Bittersweet

by Jacquie Underdown

  In the main bedroom, the bed had been left unmade. Clothes were on the floor. Rachel was a clean freak, so they must have left in a hurry. No wonder they didn’t pack anything.

  He looked under the bed and spotted empty suitcases. He slid the smallest case out. Mitch had said not to pack too much; he’d only be hanging around the hospital all day and night.

  Tom lifted the case onto the bed and went to the chest of drawers. As he pulled open the top drawer and was confronted by all the colourful lace, his stomach squeezed. Rachel’s underwear. He snapped the drawer shut and groaned, feeling intrusive.

  Rachel would have predicted this, and that’s why she left her gear for Amy to pack. He’d have to remember to thank her. It was such a Rachel-ism to be considerate like that. His brain was not wired that way.

  He pulled out the second drawer—more lace. He slammed it shut, slid the other drawers out—all Rachel’s. How much underwear does one person need? Almost dismissing it as a possibility, he opened the bottom drawer and sighed with relief when he found Mitch’s small drawer of underwear.

  He chuckled as he grabbed out half a dozen pairs of perfectly folded jocks. Not only did Mitch only have one drawer, but he had to bend all the way down to the very bottom to retrieve them. And he was only a couple of centimetres shorter than Tom.

  The joys of marriage.

  He placed the jocks in the suitcase, collected shirts, shorts, jeans, and a jacket from the cupboard and bundled them all into the suitcase along with a pair of casual looking shoes. Next stop was the bathroom for toiletries—just the usual stuff.

  He lugged the suitcase, leaving it at the front door, and headed to the kitchen for a glass of wine while he waited for Amy to finish. A bottle of Shiraz was in the wine fridge. One of the vineyard’s.

  He unscrewed the cap to give it time to breathe but winced when he saw the label—a 2006 vintage worth over one hundred and fifty dollars a bottle.

  Too late now, big bro, it’s already opened.

  Besides, there were more hanging around in the vineyard’s cellar.

  As he poured himself a glass, Amy rounded the corner into the kitchen. She eyed the wine.

  ‘I think you could use one of these too,’ he said retrieving another glass. He poured another drink and handed it to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, then took a sip. Her eyes closed as she sighed. ‘You’re right. I definitely need this.’

  He rolled his glass between his hands. ‘You sure everything’s okay?’

  For a silent moment, she stared at the glass then met his gaze. ‘I had to close my restaurant.’ Her words were choked, and her eyes were welling with tears. ‘Then hearing about Rachel …’ She shrugged and had another sip of wine. ‘I’m feeling a little wiped out. It’s been a long year.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Another strained smile spread across her lips, a contradiction to her watery eyes. ‘There're some positives, I guess. I get to help Rachel out when she needs me. I wouldn’t have been able to do this under normal circumstances.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s a kind gesture. Mitch is beyond relieved. They both are.’

  ‘And Alpine Ridge is beautiful. This vineyard—it’s like a slice of heaven.’ She smiled more naturally. ‘And you get to see my face around here for a few months. Win-win.’ She finished with a tense giggle.

  Tom laughed. That was a win-win because her face was gorgeous: delicious, plump lips, defined cheek bones, and a spattering of freckles on her cheeks and cute little nose.

  Shame he was only home seven days of the month. ‘It’ll be great having you here. Though, I’m gone for most of the year.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s right. You work in mining?’

  ‘Yep. Iron ore. Fly-in fly-out to WA.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘Hard work?’

  ‘Yep. And stinking hot.’

  She tilted her head to the side. ‘Why do you work away, when you have all this at your fingertips?’

  A straightforward question that he didn’t have a straightforward answer for—not one he wanted to admit to anyway.

  Sure, maybe he ran away to the mines after Belinda ended their two year relationship citing she needed a man who hadn’t had everything handed to him on a platter. That so-called self-made man ended up being the local doctor just four days after the relationship with Tom ended.

