‘Let my brother go,’ Mitch demanded. ‘Or else.’
The big boy smirked but focused back on Tom, who was staring wide-eyed at them both. He shoved again and again at Tom, while Tom held on for dear life to the guard rails either side of the slide.
Tom wailed, his teary eyes beseeching Mitch to stop the boy.
Mitch twitched. Anger burned through his limbs. How dare this boy hurt his brother like this? How dare he?
Mitch stamped his feet towards the boy. His nose wrinkled as he snarled. ‘I said leave him alone!’ Mitch shoved the boy hard in the shoulder to get him away.
The boy let go of Tom and stumbled sideways but didn’t fall down.
His eyes widened a little as Mitch came closer again and shoved him hard in the chest. This time the boy fell backwards onto his butt.
Mitch turned to his brother. ‘Run!’ Tom took off as fast as he could.
The big boy’s brows lowered and his lips twisted into a snarl as he lurched to his feet again. ‘You’re in for it now.’
He charged at Mitch. Mitch braced himself for the imminent shove, but it didn’t come. Instead, the boy punched him hard in the cheek. Mitch’s head flung to the side, and he nearly lost his balance. Pain throbbed in his jaw.
The world stopped for a moment as the shock of what just happened moved in. His blood rushed in his ears. His vision narrowed.
All through his body were little twitchy explosions of adrenaline.
The big boy lunged at him again, but Mitch flung his arm out, fist clenched, hoping to land it anywhere. It connected with the boy’s neck. His left arm was next, a flying weapon. His fist met hard cheekbone this time.
Over and over, he threw desperate punches, hoping that it would stop this boy’s continued attack.
And then his mother was there. She pushed at their chests, breaking the boys apart. Mitch’s face and fists were aching. His breaths were ragged in his throat.
‘You go home right now, Andrew Anderson, and don’t you think I won’t be telling your mother about this,’ she scolded, voice shaking with anger.
Mitch waited, watching as tears sprung to Andrew’s eyes, and he ran off. Anticipation stormed through him for his own impending scolding. His mother had told him time and time again that they didn’t fight, that it wasn’t his place to hurt others. And until this very moment, he had never had the inclination to fight with anyone.
But instead of anger, Mum wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her chest. ‘Are you okay? Did he hurt you?’
It took a moment before Mitch could speak, still too shocked that his mother wasn’t screaming at him. ‘A little. My cheek.’
‘You did a good thing just then, Mitch. He could’ve broke Tom’s bloody neck, shoving him down the slide backwards like that. I couldn’t get here fast enough, but you did.’ Mum sighed with relief. ‘You sure you’re okay? Here, let me look at that cheek.’
When he arrived home, anxiety filled him for what Dad was going to say. His reaction might be different altogether.
Dad had come to him after Mitch had showered and dressed into his pyjamas. He had a cold compress and handed it to Mitch, then took a seat beside him on the lounge.
‘Had a fight, hey?’ Dad asked.
Mitch nodded.
‘Earned a bit of a shiner by the looks of it, but it will be okay in a few days. Just keep that ice-pack on your face for a good while.’
Again Mitch nodded.
‘I don’t condone fighting, Mitch.’
Mitch’s stomach tightened. His father didn’t back down when it came to punishment.
‘But, from what your mother says, you did what was right. You see, as the eldest brother, it’s your job to look after your younger brothers. And that’s what you did.’ Dad shuffled a hand through Mitch’s hair and grinned. ‘I’m real proud of you, Mitch. You stood up for Tom, and I would expect no less from you. But that doesn’t give you permission to go around fighting anyone and everyone, you got that?’
Mitch nodded. ‘Yes, Dad.’
Mitch shook the memory away. How long had he been sitting in his car for?
A loud knock at the window. He flinched, looked to find Sam standing beside the car.
‘Everything okay?’ Sam asked.
Seeing the concern in his brother’s expression was enough to snap Mitch out of his self-reflection.
