Second Time Sweeter

by Ros Baxter

  Gen shook her head. ‘No, Brodie. It wasn’t true—not when I said it.’ She had to come clean, at least on this. ‘Mac and I happened a couple of years later. I mean, we stayed friends, even though I can hardly believe we did, through all of that. He always made it clear.’ She made an eloquent gesture. ‘What he wanted, I mean.’ She stared over Brodie’s shoulder, remembering how it had happened. Brodie sipped his wine and watched her. ‘We just hung out. I was lonely; things were tough. We did the odd movie, you know? Then, over time, people just started assuming we were a couple. Things were getting harder with—’ She almost said ‘with Mum’, but stopped herself, ‘—with the farm. He helped out. And he kept asking, wanting.’ She stared down at her wine, picking it up and tasting the cold, dry goodness. ‘Eventually, we kind of slid into it.’

  Brodie’s mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. ‘I get that,’ he said. ‘I drifted into a few things myself.’

  Of course he had, it was logical that he had, but man, did it hurt to hear it. Gen closed her eyes against the images of him with other women. Brodie Brown was beautiful, and he was smart, and, in recent years, incredibly successful. Of course he’d had women. Many, no doubt.

  ‘Anyone special?’ Why did she ask? What was it about people that they couldn’t resist pressing the darkest, ugliest bruise to see how much it really would hurt?

  His face shut down and shut her out as he took a few quick swallows of his wine and tried on the old Bro Bro grin. ‘Special enough at the time, I guess.’

  Gen counselled herself not to let her face crumble into ruins in the face of his nonchalance. But she’d always been crap at poker. He took one look at her and softened. ‘Oh darl’n,’ he said, reaching across and grabbing her hands. ‘You really think anything ever came close to what we had?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I really don’t.’ Tears made their prickly presence felt behind her eyes but she wouldn’t give them passage. ‘I only know it never did for me.’

  Brodie took a breath. ‘Things are different now, Gen. It’s over with Mac. I heard what happened, how he ran off with that girl. Do you think we could—’

  Before he could finish the sentence, two warm wet bodies crashed into Gen, both chattering at once about the sea and their new friend and how long ’til fish and chips arrived.

  Brodie greeted them manfully, but mouthed at Gen as they took their seats ‘later’.

  ***

  They were all full of sun and good food as they staggered back into Brodie’s apartment. The kids were heavy-limbed with exhaustion as Gen worked to shower them. She herded them back into their room, marvelling at what an incredible space it was—double bunks, bright colours, and a huge window that opened out onto the harbour. Brodie had explained that Stella’s brothers sometimes came to stay overnight to give their mum a break while she was studying. It seemed that Rosie, Stella’s mother, had adopted Brodie in more ways than as an employer when he had come to Sydney. She had been the family he hadn’t had. It made Gen happy, thinking he hadn’t been entirely alone all that time, that he’d been part of something warm and good, and that he still was.

  As she closed the door on two sweet, sleeping faces, Brodie was pouring a glass of wine at the bench of the massive open-plan kitchen. He held the bottle up to her. ‘Nightcap?’

  She shook her head. The last thing she needed was another drink to add to the cocktail of sun, tiredness, good food and memories. And desire, her brain reminded her.

  Go on, admit it—it’s the desire that’s making you afraid of that wine and what it might unleash.

  Her brain was right, and strangely it made the offer seem more appealing. Or maybe that was the nerves that had suddenly descended now that the two of them were alone. ‘Oh, you know what? Go on then. Just a small one.’

  Brodie poured a wine and passed it to her as he moved out to the wide deck. She followed him. The moon had risen and the view was spectacular—silver sparkled on the water and the shapes and textures of the harbour played out before them like a fairyland.

  She went up to the glass-edged balcony and sipped the wine. ‘It’s beautiful here, Brodie. No wonder you wanted to be part of all this.’

  He moved beside her. ‘It is beautiful,’ he agreed. ‘But Sweetiepie’s beautiful too, in its own way. It’s just lower key. Sydney’s like a player, SP’s more like your mother.’

  Gen laughed. He had such a way. ‘A beautiful player.’

  ‘They usually are.’ He reached out, slowly, like she might startle, and gently touched the side of her face with one finger, stroking down its length.

