Page 13 of The Orchard at Rosevale
The worried glint in Kyle’s eyes indicated otherwise.
‘Come in,’ Cruz said, opening the door wider, but Kyle shook his head.
‘Just wanted to pop by and say hi. We’ll catch up tomorrow and I’ll walk you through everything.’
Of course Kyle knew about Ferne’s plan to leave. She would’ve done a complete handover, just like Cruz knew she’d done with the accounts. He hadn’t set foot in the study yet, because that room held nothing but bad memories for him, so he’d tacked it onto his ‘ jobs for tomorrow’ list. Though he’d need to get up to scratch before he caught up with Kyle, considering they’d be working together for the next year, and he didn’t want to appear incompetent.
Kyle had been the farm manager for five years. Kyle’s father had done the job before him, and old Noel had been as cantankerous as Mac. They’d made Cruz’s life hell when he’d been learning how to run the farm. Back then, he’d envied Kyle. They’d been in the same year at school, and when they finished, Kyle had gone to an agriculture college in Albury, leaving Rosevale Grove behind, like Cruz yearned to do. At school, they’d been casual acquaintances more than friends: shared a few classes, been lab partners in chemistry. Kyle excelled at footy, one of the popular kids everyone flocked to, the exact opposite of Cruz. The times they crossed paths at the farm over the last few years, Kyle had appeared happy, like he’d scored his dream job, something Cruz understood. That’s what being head chef at Tiles had been like. Pity he’d had to leave it all behind.
‘Is eight tomorrow morning too early?’ Kyle asked.
‘Earlier is fine if it suits you,’ Cruz said. ‘I’m used to rising early to get to the seafood market.’
‘Ferne said that you’re the head chef at some fancy joint in Melbourne. Good for you.’
‘Not anymore,’ Cruz said, hoping Kyle didn’t hear the hint of bitterness in his tone. ‘It’s back to farming for me.’
Kyle hesitated, as if weighing up his response. ‘Ferne told me about the will, how you have to stick around before you can sell.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s fucked up, man.’
Cruz barked out a laugh. ‘Couldn’t agree more. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Dad may have been begrudging in his praise, but Mum always said you were the number one farm manager in the region.’
Kyle beamed. ‘Ferne’s the best, but your father was an arsehole.’
‘Again, we agree. Got time for a beer?’ If he had to work along-side Kyle for the next year, it wouldn’t hurt to build a camaraderie. He’d done it throughout his working life as a chef, inviting fellow cooks out for a drink at the end of their first shift. It made for easier transitions and smoother operations in the kitchen.
‘Thanks, but I can’t. I’ve got a date.’
‘No worries. Another time.’
‘Speaking of dates, who’s the hottie I saw you with earlier? Is she your missus from the city?’
‘Hell, no.’
Kyle laughed at his quick, vehement response, while Cruz mused that if he had to be shackled to anyone, Elora wouldn’t be such a bad option. The way they’d combusted last night proved they had chemistry in spades.
‘Elora’s a social media marketer that Mum hired to improve the profile of the farm and bring in fresh business to boost our asking price when we sell.’
‘When Ferne mentioned selling, I said I’d stick around until that happens.’
‘I appreciate it, mate. I need all the help I can get.’
‘City slickers usually do.’
‘Hey, I helped run this place after school, while the likes of you were gallivanting.’
Kyle chuckled. ‘Yeah, but my gallivanting resulted in a diploma in agriculture, which I’m putting to good use on your farm.’
‘Point taken.’
As they grinned at each other, Cruz realised their interaction had been the first time they’d really talked since high school, and he liked it. If his plans for the next year involved hibernating here, it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend, beyond professional camaraderie.
‘Are you still staying in the cottage near the dam?’
‘Nah. I’m living in town now.’
‘In that case, how about I cook up a batch of homemade meals and package them for you, so you get to benefit from the results of my gallivanting?’
‘You’re on. See you tomorrow at eight.’