He nodded, reached for the door handle.
Sam stepped out of the way as Mitch opened the door. ‘Still okay to show Matilda around this morning?’
Mitch shut the door behind him, pushed his car keys into his pocket. ‘Of course. Why?’
‘No reason. Except she’s already here.’
Mitch glanced at his watch. ‘She’s early.’
Sam smiled. ‘Yeah, she said it’s a bad habit she’s trying to get out of.’
Today Mitch was determined to prove that the attraction he had felt when he met with Matilda last week was fleeting, insignificant. That’s why he put his hand up to be the one to show her around the grounds and operations.
Besides, he was now her employer and it would overstep certain lines if he behaved in any other way than professional. He was a passionate viticulturist, dedicated to the success of this business. Too much was at stake for him to behave in any other way.
At least that’s what he was telling himself. Deep down, he knew the line he was truly worried about crossing was that one to his heart. Rachel had taken a part of that vital organ with her the day her casket was lowered into the ground. He didn’t have a lot of heart left to risk and what remained, he gave fully to his daughter.
In the darkest depths of his grief, he nearly gave up on everything, including Sophie. He wouldn’t forget that, nor could he forgive himself. He knew more than anyone that he hadn’t handled his grief well. His brothers, the vineyard, Sophie, all suffered because he dropped the ball.
He didn’t know how he would handle heartbreak in the future, but it was best not to find out, that way there was no chance he would freefall into that black abyss ever again.
Listen to yourself, Mitch, you blabbering idiot. One tiny twinge of sexual tension does not indicate anything, let alone a future bloody relationship.
Mitch strode beside Sam up to the admin building.
Outside of the harvest season, they kept normal working hours—eight-thirty to five most days. Of course there were exceptions—many exceptions. But for the most part, it allowed for a normal family life for most of the year.
Mitch got to have breakfast with his daughter each day. Sam now had to drive his daughter, Livvy, into school, so he was able to do that. Tom had his fiancée, Amy, to keep happy.
Mitch wanted their personal lives to be as full as their professional life—that was one thing Dad had stressed to him. He had said the vines could grow into one’s veins and take root making one believe that the grapes were most important. But he had said that it was an illusion, the most important roots to grow were family roots.
He just wished Dad had have given him advice for when one of those branches died. With Rachel, Mitch had been planting his roots, growing his family, and then she passed away.
He had been stumbling ever since.
When Mitch went inside, he interrupted a conversation between Tom and Matilda about a Christmas Day their two families had shared together on the vineyard many years earlier.
Matilda stopped mid-sentence and turned to see Mitch. She had applied mascara or eyeliner or something because her eyes were so hazel and bright, they were all he could see for a long moment.
‘Good morning, Mitch,’ she said.
Her voice was like rough silk and it slid across his skin—delicate yet with enough friction to feel so damn good.
‘Good morning.’
Her hair was pulled off her face into a high ponytail. She wore tight fitting black pants and a black button-up blouse with short sleeves. But where his attention focused were her black boots—she was like a dressier version of Lara Crof
t in those.
Noticing where he was looking for possibly too long, she lifted her foot. ‘I knew we’d be trekking through the vineyards today. I vaguely recall that high heels are perhaps not the most suitable attire.’
He met her gaze, noted the friendly smile. ‘Good thinking. I should have remembered to tell you.’
‘I come prepared for anything.’
She is gorgeous.
Fuck.
He cleared his throat. ‘All right. Well, if you’re ready, we’ll start right away.’
She grinned wide. ‘All set.’
Mitch glanced at his brothers who were both watching him with wary gazes as though he was a frightened brumby. He was obviously not doing a great job of covering his inner-turmoil.
Without another word, he opened the front door and held it ajar for Matilda. He turned back to his brothers, snarled and mouthed ‘mind your business’.
‘This ute down here,’ he said to Matilda as they strode to the car park.
