Page 18 of The Orchard at Rosevale
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.
CHAPTER
11
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 freakingunbelievable,’ 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?’