  Did that hurt Tom? Hell yeah. It stung. But not in the way Belinda had intended. She had hit a nerve that Tom hadn’t even realised was exposed.

  Of course, he had loved Belinda and working at the mine was a way to prove to her and to anybody else that he may have been given this vineyard, but he worked damn hard, and he certainly wasn’t afraid to.

  But he wasn’t giving all this up for an ex. It was much more complicated than that. Family matters always were. Blood was, and always would be, thicker than water, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t also resent his family.

  He worked at the mine because it represented the one thing in his life that he had solely decided for himself. Not out of some sense of obligation to his parents, not for his brothers, but for him. And for twenty-one blissful days, he was his own man making his own decisions without his brothers controlling, interfering with or doubting his every move.

  ‘A good way to earn spare change. I want to build my own house. Once that’s finished, I’ll reassess what I want to do,’ he said.

  ‘You’re going to build the house yourself or you’re getting contractors in?’

  ‘No. Me.’ He swallowed a mouthful of wine. ‘I’ll have mates to help now and then, but I know what I’m doing. You don’t grow up on a property like this without learning some basic carpentry skills.’

  She smiled, and her entire face lit up. She was stunning when she smiled. Tom’s gaze travelled to her lips, which were stained a little from the wine, then further down her body.

  For a petite woman, she still had curves—generous breasts and hips.

  ‘And is that what you do out at the mine?’ she asked.

  Her voice interrupted him from his conspicuous perving. He cleared his throat and met her gaze. Her expression was closed, giving no hint that she caught him ogling.

  ‘Do what?’ Tom asked, then drained his glass, using the moment to compose himself.

  She giggled. ‘Are you employed as a carpenter at the mine?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m a diesel fitter. I work on the trucks and mining machinery.’

  Her eyes widened. She stepped closer until she was standing at the bench too. ‘That’s right. I think I remember you telling me that. Have you any photos?’

  Tom pulled his mobile out of his jeans pocket. He flicked through his camera roll until he found a picture of him standing beside a dump truck—a big, yellow, life-sized Tonka. His head didn’t even come to the top of the tyre. He passed her the phone.

  Her eyes widened, and she grinned as she gazed at the photo. ‘Oh my God, that’s the biggest thing I’ve seen.’

  ‘I do hear that a lot,’ he said with a cheeky grin.

  She burst into laughter and hit his arm with the back of her hand. ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ Amy handed back the phone.

  He chuckled as he pushed it into his pocket. ‘Oh, you meant the truck is big? Right. Sorry. My mistake.’

  A blush crept over her cheeks that she attempted to hide behind her glass as she finished the remaining contents.

  ‘Another?’ he asked.

  ‘If you are.’

  Tom poured them both another, then held his glass in the air. ‘To sad closures, bright new beginnings, and the unknowable future.’

  She chimed her drink against his and took a long swallow.

  ‘How about I cook us some dinner? I’m sure Mitch and Rach have food in here that needs to be eaten.’

  ‘That’d be nice. Thanks.’ Amy frowned. ‘I don’t think I can even pick up a knife let alone cook.’

  ‘Too soon?’

  She nodded. ‘Much
too soon.’

  ‘When did you close the doors on your restaurant?’

  ‘Two nights ago, but it’s been an inevitability for months. I just didn’t want to admit it.’

  Tom winced. ‘Ouch, that wound’s still fresh. How are you going to handle running Rachel’s shop?’

  She shook her head, her frown growing deeper. ‘I haven’t given it much thought. This has all been so rushed.’

  ‘When are you opening it?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’

  Tom winced again. ‘Not much time between drinks.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. A small-town cupcake shop isn’t quite the same playing field as running your own restaurant in ritzy Melbourne.’

  That made her smile; Tom stared at the gorgeous transformation on her face.

  ‘No, not quite the same thing,’ she said.

  Tom went to the fridge and poked his head in, looking for something he could throw together. There was steak along with some salad ingredients. He grabbed them out and loaded them onto the island bench.