He opened her door, allowing her to climb in, then went around to the driver’s side.
‘I’ll have to get used to the fact you have a daughter now,’ she said as he was getting seated. ‘The toddler seat caught me by surprise.’
‘Yep. Sophie,’ he said starting the engine.
‘Gorgeous name. How old is she?’
‘Nearly twenty months. I can’t keep up with how fast she’s growing.’
‘I bet.’
He went to shift the gears into drive, but Matilda caught his hand as he did. ‘Um, Mitch, can we talk for a moment?’
He moved his hand out from under hers, back to the steering wheel and nodded. ‘Sure. What’s up?’
‘Our shared history. I’m going to come right out and voice it, so it’s not lurking beneath the surface.’
He nodded.
‘We were a couple for two years. And friends for many years before then. I left and broke both our hearts.’
His shoulders hunched as those words stirred all the pain and incredulity he felt the day she told him she was going to Melbourne for university. She wasn’t open for a long-distance relationship. She wanted to break up because it was what she believed was best for both of them.
‘We were … young,’ he said, voice deep and hollow.
‘Yeah, we were. But it was pretty real to me—the feelings I had for you. I did love you.’
He recalled the first time she had uttered those words. They were lying on her bed, his arms were wrapped around her because he couldn’t stop touching her, always wanted to be close. For long stretches of time, they had simply kissed and kissed until his lips tingled.
‘You are everything to me,’ he had whispered in her ear.
She had drawn her head back and gazed at him with eyes that had seen every part of him. ‘I love you, Mitch Mathews. I will always love you. Forever and ever.’
He remembered so vividly the warmth that pooled, first in his heart then drenched the rest of his body. It was like those words had lit a fire in his soul and that fire would, from that day on, burn for her. ‘I love you too. So much I ache with it.’
When he kissed her then after they had exposed the deepest whisperings of their hearts, he felt like he had filled a space inside her and she had found a home in him.
Mitch met Matilda’s gaze briefly as she sat beside him in the car now, hoping those memories didn’t show on his face. ‘Me too,’ he whispered.
‘And I don’t know about you, but when I saw you again last week, it was like all our past was stirred up.’
She was always so capable of communicating what was in her heart. The side-effect of having a counsellor for a mother, he assumed. He had always appreciated it—how she could coax the words out of him because for him, it wasn’t always easy.
‘I did feel a little of that,’ he admitted.
‘And I think that’s completely normal. What we had together was … intense. We aren’t going to forget that, even after all this time, don’t you think?’
He arched a brow, let it fall back to place just as quickly. ‘Obviously not.’
She smiled at him with such warmth and that warmth permeated him. His breaths deepened. ‘Let’s just acknowledge that some emotion may bleed into this professional relationship, and that’s fine. It just is. We can both still do our jobs. I totally get that you’re my boss now, and we will both act accordingly, but pretending there wasn’t once something between us will only complicate this, don’t you think so?’
He caught his breath, looked into her eyes. ‘I think you’re right.’
‘I want to do a good job for you here, Mitch. I really want to see this vineyard succeed. Probably not as much as you do, but it would be pretty close. I knew your dad, and I know what this place meant to him and what it now means to you and your brothers. And I’ll do everything within my professional abilities to promote the shit out of this vineyard.’ Her eyes were bright.
He grinned because it was a pleasure to hear her speak like that about the vineyard. ‘I’m really glad you’re on board. Truly, I am.’ After Sophie and his extended family, he lived and breathed for this place. And he knew then, Matilda understood that and would take care of it as much as he could possibly expect from an outsider.
‘And I’m glad to be here.’
‘Now let me show you my world,’ he said.
‘Can’t wait.’
He drove out of the car park and turned in along the gravel road that would take them past each vineyard they had spread across the property.
At this time of year, the beginning of spring, was bud break. From the ends of the gnarled thick vines, tiny buds swelled and started to shoot.
