by Claire Raye
The captain comes over the loudspeaker to announce the plane will be landing in twenty minutes. I feel myself take a deep breath as I realize this will likely be the last time I hear my own accent for a while.
Unless of course I plan on talking to myself out loud, which I don’t, because that would be fucking ridiculous. Obviously.
It takes forever to clear customs and immigration, and the whole process is made a million times worse by the fact that it was an overnight flight and everyone is exhausted, pissed off, and stinks.
I have to force myself to stay calm, even as the immigration officer grills me on my occupation, what my plans are for my stay, where I’ll be staying, how long I’ll be staying for, and generally a million other questions which have already been answered on the immigration form he’s currently staring at.
Eventually I’m cleared through and I make my way to the hire car company. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to go driving on the other side of the road. It was weird enough when I was a passenger as a kid, but actually having to drive? That could be a whole other story.
I manage to get myself what can only be described as a fucking pimp mobile. A giant black Cadillac complete with silver grill and a badge that can likely double as a gangster pendant if needed.
Rolling my eyes at the monstrosity, I throw my bags in the back, walk around and jump in the car only to discover I’m sitting in the front passenger seat, the steering wheel not in front of me but on the other side of the dash.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter as I get out of the car, walk back around and get in on the correct side.
After programming my location into the GPS, I navigate my way out of the airport and onto the freeway, grateful for all the cars on the road that serve as a constant reminder for what side I need to be on.
It’s going to take me nearly two hours to get to Napa and as much as I wish I could stop somewhere, take a shower and mainline some coffee, I can’t. I’m due to start work tomorrow and thanks to the three hours I spent in the airport, I don’t have time for breaks.
This whole job and how I came to get it is actually kinda weird. An opportunity that only came up because someone was trying to get in contact with my dad, not knowing he’d retired and was currently traveling the world with Mum. Apparently, some equipment he’d set up at one of the wineries over here was now not working. Even though it was probably because it was fifteen years old, rather than replace it, they wanted someone to fix it, and when I’d answered the email and explained that I was more than capable, they’d given me the job.
That’s the beauty about having my dad’s last name though. He knew how to get shit done and he did it well. People always figured as his son, I’d be the same and fuck me if I didn’t try my hardest to be exactly that. My dad was a legend in Australian wine making, a man who spent his entire career being lured from one winery to another. We’d lived in all the regions, from Margaret River in the West, the Barossa in the South and even the Hunter and Coonawarra regions over east.
As a kid I’d loved it and as an adult, I knew that I was always going to be living up to his name. And there was no way I was gonna fuck up that rep of his.
Plus, the timing was awesome given the fucking mess my life had become in the past few months. Technically speaking, I wasn’t running away; I was between jobs and this gave me a month or so of work. In reality though, I was kidding myself if I thought escaping like this wasn’t a huge drawcard.
So here I am, heading up to Napa, America’s most famous wine region and a place my dad frequented a lot over the course of his career. Sometimes I was lucky enough to come and visit and while I don’t remember all of the places he worked at, there is one particular winery and one particular girl who still sticks in my mind to this day.
Lulu.
Annoying, feisty, but unbelievably cute, Lulu.
Just thinking about her brings a smile to my face. God, how I loved to tease that girl and even though I have no idea if she still lives up this way, a part of me is tempted to look her up while I’m here, see if I can’t have another go at riling that girl up like I used to.
Eventually the view outside the car gives way to hills of grape vines and as they do, I can’t help but chuckle as I remember back to the last day I ever spent in the US.
Fuck me if I couldn’t stop laughing my arse off at the sight of Lulu, covered in mud and screaming at me for what I’d done. And yeah it had totally been deliberate, but how could I resist, especially given it was my last day and I had no idea if I’d ever see her again.
She looked so fucking cute, covered in mud and trying so hard to stomp her feet at me, her little red boots stuck and only making her more frustrated.
The GPS interrupts my thoughts, telling me to take the next right. I move to indicate, instead clicking on the windscreen wipers, before saying fuck it and making the turn anyway. Christ this is going to take some getting used to.
As I do though, I’m hit with a memory of driving down this very road. Glancing around, a wave of familiarity washes over me and I can’t help but smile.