  ‘You’re a pastry chef like Rach, right?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  He patted his chest and feigned a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness. That eases the pressure. Don’t expect me to whip up anything for dessert, not with you looking over my shoulder.’

  She laughed. ‘Watch out, I am a bit of a hardarse in the kitchen.’

  ‘Should I blindfold you then, so you don’t nit-pick my technique? Or lack thereof?’ A burst of heat rushed through his body as his imagination ran wild: a blindfold, Amy’s lips covered with cream, him sucking it from her lips.

  He shook his head. He’d spent too much time in the back-end of nowhere with a thousand men—barely a female in sight. Now, he had this sexy woman in front of him, and he was as horny as a ten-peckered owl. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman … In fact, Amy was the last person he had kissed.

  ‘I should be able to restrain myself,’ she said.

  He nodded, not willing to speak as he didn’t trust his voice at the moment. He went about finding a chopping board, a frying pan and a sharp knife instead.

  Gesturing at the stools that lined the opposite side of the bench, he said, ‘Pull up a seat.’

  She sat down while he unwrapped the steak. ‘I can’t even say I feel guilty about not helping you. Sorry.’

  Sympathy warmed his smile. ‘I understand what it’s like when certain barriers prevent you from pursuing what you love.’ He cringed when he repeated his words in his head. This was getting too personal for his own liking.

  Amy arched a brow and swallowed a mouthful of her wine. He hoped like crazy she wouldn’t ask him to explain. There were certain conversational barriers: family bickering was one of them.

  He set the pan to heat on the stove top. ‘What time did you want to head off in the morning?’

  ‘How about eight? That’s not too early?’

  He shook his head. Anything later than four-thirty am was a sleep-in these days. ‘Eight sounds good to me.’

  Tom oiled and salted the steaks, tossed them into the pan, then started on washing lettuce and slicing cucumber, tomato and feta cheese. ‘How long have you known Rachel?’ He had probably asked her these questions at Christmas, but there had been a lot of alcohol involved. Only one thing had burned into his memory and that was her lips.

  ‘Since our very first day of culinary school when I was eighteen. Eleven years.’

  Tom nodded. ‘And that’s an English accent I can hear?’

  She smiled. ‘It’s a tough one to lose. I’ve been in Australia since I was fourteen. Mum and Dad moved back to London five years ago, though.’

  ‘Miss the shitty weather, did they?’

  She laughed. ‘My eldest sister moved back. They followed soon after, so they were close to the grandkids.’

  ‘Never thought of following them?’

  She shook her head hard. ‘Nope.’

  Tom leaned over the bench and topped up their glasses with the remainder of the wine.

  A warm glint lit her eyes as she eyed the drink, grinning. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

  Tom laughed. ‘Drunk is such an ambiguous term. I’d rather say I’m trying to relax you. Distract you. Cheer you up even.’

  She lifted her glass and nodded once before taking a mouthful. ‘Thank you. It’s working.’

  He felt the same. The ball of anxiety that had sat in the pit of his gut had stretched a little and relaxed. ‘You’re an aunt?’

  ‘Three times over.’

  ‘Mitch and Rachel’s bub is the first for the family. I didn’t think I’d feel anything, but I’m excited.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘And a little scared.’

  ‘The bub’s going to be in perfect health—’

  ‘Of course. I can’t think otherwise. I meant holding him or her for the first time—it’s daunting.’

  Amy arched a brow. ‘You’ve never held a baby?’

  ‘Not that I can remember.’

  She giggled. ‘I’m sure Rachel will give you all the necessary training first.’

  ‘Good. I’m going to need it.’ He took the steaks off the pan and placed them on a plate to rest while he made the finishes to the salad. ‘Hungry?’

  She nodded.

  He parted his lips about to say, ‘good’, but her mobile rang, interrupting him. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, thumbing the screen. ‘Hi, Rachel.’

  Trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation, Tom busied himself, making a quick oil and lemon juice salad dressing.

  ‘Yes, Tom is here now. He’s cooking me dinner.’

