Page 21 of Third Time’s a Charm

But I had thought I’d last more than twenty-four hours before my limits were tested.

Even if I could somehow justify hooking up with a member of staff, I absolutely, positively cannot lay a hand on Louise while I’m lying to her about my reason for being here. For what might be about to happen. No matter how much her expression, brief as it was, when she caught me coming out of the bathroom, might have begged otherwise.

Not that it was all her. It was as if we’d been sucked into some kind of vortex of desire. It took every bit of self-control I had not to drag her into my room, strip her bare and devour her.

Which is why I bailed on going out to dinner. Why I filled a plate with the delicious Thai food she ordered and stalked back to my room to eat. Not my finest hour. It’s not Louise’s fault I’m being dishonest. The hurt and confusion on her face when I told her I’d stay in and work wedged deep in my chest, deep enough that very little of the work I wanted to do actually got done.

Which of course means I’ll have to apologise for my rudeness tomorrow. Apologise but not explain, at least for the time being.

You’d think that after a five a.m. start I’d be exhausted enough to fall asleep when I finally give up on the idea of working and climb into bed, but no. You’d be wrong.

Because my brain helpfully suggests that if Louise stays in this house regularly, perhaps she’s slept in this bed. A ridiculous thought. I’ve stayed at a stately home where the bed was slept in by Anne Boleyn, and I slept like a baby. Who knows how many others have slept in this bed since Louise last did? But my imagination doesn’t care about any of that. It only imagines Louise between these sheets. Long limbs bare. Hair spread out on the pillow. Eyelashes forming crescents on her pink cheeks as she dreams.

None of which is conducive to a good night’s sleep.

I must drift off in the early hours because I wake to find a polite note from Louise that she’s having an early breakfast with her friends and I should be ready to leave by eight thirty.

I had assumed we’d be going to breakfast together, but after the way I behaved last night, I totally understand why she went without me.

It’s nearly eight now, so I grab a quick shower, make myself a coffee with the pod machine in the kitchen and eat cold leftover cashew and chilli jam chicken for breakfast. I’m putting my bag in the car when I spot Louise walking down the street towards me, a brown paper bag in hand.

“Breakfast?” She lifts the bag, giving it a gentle wiggle. Her smile is polite. Bland. About as un-Louise as I’ve ever seen.

“I should be the one with the peace offering. I apologise for my … ah … rudeness last night.” The bag is heavier than I expect. Inside is an enormous Danish, loaded with juicy looking apricots.

“No apology needed. You had work to do.” She waves a hand and steps up onto the verandah. “I’m all packed. Just let me get my bag.”

We check the little house for forgotten items in silence, put the key in the lockbox, and hit the road.

It’s impossible to ignore how different the atmosphere in the car is from yesterday. I wish there were something I could say that would defuse the tension, but until I get that proposal to Tate—and get his approval to give it a go—I’m effectively muzzled by the NDA. And nothing short of telling her the truth is going to salve my conscience.

Perhaps I can make a small peace offering, though. I might not have slept much last night, but I did a lot of doomscrolling. And I have an idea.

“So, I was reading last night about the Cowra prisoner of war camp and the Breakout. Do we have time to visit before our first winery?”

“I guess we could make a quick stop. The view from up there is amazing.” Louise’s reply is as polite and bland as her offering of the Danish.

A few minutes later, we pull up in a small carpark at the top of a ridge, next to a reconstructed wooden guard tower. There’s not much left of the camp. Just a few broken foundations. But there are plenty of information boards telling the story of the camp, and Louise was right. The view is spectacular.

We wander the site in silence for a while, reading about the Breakout and admiring the view. Until I can’t stand it a moment longer. I stop and turn towards her.

“I really am sorry about last night. Being tired and overworked is no excuse for being rude. I don’t want it to make the rest of our trip awkward.”

Louise avoids looking at me by gazing out at the view. “You know what? It’s fine. Let’s just put it behind us.”

I may not be a relationship expert, but I know enough to understand that when a woman uses the word fine, it’s anything but. With any luck—and a bit of extra effort on my part—it will be less raw for both of us by the end of the day. In the meantime, in the interests of a fragile harmony, I agree. And hope I can get a grip on my frustrations before I really stuff things up.

The scenery between Cowra and Leeton, our next overnight stop, is stunning. The further south we go, the richer the crops seem to get, if that’s possible after those amazing grapes in Cowra.

As well as vineyards and stone fruits, there are massive fields of cotton, citrus and walnuts, and open, grassy paddocks stretching all the way to the horizon. Which seems to be a great deal further away than any European horizon I’ve ever seen. As is the sky. Which is enormous, and a brilliant, cloudless blue.

“Wait till you see the sky at night. The stars out here are unbelievable.” It’s as if Louise is in my head. “The best place to see it is tomorrow night when we’re staying by the river. It’ll blow your socks off.”

Based on the trip so far, I expect every winery and orchard we visit to be impressive, and they don’t disappoint. But our final stop at a meadery wins the day.

“I know it’s not wine, so it’s not technically our core business, but honestly, this stuff is next level,” Louise says, as we climb out of the car.

It’s this kind of thinking, not being boxed in by what we’ve always done, that makes Louise so valuable. And she’s right, the mead is delicious. A couple of bottles may have even found their way into my bag.