  ‘I’m not a player,’ she said. Was that what he thought?

  He shrugged. ‘You played me like a fiddle from the first day I met you.’

  ‘I never tried to.’ It hurt, hearing him talk like this.

  ‘I know that,’ he said, his voice very soft, his eyes very dark. ‘I think.’

  She didn’t want to ask, because she didn’t know exactly how he was going to respond, and she didn’t like surprises, not anymore—she hadn’t for a long time. But she had to know—what had he been going to ask, back at Doyle’s?

  ‘You started to say something, at Watson’s Bay. Do you think we could? That’s what you said, before the kids came back.’ She flushed at the audacity of asking him, of winding the crank on this particular Pandora’s Box. ‘I was wondering what you were going to say—do you think we could what?’

  He turned out towards the harbour, as if he couldn’t look at her when he answered, if he was going to answer. His big hands gripped the edge of the glass balcony. ‘I was wondering if we could start over a little, forget what happened.’ He turned back to her. ‘Just lay it to rest a little?’

  How often had she wished that in the last ten years? She scrunched her eyelids shut, wondering if a fairy godmother would be lurking behind one of Brodie’s big potted shrubs when she opened them. ‘Why would you want to do that?’ She was conscious of how breathy she sounded, almost faint with relief and the possibility of absolution.

  He reached out again to touch her face and the touch burned her skin and lit her up from the inside. ‘Because I’m tired of being that hurt guy,’ he said. ‘It’s getting old. And because …’ He moved closer to her at the balcony, until his side was touching hers. ‘Whenever I’m around you, no matter how pissed I think I’m going to be I just can’t quite summon it. I just want to be near you.’

  Gen badly wanted to reach out to him, but uncertainty paralysed her hands. She started to say I’d like that, to start over, but he interrupted.

  ‘Of course, I know it can never go away. That day. It’ll always be there, between us. But at least, maybe, we can be friends?’

  She nodded dumbly, even though it felt as if his words had stomped the tiny shoot of hope that had unfurled in her chest. Friends. Friends was good. Friends was a hell of a lot better than hate and fury and bitterness. She tested the notion a little in her heart. They’d been some kind of friends for a lot of years before they became teenage sweethearts, but it had never really been just friendship. It had always been Brodie, chasing, making his intentions clear, and Gen, running just to keep up with the force of him.

  Friends?

  She’d take it. ‘I’d like that, Brodie.’ But there was more, of course. ‘But I need to say a couple of things.’

  A dark shadow flickered over his face, and she hated that she put it there, that he thought she was going to deliver some fresh shock.

  ‘I want to say sorry.’ She would not cry; she would not make this about her, about pitying her. ‘For what I did. It was never about hurting you. But I know I did.’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks, Genevieve.’

  His use of her full name kicked off a contraction low in her belly. He said it like an incantation, stretching it out. Hardly anyone ever used it these days.

  She took a breath. ‘And I also wanted to tell you about Buddy.’

  He held up a hand. ‘Honestly, honey, I don’t nee
d to know. It was none of my damn business. I carried on like a wanker.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she agreed, trying to go for light. ‘You did. But still, I want to tell you.’

  ‘Alright then, go on.’

  ‘He’s keen; he’s made that plain. But there’s nothing …’ She trailed off, realising how lame it sounded. ‘There’s never been anything like that between us.’ She shuddered at the thought. How could he even think it? ‘And there never will be.’

  Finally, Brodie grinned. ‘Well hallelujah to that,’ he said. ‘The whole idea was enough to give an innocent boy nightmares.’

  ***

  He would not kiss her. Not here tonight—not like this. She was a guest in his home, her kids were here, and he didn’t want her to think for one moment that this was the reason he had offered to help her, brought her here, and made sure the kids had fun.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, mind you. Her standing there in that pretty dress, her red hair loose in the breeze, her skin the colour of the moonlight—he could hardly remember ever wanting to kiss her so much. Every time she spoke he was losing track of himself watching those soft pink lips of hers. He wondered if they still tasted the same. He wondered if she still made that little sigh of relief and excitement when she was well kissed. He wondered if those lips still looked the same afterwards, darker and fuller, and if she still got that starry look in her eyes that he had wanted to keep putting there over and over when he was seventeen years old.