  He met Amy’s gaze, when she mentioned his name, and grinned.

  Blush coloured her cheeks. She covered her mouth as she giggled. ‘Yes, he is.’

  Tom arched a questioning brow when she made eye contact again.

  ‘I knew you were going to say that … because you always do this … since forever.’

  Amy stood and rolled her eyes conspiratorially at Tom before pointing out towards the dining room. ‘So, how are you feeling?’ she asked Rachel as she strode out of the kitchen.

  Tom dressed the salad and spooned some onto plates. He added the steak, grabbed out knives and forks, salt and pepper, and lined the plates up in front of the stools, deciding it would be more casual to eat their meals in the kitchen at the island bench than in the dining room.

  He relaxed onto a seat and waited, but it was less than a minute when Amy strolled back in with an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ he said, waving her apology away. ‘How is Rachel?’

  ‘She’s feeling a lot better.’ Her smile broadened. ‘The doctors are positive they’ll be able to manage the pre-eclampsia.’

  Tom blew out a long breath. ‘Thank God. Mitch was … I’d never heard him flustered like he was last night.’

  ‘It’s a stressful time.’

  Tom gestured to the plate in front of her. ‘Please. Dig in.’

  ‘Thank you. It looks amazing. You’re quite a cook.’

  He shrugged the compliment off. ‘Mum was insistent us boys knew the basics.’

  ‘That’s very wise of her.’ Amy cut into her steak. ‘My grandfather was who taught me how to cook.’

  ‘Desserts and pastries?’

  She shook her head. ‘Everything. But I soon learned that pastries were where my passion was.’

  Tom waited until she had her first mouthful. ‘Okay?’

  She nodded as she chewed. ‘Perfect.’

  He started on his own plate of food.

  ‘It’s been so long since I’ve sat down and had dinner,’ she said. ‘I think the last time would have been over Christmas when I stayed here for those few days.’ She held his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than required, and he knew from the blush on her cheeks that she was remembering what they had done together in this very kitchen. ‘I never had time for a proper meal,’ she cont
inued. ‘I spent every waking moment at the restaurant.’

  He couldn’t miss the anguish behind her words. ‘The next few months should be a nice change for you then.’

  ‘A change it most definitely will be. I’ve worked six days a week for almost eleven years. In at the restaurant by mid-morning and sometimes not leaving until after midnight.’ Amy rested her cutlery on her plate, reached for her wine glass and sipped the ruby vintage.

  Tom knew chefs worked crazy hours, but that was ridiculous. Where did she ever find time for herself or a … boyfriend?

  ‘How do you maintain a relationship with hours like that?’ Personal, yes, but he was as curious as hell to know the answer.

  She laughed. ‘I don’t. My career comes first. Most men can’t quite fit in with that schedule.’

  A shadow of sympathy formed in his chest. He understood to an extent. Working twenty-one days out at a mine with other men as far as the eye could see was not conducive to successful relationships either. The downside to working in a remote town on the opposite side of Australia.

  Speaking of relationships. ‘Let me guess,’ Tom said. ‘Judging by the blush on your cheeks when on the phone, Rachel was up to her old matchmaking ways?’

  Amy laughed. ‘She’s a hopeless romantic. She’s tried to set me up at least half a dozen times.’

  ‘Me too. I have to keep telling her that I’m okay with being single. And I don’t need help finding a girlfriend.’

  Amy glanced at him out the corner of her eye, her lips curling upwards. ‘That confident, are you?’

  He shook his head and laughed. ‘I didn’t mean it that way. I just—’

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  He arched a brow, offered her a cheeky grin. ‘Have not one of her matches worked out?’

  Amy shrugged as she cut into her steak again. ‘I’ve never given them a chance to work.’

  ‘Now that you mention it, I’ve never taken Rachel’s matches seriously either. I haven’t agreed to a single date she’s organised.’ He rested his knife and fork on the bench and sighed. ‘Now I feel like an arsehole brother-in-law.’