Hamish reached in and pulled out the canvas bags of shopping. His scent, a mixture of coffee, dust and hard work, caused her heart to thump.
She followed him up the external side stairs and into a large studio loft. The kitchen and open dining area were immaculate and minimally decorated with natural tones and textures. The walls were off-white, the furniture pale timber, the kitchen appliances burnished stainless steel. A black and white cow-skin rug lay on the floor, a coffee table resting upon it, and a glossy-leaved potted ficus in the corner. The effect was modern, light, and despite the pale tones, warm. There was certainly nothing jumping out at her telling her to run home.
Next to the fireplace, she spotted a small bookcase. She walked over to inspect his array of books. She lifted one out and read the title. “Sustainable coffee growing.”
“They still make for good referencing.”
“Like my recipe books.” She replaced the book and wandered over to the kitchen. It was laid out perfectly with an island workstation in the centre. She stroked the wooden tabletop. But it was the huge floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the loft that had her awe-inspired. Moving closer, she gazed out at the incredible view of carefully lined trees, sheltered by more giant bunyas. “Are those coffee trees?”
Hamish came to stand next to her. “Yep, I planted them two years’ ago. I put more in each year. Hopefully, when I finally have a crop to harvest, they’ll taste okay.”
She glanced at his hands hanging loose at his sides. She remembered them feeling rough and calloused when she held them the other night. Farmer’s hands, a working man’s hands. Between that and those tight cowboy jeans, she was more than impressed, and a lot turned on. “I’d love to see more. Where the magic happens.”
He looked down at her as though he was still trying to figure her out. “You would?”
She nodded. Greer wanted to know everything about Hamish. She wanted to know why he was so passionate about coffee and his work. She wanted to know what was still holding him back from making his decision.
Hamish led her back down the stairs and this time they went through the barn doors. She expected to see a huge warehouse with large churning machines, but what she found was very different. The roastery was bright, with windows matching the ones upstairs. A desk with a computer stood in a corner, while against the wall was a large stainless-steel roaster with pipes and leads extending out behind it. Large brown hessian sacks, two already open, stood waiting to be used.
“Wow,” she said, staring at the shiny machine, her fingers itching to touch it. She loved appliances and was intrigued to see how it worked when turned on.
She walked over to one of the sacks and leaned toward it, inhaling. “Smells musty.”
“That’s because it needs to be roasted first,” Hamish said, then reached past her and pulled out a handful of the small brown beans.
“Where do they come from?”
“I blend a few different types together depending on what I’m making,” he explained. “I have bags from Colombia, Brazil, Ethiopia, Costa Rica, and a few from my friends in Byron Bay. They’re nice as a single origin or added to blends.”
“How do you know which go together?” she asked.
“I experimented a lot when I was starting out and I did heaps of research. I made friends with other roasters and we share our experiences.”
Greer turned back to the view at the back of his property. “How many are there?”
“Ten rows of five trees, each planted ninety centimetres apart.”
“Exactly ninety?” Greer glanced at Hamish who stood admiring his hard work.
“About. It’s so that harvesting can be easily undertaken.”
“When do you harvest?”
“Come with me.” He held out his hand.
Greer took it and followed him down the steps toward the slightly slanting grove with Hercules short on their heels. It was so easy to feel comfortable in this man’s company, and she found she enjoyed the way he shared his passion with her.
“They took a while to acclimatise, but after the last spring rains, they shot up and produced hundreds of flowers which then thankfully turned into large bunches of cherries.”
“Cherries?” Greer came to stand beside Hamish as he pointed to a branch from which orange and crimson berry-looking clusters of coffee beans hung.
“Yeah that’s what we call them. They start off as small as a pin head and as green as those hills over there.” He waved a hand toward the valley which rose and fell in a succession of hilltops and basins. “Then they grow in size and change colour. By May, they’ll be a deep red and ready for harvesting.”
“What if we had a frost?”
“Well, we don’t get them often and believe it or not, height adds to the flavour. My beans will produce a very different flavour to the Noosa farms and Byron Bay beans because of it. Besides, the cooler nights are what make for great slow-grown coffee beans. I’m looking forward to seeing how it adds to their flavour.”
“Why do you have other trees growing in between them?” Greer walked up to a bunya. They were her favourite trees and she’d read many stories about them and their importance to the indigenous people of Australia.
“For shade, and they also affect flavour.”
She looked around again. He had created this, planted the trees with his own hands. It took passion and dedication—two things she greatly admired in a person. “This is really very impressive.”
“Thanks.” He took the compliment shyly but couldn’t hid the pride in the way his face shone. “Shall we go back inside?”
“Yes, I better start cooking this meal for you.” She smiled. Now it was her turn to impress him.
Chapter 7
Hamish swallowed his last mouthful of fish and rested his cutlery on his plate. “That was amazing.” Although he had tried to be helpful, preparing the salad, it was Greer’s mastery and knowledge of flavours that had pulled the meal together. The oven-roasted salmon with fresh asparagus and a sauce he wanted to lick off his plate could have been the best meal of his life.
