a dent in her confidence and she’d taken a month off to invest in self-care, then had three clients cancel on her, so she found herself in arrears and bordering on desperate.
Ferne Wardlow employing her couldn’t have come at a better time and once she got paid for this job, she’d be rid of Jason once and for all. Until then, she had to put up with his texts and calls, including this one.
She read the text, wrinkling her nose with every word.
Hey babe, just wanted you to know I’ve moved out of Bec’s place, so we’re officially over. Not even friends anymore, because I know how you feel about her and me. Hope this proves to you how much I want you back. Can we meet for a coffee? Please? Pretty please? Jase xx
‘You are freaking unbelievable,’ she muttered, re-reading the text to make sure she’d got the gist. The dickhead thought that moving out of his love nest with his housemate would change anything?
He’d broken her heart and taken away the one thing she’d always relied on: her ability to read people. He could go to hell.
Taking a deep breath, she tapped out a terse reply.
I’m away, working in the country.
The three dots indicating his response popped up immediately.
Okay, see you when you get back. You’ll love my new place. I got it for us, so you can move in like you wanted to before everything turned to shit. Fresh start, exactly what we need. xx
He’s delusional, she thought, but put her phone down before she might respond with something scathing and to the point, like telling him where he could stick his fresh start.
She needed air. However, as she opened the door to stomp outside and find a tree to kick to work off her frustration, the tempting aromas of frying onions drew her towards the open back door of the homestead.
When she stuck her head around the jamb to peek in, Cruz had a ladle in one hand and his phone in the other, his tone curt as he mentioned excessively high figures she couldn’t comprehend.
The contrast between Cruz the chef and Cruz the new owner of an avocado farm was interesting, and Elora couldn’t help but be attracted to both sides of him.
‘Set up a meeting for tomorrow and text me a time. I want to get started ASAP,’ he said, before hanging up and slamming the phone on the benchtop next to the stove.
Not the best time for her to wax lyrical about the work she’d already done on the farm’s Insta and Facebook pages, but as she backed away, he must’ve caught sight of the movement, because his head snapped up.
Pinning her with a ferocious glare, he said, ‘What are you doing lurking in the doorway?’
‘Good morning to you too.’ She flashed him her brightest smile as she sauntered into the kitchen. Probably not wise to antagonise the man who held the power for her to pay off Jason the Jerk, but Cruz’s inherent grouchiness brought out her inner imp and she couldn’t help but tease him.
He snorted and tossed diced capsicum and tomato into the frying pan alongside the sizzling onion. ‘What’s so good about it?’
‘The smell of what you’re cooking.’ She approached the stove and sniffed appreciatively. ‘The answer is yes, by the way.’
‘What?’ He tipped a bowl of beaten eggs into the pan.
‘I’m staying for breakfast, as I’m sure you were going to invite me.’
‘I wasn’t,’ he mumbled. ‘You’re too damn perky for this hour of the morning.’
‘It’s nine, practically afternoon for workaholics like me.’
‘You get up early to post snapshots online?’ He made it sound like she pole-danced for a living.
‘Are you dismissing my work?’
He must’ve heard the edge in her voice, because he turned off the stove and pressed the pads of his fingers to his eyes. ‘Sorry. If I thought being back here was hard last night, the situation hasn’t improved this morning.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No.’ He grabbed two pieces of toast from the toaster and slathered them with butter before placing them on separate plates and topping with the scrambled egg concoction.
‘Anything I can do to help, besides the job you’re paying me to do?’
‘If you can solve root-rot problems, sort through countless applications for the upcoming season’s pickers, find new buyers for our produce and take the drudgery of financial meetings off my hands, then, sure, go ahead.’
He sounded so forlorn she wanted to hug him but didn’t think he’d appreciate the gesture.
‘I may not be able to do those things, but I have updated the farm’s Instagram and Facebook pages, and I’ll be redoing the website later today, once the graphic designer sends through her work.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve done that already?’
‘I’m good at what I do. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.’
He pushed a plate towards her. ‘I know my mother arranged for you to be here for the week, but feel free to wrap up earlier.’
Fear skittered through her. If Cruz reneged on this assignment, she was screwed.
‘Do you rush a soufflé?’
He frowned and stabbed at a piece of egg with his fork. ‘No.’
‘Then what makes you think you can rush my work?’ She folded her arms and stared him down.
‘I’m good at what I do. Ferne perused my portfolio and checked pricing with my competitors, so rest assured, I’m not ripping you off and I have no intention of doing a half-arsed job.
So why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me? ’
He took an eternity to answer, lowering his eyes to his plate, where he toyed with his food, pushing it around with a fork. ‘It’s not personal.’
‘It sure as hell feels like it.’
‘I don’t like a stranger having a front-row seat to me struggling, okay?’ he snapped, thumping the island bench with his fist. ‘Being back here sucks.’
Elora had no idea what had happened to make Cruz hate the place so much, but his hint of vulnerability softened her resentment towards him for making her feel like a burden. If anybody understood the need to put on a brave face while struggling, she did.
Rather than push him for answers, she remained silent and forked scrambled egg into her mouth, the savoury taste sensation making her tastebuds dance. Damn, the man could cook. She sliced the toast topped with egg into small squares and continued eating until she’d cleaned her plate.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m struggling and why being back here sucks?’
‘Not my business to pry.’ She looked up from her plate. ‘As I said last night, you’re a brilliant cook.’
‘It’s the only thing that grounds me,’ he murmured, his expression tortured. ‘I hate the thought of not doing it for the next year.’
‘Why don’t you do it here?’
‘Feeding you for a week isn’t exactly the same as running a kitchen at a busy restaurant.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
She had no idea where the idea had come from, but the moment he’d admitted that cooking grounded him, she understood.
Taking the perfect shot, creating clever captions and designing brilliant websites did that for her.
Work had always been her panacea and if she couldn’t do what she loved for a year, she couldn’t imagine how untethered she’d feel.
‘Why don’t you cook here, for people, like a farm-to-table kind of thing?’ she said, brainstorming. ‘I haven’t seen inside those sheds yet, but you’ve got a lot of them. Maybe you could clear one out and turn it into a pop-up restaurant?’
He gaped at her, shock widening his eyes.
‘As a self-confessed foodie who has eaten her way across Melbourne, I can categorically say your cuisine is the best.’
‘Any idiot can make a club sandwich,’ he muttered, and in an instant, she remembered their passionate make-out session, how damn good his lips had felt plastered against hers.
‘Don’t do that self-deprecating crap,’ she said, pointing at him. ‘I can see a glimmer of excitement in those stormy eyes.’
‘Stormy eyes?’ The corners of his mouth twitched in the first sign of amusement since she’d entered the kitchen. ‘Let me guess. Romance is your go-to genre for movies and books.’
‘Nothing wrong with feel-good fiction.’
‘Didn’t say there was.’
‘You implied it.’
He held up his hands and chuckled. ‘No judgement here. Besides, I’m too stunned by your suggestion.’
‘Is it a good one?’
‘Could be.’
‘Excellent.’ She stood, took her plate and cutlery to the sink and rinsed them before stacking them on the drying rack. ‘I’ll leave you to ponder my brilliance while I go update the farm’s website. Hopefully you can show me around some more later.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he said, staring out the window, his gaze already focussed on the nearby sheds.
With a smug smile, Elora saluted and headed back to the studio, her head filled with ideas of how her week promoting the farm might turn into a bigger job if Cruz opened a restaurant here and needed her marketing expertise.