  But he needed to show her he was different now. He knew he’d been rash and headstrong at seventeen, eighteen. Hell, he still was. But he’d thought back on that day a lot in the last ten years, thought about why she’d had to tell him like that, why she hadn’t mentioned anything before about wanting to stay. And he had wondered if in some way it was about who he was. With everything that had happened to him, he had been so single-minded—about getting out of Sweetiepie and about Gen. Had he really listened to what she wanted? Had he given her any space for her own plans? Well, he’d cured a little since he’d been eighteen, and he wanted Gen to see that.

  Why the hell it mattered so much to him, he wasn’t sure. But it did.

  So he dragged in a breath, pressed his fingernails into his palms to stop himself from touching that soft cheek one more time like a desperate teenager, and moved into business mode. ‘All set for tomorrow, Gen? We’ve got the buyer at nine, then I want to take you to see the co-op before we cruise back to SP.’

  Gen nodded. ‘I can’t wait.’

  She was looking at him like she wanted something more, but he couldn’t work it out. So far he had been a presumptuous dick and a hot-headed jerk the second time around.

  ‘Do you need anything else before bed?’

  Gen blinked, and he suddenly wondered if maybe she wanted him to kiss her. Until that exact second it hadn’t really occurred to him that she might welcome it, but if she would, then it cast a whole different light over everything. It would be one thing for him to make a clumsy, unwelcome move on her, while she stayed in his home, but if she …

  Gen smiled, and the moment evaporated like mist. ‘Nah,’ she said. ‘I’m all good. Thanks again.’

  And then she was up the stairs and heading to her bedroom, telling him she’d see him in the morning. Shit. She was disappearing, and there had been something there, in her eyes. He wanted to arrest her flight, make her turn around, and see if he’d imagined it.

  ‘Gen.’

  She turned on the top stair. ‘Yep?’

  He moved closer, taking the first few stairs himself so there was less distance between them. ‘You looked beautiful tonight.’

  She raised a hand to her face, and it was a moment of real and true exposure. She blushed prettily and her eyes were bright. Then she curtsied sharply, holding out her skirt. ‘This old thing?’

  She smiled and was up the stairs and in her room before he could say, Did you want me to kiss you?

  ***

  Gen’s stomach balled in nervous anticipation as they pushed through the front doors of Sunshine Wholefoods. She had her kit bag of samples with her, her best business jeans on, and a spiel ready to roll.

  ‘Be cool,’ Brodie reminded her as they were shown into the little waiting area. ‘Chris is a good guy; he’ll hear you out, and your stuff is great. It will speak for itself.’

  ‘Sure,’ Gen said, her throat closing over with anxiety. Oh my God. What if she couldn’t speak when she got in there? She sat back on one of the groovy green chairs and hot prickles chased up and down her arms.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Chris Higgins was a huge bear of a man, and he made a bear-like growl as he charged at Brodie and wrapped beefy arms around him. He was bearded, with long brown-grey hair flowing around his shoulders, and he was wearing a rainbow-coloured tie, dyed all over. ‘Brodie, you mongrel!’ he boomed, releasing him with a huge smile. ‘It is so fuckin’ great to see you!’

  ‘You too, Higgy,’ Brodie said, grinning hard. ‘And this is the next big thing I told you about.’

  ‘Ah,’ Chris said, lowering his voice further and becoming very serious as he extended a hand to Genevieve. ‘Now I’ve heard about this stuff from Frannie as well.’

  Gen thought about KD, saying she knew a buyer from Sunshine she had been spruiking Gen’s stuff to as well. God bless them all.

  Chris narrowed his eyes towards Gen. ‘She seems a bit young to know how to eat.’ He looked dubiously at Brodie.

  Brodie threw back his head and guffawed. ‘Oh mate, I’ve been watching this girl eat since the first grade—let me tell you, she knows food.’

  Chris looked shrewdly from one to the other, and Gen did her best to beam innocently as she shook his hand and said ‘It’s so nice to meet you, Mr Higgins. I’m a huge fan of your work.’