I used to love her family’s vineyard, although I know it can’t possibly be theirs anymore, not when person who gave me this gig was called Ellen McIntyre. A part of me wonders why they sold it; a bigger part wonders where Lulu might be as a result.
As the landscape becomes more and more familiar with every kilometer I travel, the nostalgia becomes almost too much, the memories flashing through my brain. By the time I’m turning into the actual vineyard, the sense of déjà vu is overwhelming.
“I’m back,” I say to myself as I drive past the sign announcing Somerville’s Winery & Vineyard and head down the long drive, past the cellar door and out toward the sheds at the back, all of it so familiar; a trip I made countless times as a kid.
Whoever this new owner is, they’ve obviously kept the name and it’s not hard to understand why. Somerville’s was a brand and it had a reputation. A good one too.
I park the car by a dirt-covered four wheel drive, killing the engine and hopping out. Almost immediately, this cocky-looking kid, who can’t be more than seven years old, comes strutting out of one of the sheds like he owns the place.
“Hey,” he says, stopping in front of me. “What can I do for you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “You the boss around here then?” I ask.
He shoots me a weird look. “Why do you sound so funny?”
I roll my eyes. Here we fucking go. God, I remember being over here as a kid and the never ending oh my god, I love your accent, which was usually followed by, I’m sorry, but what did you say?
I got it nearly every time I opened my mouth. Fuck knows why they could never understand me though, it’s not like I was speaking Swahili or whatever.
“Why do you sound so funny?” I throw back at him, the same exact words I said to Lulu when she asked me that question on my first day here.
“I don’t,” he fires back, a look on his face that screams why are you such an idiot?
I shake my head, wondering why the hell I am getting into an argument with a seven-year-old. “I’m looking for Ellen McIntyre?” I ask.
“She expecting you?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest now.
I laugh. “Look kid, I appreciate the welcome and I’m sure you run a tight ship and all, but yeah, she’s expecting me. Can you tell me where I can find her?”
The kid gives me a hard look as though he’s trying to work out whether to believe me or maybe he’s just trying to work out what I actually said. Eventually, he seems to come to a decision and with a nod of the head, he says, “Follow me.”
He leads me into the last shed on the left, which I remember contained all the tanks the wine was left to ferment in before barreling and bottling. My memory is right, and as soon as I walk inside, the familiar sweet scent of wine and sugar-filled grapes fills the air. I can’t stop myself from taking a deep breath as I push my sunglasses onto my head so my eyes can adjust to the darkness.
> “Good?” a voice asks.
When I look over, a woman, maybe a couple of years older than me and casually dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt is smiling at me, an amused look on her face.
“You must be Jack?” she says.
I nod. “Ellen?”
“Yes,” she says, walking toward me. “Welcome to Somerville’s. How was your flight?”
I shake the hand she offers me. “Long, drove straight up here too.”
“Wow, okay, let’s get you settled first,” she says. “And then I can show you around, introduce you to everyone.”
She leads me back out of the shed and indicates my car as if to suggest wherever we’re going, I’m driving. I nod, opening the driver’s side door this time, thank fuck, and get in.
Ellen slides into the passenger seat while the smart-mouthed kid jumps in the back, smirking at me in the rearview mirror.
“You’re going to want to head down the back, take a left at the fork,” she says, gesturing to the dirt road behind the shed.
“Yeah I’ve actually been here before,” I say. “As a kid. I remember we stayed in one of the cottages down the back of the property.”
“Is that so,” Ellen says and when I glance over at her, she’s got a strange smile on her face as she stares out the front window.
“So, this is your place now then?” I ask, wondering how it is Lulu’s parents ever decided to sell the place. From what I remember, it had been in their family for years and considering how famous it was in this region, I have no idea why anyone would choose to let it go.
“Here, last one on the left,” she says, gesturing to the smaller of the two cottages.
It’s exactly as I remember it and I’m glad this is where I’ll be staying for the month or so I’m likely to be here. Even though the winery might have changed hands, nothing about the place is different.
“Key’s in the door,” she says, opening the passenger door. “Get yourself settled and then come next door and we’ll go over everything,” she says, smiling at me. “Oscar, let’s go,” she adds, glancing at the kid in the back seat.