“Glad you enjoyed it.” She smiled and he noticed the smallest of dimples in her left cheek. He wondered, not for the first time, if her skin was as soft as it looked. Focus, man. There’s a serious conversation to get to.
Hercules groaned in his sleep as he rolled onto his back, all four paws in the air.
“I don’t think I’ve ever come across such a big dog in all of my life.” Greer took in the huge pile of fur and slobber snoring peaceful in the corner. “When did you get him?”
“We rescued him as a pup.” Hamish stood and collected the plates and placed them in the sink. Greer slipped off her chair and went to the fridge where she took out the mocha mud pie she’d brought from home.
“It’s going to taste like heaven with a cup of your coffee.” She held the dish up as Hamish started a fresh brew.
“It looks great.”
“The topping is the best part.” She reached for the saucepan which held the still-warm fudge and poured it over the cheesecake, then sprinkled the pistachio garnish.
“Chocolate heaven.” Hamish inhaled deeply then made each of them a cup of coffee.
Dessert was enjoyed in delicious silence, but Hamish found himself lost in the woman sitting beside him. She’d hung on his every word when he’d shown her around his roastery. Not once had she feigned interest, but she’d genuinely loved learning about his trade. Greer carried with her a natural joy which radiated around her like a halo of summer sunshine, and he found he was being sucked closer into her orbit with every passing moment.
Once most of his pie had been scoffed, he swallowed a mouthful of coffee then turned to face her. “So, we should talk about you-know-what.” He started.
“Yeah.” She put down her spoon. “Have you made a decision?”
“It’s a big ask and I still have my reservations—”
Her shoulders slumped and her beautiful eyes glistened over. Quickl
y he reached for her and gripped her hand.
“It’s not a no. I’m still on the fence. Can we discuss some more specifics?”
“Really?”
He nodded. “If we did this and it worked, I’d want to be part of our baby’s life.”
A smile crept across her face. “I’d like that too. But I wouldn’t expect you to be financially responsible. In fact, the offer is still there to pay you.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t want your money, but …” He swallowed hard. “I would want to do it naturally. No IVF.”
The blush that crept over her face almost knocked him to his knees.
“Is that okay?”
She bit her lower lip and Hamish felt himself stir. He raised his hand and tenderly stroked her pink cheek. It was as soft as he’d imagined. He leaned in closer and breathed in her apple-blossom scent. His other hand threaded through her hair which hung heavy and loose over her almost bare shoulders.
Her breathing deepen, then her hand was on his. “We need to get this all in writing before we take it any further.”
He pulled away and sat uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re right, yes.”
“I’m sorry. I just want everything put in a contract and signed before we start trying. Besides, I’m not ovulating for another two weeks.”
She liked to be in control—he got that. It was her body and he respected her decisions.
“Can you get everything ready that quickly?” he asked.
“I can have the contract ready for you to sign in a couple of days.”
He could hear the excitement in her voice. It was as though he was making all her dreams come true. Pressure much?
“There is one thing I’d like you to do then, since you want to be known as the father.”
He gulped. What would she ask this time? Although he doubted he could deny her anything at this point.
“I’d like you to meet my family.”
Chapter 8
Emerald Hills was one of Maleny’s famous success stories. The dairy farm had been expanded over the years and now produced their own milk, yogurt, and cheeses. Visitors could make a day of their visit and go on a farm factory tour as well as enjoy a meal at Greer’s café. Like Hamish’s roastery, it took back-breaking work to keep things running smoothly.
He made sure to arrive promptly at seven o’clock for the dinner Greer had set up with her family. As he shut the door of his ute, he did a quick underarm sniff test. Phew. He had to make a good impression with the Montgomerys. Afterall, they could soon be family.
A kelpie dog came running up to him and immediately started sniffing his trousers, no doubt smelling Herc all over them.
“Hello.” Hamish stopped to greet the working dog with an enthusiastic rub behind the ears.
His insides twisted as he climbed the steps to knock on the door. What would her parents think about Greer’s plan? Would they have their reservations and doubts? Greer didn’t seem to have any, but maybe her parents’ opinion would change her mind.
Wait. Do I want her to change her mind?
Hamish was still trying to get his head around the contract she had sent through. She had certainly thought of everything, including the child’s religion and where he/she would go to school.
The door opened, bringing Hamish’s panic-ridden thoughts to a screeching halt. He was greeted by a pair of warm hazel eyes and a soft smile.
Greer. The woman who had somehow managed to curl him around her little finger.
“Hi.” She stepped forward and laid an all-too-brief kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for coming. I hope you’re hungry.”
He was pretty sure he would always be able to fit Greer’s meals into his stomach. And if he wasn’t careful, he could get used to her cooking, and her company.
Hamish wiped his feet on the door mat before stepping into the house. A warm sensation wrapped itself around him as he took in the neat, homely interior. Photos and artwork hung from the white panelled walls, and the polished wooden floorboards were covered intermittently with well-worn rugs woven from bright colours. This was more than simply a house—it was a home. It welcomed anyone who entered it, and it loved its residents. It was the sort of home filled with fun childhood memories and large family gatherings.
