Page 49 of The Orchard at Rosevale
‘No worries.’
But as he walked away, Cruz knew he’d lied, because his disarming yearning for El had WORRY stamped all over it.
So much for easing his frustration by seeing her. If anything, his angst had increased, and he jogged to the machinery shed, grabbed the biggest shears he could find and began hacking at overgrown trees. Slashing at dead branches soothed him, and he fell into a rhythm, appeased by the mindless repetition.
He remembered the first time he’d done this under the watchful eye of his father.
‘Now listen up, son. When pruning mature trees, don’t remove more than a third of a branch at a time. Cut just above the node, that point on the stem where a branch grows. Make sure you keep the centre of the tree open to light to discourage fungal diseases. Don’t prune too much, because it can reduce flowering, and be mindful that heavier pruning should only be done in late winter or early spring, but light pruning can be done all year round. And remember, for older trees, prune some of the oldest branches every year to encourage new growth.’
Cruz could hear Mac’s voice in his ear so clearly he had to blink several times to bring himself back to the present. The only time he’d felt remotely close to his dad was when Mac would instruct him on aspects of farming, and while he resented being stuck here at a time when he would’ve rather been following his passion for cooking, he’d also respected his father for taking the time to teach him despite Mac knowing his son had zero interest in carrying on the family legacy.
Sweat poured off him as he gathered the branches and stacked them in a neat pile, going back and forth until he’d cleared away his handiwork. After replacing the shears in the shed, he headed for the pool, eager to cool off. He used to love swimming laps as a kid, and in his teens, the habit became a combination of burning off energy and staying fit.
His drenched T-shirt stuck to his body and he peeled it off, draping it across the back of a sun lounge before unbuckling his belt, unsnapping his jeans, unzipping, and pushing them down his legs. It took a while thanks to the sweat and once they finally reached his ankles, he kicked them away and dived into the pool.
As the water enclosed him, the silence deafening, thoughts of El returned and he wondered if he could coax her into taking a moonlight swim later. He could live in hope.
After swimming a few laps underwater, he surfaced to find her staring at him from about ten feet away, her phone raised. He beckoned her over and she sauntered towards him while furiously tapping at her phone.
‘I hope you weren’t filming me like a sick pervert.’ He grinned. ‘Unless it’s for your personal use, then go ahead.’
She laughed. ‘Part of the campaign I’m constructing is to show all aspects of growing avocados, so I may have taken some footage of you pruning the trees and diving into the pool.’
‘How on earth is that going to encourage buyers?’
‘Increased hits on the farm’s social media sites will propel you higher into search algorithms, and that’s what we want, for Kinstead Avocados to pop up on the first page when potential buyers look for fresh produce. What I’ve posted already has significantly increased traffic to your website and socials.’
She spoke slower, as if explaining to a child, and he chuckled at the cheeky glint in her eyes.
‘Okay, message received. You stick to doing what Mum hired you to do, I’ll stick to being fodder for your footage.’ He flexed his biceps in a double cobra. ‘Just don’t make it tacky. I have a reputation to uphold.’
‘Trust me, with what I’ve just edited into a reel—’ she waved her phone at him, ‘—the farm’s website hits are about to go through the roof.’
Her gaze wandered to his chest and he lowered his arms, feeling foolish.
‘And for what it’s worth, I think it’s imperative to my creative process that you swim every day.’
With a saucy wave, she walked away, leaving him hot and bothered all over again as he sank beneath the surface, in need of a another cool-down.
CHAPTER
26
Elora had used thirst trap videos in her work before when promoting a gym, a dance studio and a kick-boxing franchise. It made her laugh when she’d had to explain for the first time what a thirst trap was to a musclebound gym owner. The guy had been in his forties and horrified at the thought of her filming some of the buff instructors totrapviews for thosethirstyfor spicy content, but he hadn’t been complaining when she’d showed him the tasteful videos she’d shot and the resultant tripling of sign-ups for new gym members.
It had never entered her head to use thirst traps for a farm until she saw Cruz striding towards the pool, his grey T-shirt clinging to every curve of muscle, delineating every ridge of abs, highlighting the breadth of his chest. She’d raised her phone and hit ‘record’ automatically, captivated by the unexpected show as he’d peeled off his T-shirt and stepped out of his jeans, before executing the perfect dive into the pool.
The old cliché ‘sex sells’ definitely applied to Cruz, because what better way to gain hundreds of followers and thousands of hits on the farm’s social media sites than by using the farmer himself?
She should’ve asked before she posted, but then again, Ferne had given her carte blanche, and when she told Cruz what she’d done, he’d been a good sport about it.
Usually, she would’ve used one of the many editing apps she favoured to add a voiceover and captions, but she’d gone for music instead, a sultry country and western number. Perfect.
She’d managed to do a lot of work today, and once Cruz finished his swim and had dressed—no way could she focus with him practically naked—she planned on tackling him about Bindi.
When she’d returned to the farm after their coffee catch-up at the food truck, Elora had researched homelessness in the region and been surprised and saddened to hear that homeless in the Mildura region had more than doubled over the last few years and continued to grow. Organisations like the Mallee Accommodation and Support Program were doing an incredible job but could barely keep up with the demand, and in some cases, youth at risk were being dropped off at the police station in the middle of the night. It looked like services were skewed towards young people because of the high numbers at risk of being homeless, so maybe women like Bindi were falling through the cracks.
Elora knew nothing about Bindi’s situation—if she was fleeing from a domestic abuse situation; if she’d fallen on hard times; if she’d lost her savings—but from what she’d read, women thirty and above who were forced to leave their home for whatever reason tended to have a higher incidence of homelessness. They couldn’t afford to rent on their own, couldn’t find a suitable rental property, and didn’t earn enough to cover all their bills, so many lived in their cars.