  ‘Ha,’ the bear laughed, squeezing her hand and pulling her in for a hug. ‘Pretty and discerning. If her stuff tastes as good as you and Frannie reckon, Bro Bro, I might just marry her.’

  Brodie rolled her eyes. ‘Aren’t you on your third marriage already?’

  ‘Details, darl’n’.’ Chris winked, leading Gen by the elbow through some more glass doors to a series of meeting rooms, and stopping in the final one. ‘Women like a man who’s broken in.’

  Chris made a great fuss of settling Brodie and Gen at the meeting table, pulling Nudie juices from a little fridge behind him and setting up a bowl of organic pretzels in the middle of the table, which he proceeded to attack with determination, ramming great handfuls of the things into his mouth. ‘They’re good,’ he assured Gen. ‘Have a try. A year ago they were sitting where you are now. We backed ’em, and the rest is history.’

  Gen smiled and reached forward for a couple of the pretzels. They had a surprising sweet/salty thing going on, which, combined with an almost obscenely satisfying crunch, made her wish she’d taken a handful as large as the one the bear had. ‘Wow,’ she said, mid-mouthful. ‘They’re superb.’

  ‘They sure are,’ Chis agreed, passing the bowl to Brodie with what looked like a sigh of regret. ‘Now, Genevieve. Tell me your story.’

  Gen took a breath and composed her features. This was her chance. ‘Sweetiepie Sarah is all about dairy the way it used to be,’ she started. ‘Produced where the milk is made, on the farm, and using local flavours and recipes passed between women.’

  She was just starting to warm up when Chris waved a hand at her.

  ‘No, darl’n’,’ he said, with a frown. ‘Not that sales crap—the real story.’

  What did he mean? What did he want to know? She looked over at Brodie who gave her a small nod. She remembered what he’d told her on the way here. ‘Be cool, and be real. Chris can spot a bullshitter a mile off.’

  She took another breath. ‘Well,’ she said, spreading her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘We got fucked by The Big Cow.’

  Chris narrowed his eyes and then laughed, but not meanly. ‘Davina Devondish?’

  Gen nodded. ‘Tell the truth, I’d
never really thought about doing much other than running the farm, trying to make the best product I could, and selling the milk. We had good contracts. Life wasn’t rich, but it was sweet.’

  Chris smiled and looked interested as he snatched the bowl back from Brodie to shovel some more pretzels. ‘Go on.’

  ‘So I did what we do on the land.’ She shrugged. ‘I adapted. I had a shitload of milk when they shafted us, and some unhappy cows. I’d always been interested in food. I went on a steep learning curve. I experimented.’ She looked over at Brodie who nodded again, and gave her a small thumbs-up. ‘And I think it’s really good.’

  ‘Well,’ Chris said, leaning back in his chair and patting his tummy, ‘we’ve had the savoury.’ He pointed at the almost-empty pretzel bowl. ‘Let’s try some sweet.’ He rubbed his hands together.

  Gen opened up the dinky little sample bag she had made on Sarah’s old Singer sewing machine, with pockets and hideaways and compartments for ice to keep the whole thing cool. ‘We’ve got yoghurt, cream, butter and cheese today,’ she said. ‘The cheese is new. I’m still working on it, but it’s looking good.’

  ‘Yoghurt,’ Chris commanded, and Gen breathed a little easier. She knew how good it was. She liberated a small tub and handed it to Chris along with a napkin and a tiny spoon. ‘Fig and maple,’ she said. ‘Greek.’

  Chris licked his lips and ripped off the top, digging in with the spoon. And then, all his clumsy enormity melted away. Suddenly, he was like a wine connoisseur, smelling and dipping and licking and tasting again. Gen held her breath so long she wondered if she might pass out like she had at the fundraiser.

  Finally, he spoke. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ he breathed. ‘That is the best fucking yoghurt I’ve ever tasted.’

  Gen exhaled, sweet relief flooding through her.

  ‘So how long ’til you get certified? And how much can you produce?’

  ***

  ‘They’re really the kickers aren’t they?’ Gen chewed on a nail as Brodie navigated his car into the parking lot of the Redfern factory. ‘Certification and production. Can we get the tick and can we make enough product to make it worth their while?’