The kid gives me a dramatic eyeroll as he gets out of the car before offering me a wave and a “Later,” over his shoulder as he walks into the cottage next door as though he lives there.
Ellen follows him inside, calling out “Only us,” at the door as though it isn’t where she lives. I don’t hear a reply, but figure I’ll meet whoever my new neighbor is soon enough.
Grabbing my bags, I head inside the limestone cottage that I’m now calling home. Inside is exactly as I remember it, the door opening to a front living room that’s dominated by a large stone fire place. The décor has been updated though and I’m grateful for the corner couch and large flat screen TV.
Heading toward the back, I pass the small, but newly renovated kitchen, the bathroom, my old bedroom and eventually the big bedroom my dad used when he worked here.
Throwing my bags on the large bed, I walk back to the bathroom, stripping off the clothes I’ve spent the last thirty-six hours in before jumping in the shower.
Afterward, I pull on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, leaving my feet bare before heading into the kitchen. The fridge has been filled with food and drinks and I grab a coke, knowing I can’t afford to sleep my jetlag away. Cracking the tab, I take a long sip before heading next door.
I knock on the front door, unsure exactly who lives here and not sure I can just walk in. The kid, who I now know is called Oscar, appears behind the screen door, staring up at me as though he’s never seen me before.
“Come in,” he eventually says, as though I’ve passed some sort of test. “They’re in the kitchen,” he adds before walking back into the living room and resuming his seat on the couch in front of the TV. Beside him is a girl who’s about the same age as him and I watch as he leans over and pulls the remote from her hands and changes channels without asking. She turns and punches him in response and I have to bite my lip to stop the laugh.
Fuck me if this whole scene isn’t straight out of mine and Lulu’s playbook.
Shaking my head, I walk down the hall to what I assume is the kitchen at the back. The house has the same layout as mine, only bigger and decorated with a distinctly feminine touch. Not over the top girlie or whatever, just softer, vases of flowers and shit that suggests a female presence.
When I walk into the kitchen, Ellen is sitting at the large island, a glass of wine in front of her.
“Hi,” she says. “Feeling better?”
I nod. “Definitely, thanks.”
“Can I get you a glass?” she asks, gesturing to the bottle.
I look over, notice the Somerville label and wonder if it still tastes as good as I remember. It’s not that it’s been long since I had a glass of their stuff; it’s sold in Australia. I just don’t know when the place changed hands or whether that’s impacted the quality.
I’m also not sure how alcohol is going to react with my jetlag, but fuck it; it’s five o’clock somewhere.
“Sure,” I say, finishing off my coke and taking a seat. “So, when did you take over this place?” I ask, remembering she never answered my question when I asked her earlier.
Ellen smiles as she grabs another glass and pours me some wine. “About two years ago,” she says, topping up a third glass that’s sitting on the bench. “But I’m only in charge of the admin side of things,” she says. “My sister runs the actual vineyard. That’s who you’ll be working for.”
“Okay,” I say, reaching for the glass she offers me. She’s got a weird look on her face, almost as if she’s laughing at me. “And am I going to meet this sister of yours anytime soon?” I ask.
She nods and almost immediately, the sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards signals her arrival.
“Speak of the devil,” Ellen says as a set of long tanned legs walks into the kitchen. I feel my eyes tracing a slow path up bare, sun-kissed skin, a pair of cut-off denim shorts hugging curvy hips and a tight black tank covering an impressive chest, long blonde hair hanging over one shoulder
When I reach the face however, and the deep blue eyes that are currently squinting back at me, I can’t stop the grin that breaks out, especially when I catch the what the fuck expression plastered all over my new boss’ face.
“Hey Lulu,” I say as I raise my glass in her direction.
Oh fuck me, this is going to be fun.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Fourteen Years Ago
Ellen
Chapter Two
Will
Chapter Three
Ellen
Chapter Four
Will
Chapter Five
Ellen
Chapter Six
Will
Chapter Seven
Ellen
Chapter Eight
Will
Chapter Nine
Ellen
Chapter Ten
Present Day
Will
Chapter Eleven
Ellen
Prologue
Fourteen Years Ago
Lauren
Chapter One
Present Day
Jack
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