“My parents are in here.” Greer looked as nervous as he felt.
Nodding, Hamish followed her to the lounge.
“Mum, Dad, this is Hamish Pearson.”
Hamish stepped forward as her father stood from the couch and held out his hand. “Mark Montgomery. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Hamish shook the man’s hand. “Hello, Mr Montgomery.”
“Just Mark will do,” he said with a friendly smile.
“Welcome, Hamish, I’m Nina.” Greer’s mother enfolded him in a warm embrace.
“Hello.” He gestured to the house. “Your home is beautiful. I love these old Queenslanders.”
“Thank you. It’s been in the family for generations.”
“So, Greer says you own the local coffee roastery in town?” Mark said with genuine interest.
“Yeah. It’s still a small venture. But I’m hoping to expand in time.”
“Do you buy your beans locally?” Nina asked.
“No, I mostly import them from South America. But I do grow some of my own trees. It’s a risk, but I’ve been researching a subtropical bean. There’s a small farm near Noosa that’s seen some success,” Hamish explained.
“How interesting.” Mark said, rubbing his chin. “I never knew it was such an art form.”
“You can just grind up any old beans, but you won’t necessarily get a good flavour. I’ve been experimenting for years.”
“And where do you do all this? I presume you must have some sort of machinery.”
Hamish nodded. “I have a property not far from town. I work from there.”
“It’s really impressive, Dad,” Greer said. “He mixes the beans and roasts them from a workshop under his house, and the view of his property rivals ours.”
Greer beamed as she spoke. She really had enjoyed it.
“Hello,” a female voice called from the front door, and a moment later a young couple entered the room.
“This is my sister, Freya, and her partner, Justin,” Greer introduced them.
“Good to meet you.” Hamish shook both their hands. Freya seemed to be studying him hard.
Greer must have noticed it to because she turned to Hamish. “Want to help me with dinner?”
“Sounds like a plan. Where do you need me, chef?” He clapped his hands together, ready to work.
“Follow me.”
They moved into the open-plan living–dining room, and as Greer gathered ingredients from the fridge, he studied her appearance. Her dark hair was wrapped up in a knot on the top of her head, revealing her long slender neck. She was dressed in figure-hugging jeans and a light-blue polo, over which hung a well-worn apron with French lettering and the Eiffel Tower printed all over it in red. She wore a pair of the prettiest opal earrings. The stones were small but shone with a surprisingly bright blue–green glint as they dangled from her ears.
“Dinner’s already cooking but I want to try out a new dessert.”
“Oh really?” The smell coming from the oven promised a delicious meal. Hamish walked over to the sink and squeezed a dollop of liquid soap into his hands before placing them beneath the open tap and washing.
“It’s called Turkish doughnut delights.” She reached up and pulled a clean apron over his head before moving around him to tie the strings at his back. “There you go.”
“Thanks. Why does that sound familiar? Was it on a cooking show?”
“Sure was. I love trying new things.”
Hamish grinned, wondering if that included in the bedroom. Focus, man. But he couldn’t help himself. He ached to touch her, to take her in his arms and kiss her properly.
They were soon busily working side by side, chatting as they stirred and measured. H
amish tried not to get lost in the domestic bliss or the strong feelings he was starting to have for this charming chef.
Conversation flowed effortlessly around the table as they all devoured the shepherd’s pie Greer had prepared. Hamish answered questions Greer’s parents asked about his life and his work, and in turn, he asked them about the farm and the family empire they were building.
Her pregnancy plans were coming along nicely. The contract had been prepared and was ready to be signed, and she was only ten days away from ovulating. In just a few weeks, she could be pregnant. She was glad for these few extra days to get to know Hamish better though.
It’d been fun spending time with him and cooking with him. It was so easy to simply be herself around him. The way he’d grin at her or peek at her from beneath those long black lashes had more than once threatened to buckle her knees. And when he’d stood behind her looking over her shoulder, balancing both his hands on her hips as she’d dipped the Turkish delight into the batter, she’d had to swallow the pure wanton lust to have those same hands undress her on the spot. Then his hand had snaked around her waist and come to a standstill on her belly, and her world had tumbled off its axis. She’d imagined a fuller belly with their child growing inside and his hands stroking the taught skin. It had taken every ounce of strength not to spin around and pull him into a kissing frenzy.
She looked across the table and found her mother squinting at her. Nina was the sort of mother who always knew when something was going on. She was impossible to keep secrets from. But Greer and Hamish had already agreed not to tell anyone about their plan. Instead they would be seen to be dating and then, when she was pregnant, they would separate and become co-parents to their child. It was a completely believable story. This kind of thing happened all the time.
“I’ll get dessert.” Greer stood, bumping the table in her haste.
“Do you need help?” Hamish asked, placing his napkin on the table.
Greer looked at him. “No, you stay there. Freya, can you help me clear the table?” She eyed her sister who was still chewing.
Their Perfect Blend Page 5