With the chardonnay vines, bud break began earlier than usual this year thanks to the ever warming temperatures. Global warming had incrementally, each year, set the seasons forward. He anticipated harvest would be ahead of schedule next year too.
Soon enough the shoots would sprout tiny leaves allowing more sun in to accelerate growth. He loved this time of year—full of hope that the season would produce a good harvest.
He explained where the vineyard was at this moment in regards to the growth cycle of the grapes as he drove past each yard and headed up the steep north-facing slope past the myriad merlot vines.
At the top, he parked and they climbed from the car. While they were here, he wanted to check the progress.
This varietal was renowned for blooming fast, but it was still behind the chardonnay.
‘Our merlot,’ he said as he marched towards a long row of vines. Sporadically interspersed between the vines were blossoming rose bushes—a natural repellent to unwanted insects.
He leant closer to one vine and pointed to a notch in the thick barky branch. ‘See here. This is what we call a wound.’
‘Brutal,’ she said with a grin.
‘It’s where we have pruned back the vines during the winter season. Just before bud break, water, minerals, hormones and sugars are pushed up through the vine and it bleeds from the wound. Sometimes a single vine can bleed up to about five litres of fluid.’
Wonder shaped her features. It warmed his heart to see it because the vines were always a source of wonder for him too, right from the time he was a small boy and Dad would take him out with him and tell him all he knew.
In his senior year of school, during the time he was in a relationship with Matilda, his involvement in the vineyard wasn’t such a big part of him yet, so he had never been able to show her all its splendour. Funny how certain desires could come full circle.
He drew back from the vine and stood upright. Keep a steady head, Mitch. ‘Let’s go to the cellar.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh, that stinky, dark, scary cellar?’
He looked at her with mock aghast. ‘I think you mean the earthy scented, dim-lit cave of wine-storing pleasure.’
She rolled her head back and laughed. ‘Maybe you should be doing my job.’
He smiled. ‘No. I’ll leave that in y
our very capable hands.’
Back in the ute, they cruised across the property until arriving some distance away at a big arching overpass. Beneath the overpass were two large cellar doors. Locked away inside was this vineyard’s treasure.
To look at the flaking painted doors, it’s difficult to imagine that inside was a bounty of treasure worth millions.
Mitch strolled alongside Matilda, their boots crunching across the green grass punching through the soil since the powder coating of snow dissipated a little time ago.
A hint of warmth from the strong biting sun had permeated the air for a few weeks now, eating away the last of winter. It never truly got too warm up here in the Alpine region; the high mountains in the very distance could still hold patches of snow even in the thick of summer.
He unlocked the big bolts, then pushed open the creaky timber doors. Blackness met them and the pungent aroma of moist soil.
With well-rehearsed movements, he reached in to the side amidst the perceptibly cooler air and found the light switch that dimly lit the entire space.
This enormous underground cellar was built of natural stone before the first harvest on this vineyard had taken place. Dad had visited similar cellars in France and wanted to replicate that here—a naturally perfect climate to store bottles of wine for decades, even centuries.
Matilda stepped inside after him. He followed her line of sight to the big arching ceiling, the stone floor and walls. They went forward, past the tasting room, deep into the beating heart of the cave.
The scent grew richer—a mixture of mouth-watering, sweet fruitiness and earthy fungus, kind of like wine-soaked soil. Lining the vast series of compartments were wire racks full of wine bottles lying on their side.
‘Dad’s legacy,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I remember. Completely full now, though.’
Each time he stepped foot in this cellar, it filled him to bursting with pride and gratitude and a renewed effervescence for why he did what he did every single day. All those emotions swarmed through him this minute—his stance became more erect, his chest puffed.
He recalled that one time he brought Matilda inside here, and she had seen the magic firsthand. They had kissed—their first real hungry kiss that never wanted to end, that wanted to progress into something more, something that would bring all three of them together—him, her, the magic.
Sweet From the Vine Page 4