Amy stood, nonetheless. ‘Come on, I’ll start dinner.’
He laughed. ‘You don’t have to twist my arm.’
In the kitchen, Amy gathered all the fresh ingredients she had bought from surrounding farms earlier that morning. She was going to make pumpkin and ricotta pasta with a simple tomato and basil sauce. A dish she’d made countless times before, chosen for that reason. She wasn’t in the frame of mind to over-extend herself.
While Tom poured them another glass of wine, she started on the dough. She tipped a mound of flour onto the bench, cracked in the eggs and swirled until a ball was formed.
After palming and pressing the dough for a little while, she could tell that it hadn’t worked—too hard, too dry.
Heat spread up from her collarbones and into her cheeks. Hiding her face, Amy gathered the ball in her hands, marched to the bin and threw it in with a clang.
Not looking at Tom, she prepared a second batch. Her heart was beating faster, her breaths coming harder. From anger, from embarrassment. She worked at the second batch, kneading it on the bench.
Tom watched on. Her stupid hands were shaking. She didn’t know if it was from fear or grief, but they were shaking, and she couldn’t stop them. This was hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
I’m bloody hopeless. Can’t even make basic pasta.
Tears fell down her cheeks and dripped into the dough. She couldn’t expect Tom to eat pasta made from her tears, how miserable, so she gathered the ball and threw that in the bin too.
As she was pouring another pile of flour onto the bench, the packet dancing about from her trembling, Tom stood from the stool and came to her. He caught her hands in his, holding them steady.
‘Hey,’ he said in a deep, soothing tone. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
She peered up at him. Compassion and empathy, though hazy from her watery eyes, was clear in his gaze and the set of his mouth.
‘Tonight, lay it all on me. Everything. Your pain. All of it. I can take it. Give it all over to me. I’ll deal with it.’
Amy stared at him, her gaze flicking from his kind eyes to his lips. Who was this man?
‘Lay it on me, Amy. Give me it all. Let it go.’
She sighed so mournfully then, sank against his chest, and he held her in his arms. Something inside her moved, then stilled, like soft creeping plumes of smoke had found an exit and dissipated into the night. Her pain, without knowing how, had accompanied that long exhale, and Tom had taken it from her.
Peering up at him again, into those incredible brown eyes, with all that emotion no longer clouding her mind, other emotions seeped to the surface.
She remembered looking into his eyes and feeling something so strong for this man. That emotion moved through her again and, right now, there was nothing more she wanted than to feel his lips on hers.
Amy lifted onto her toes, face nearing his, breathing in the strength of this man until she met his lips and kissed him hard on the mouth, and he kissed her back with the same ferocity.
Her body was sighing to feel him against her, to have his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. Mouth pressed to Tom’s, his tongue penetrating her mouth with his heat, was rightness.
Sensation tingled over her skin, and it was a shock to feel it so strongly; she’d been numb for a long while.
He lifted her up, and she was letting him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Still kissing, frantic mewls and groans filling the air, Tom marched her to her bedroom. She didn’t stop him, even as he laid her on the bed and nestled in beside her.
‘I need to feel,’ she whispered between kisses, intuiting that Tom was the only one who knew how to do that.
What they did together then wasn’t tender, or gentle, it was rough and desperate, because that’s all she could handle and, she guessed, that’s all he could handle too.
They just needed to feel something other than what they had been feeling for the last few weeks. And if they had to be rough to evoke a sensation, then that’s what they did.
Tom was big and commanding, enveloped her whole. He was hard and warm and how he moved inside her was something, not nothing, and it was a blissful, aching release from everything.
She laid on his chest afterwards, and he stroked her hair from her face. She was still alive. Tom had shown her she was still alive. And she was grateful that for just one night, he allowed her to recognise that.
Amy woke in her bed on Monday morning with a sense of confusion—the sadness and loss she always felt upon waking were present, but they were mixed with something else.
The sun was filtering through the cracks of the curtains bathing the room in yellow light, and a comforting warmth from the bed beside her was permeating her melancholy bones.
Tom.
Naked.
She remembered then.
Last night, she’d slept with Tom. She had needed it, him.
Her body throbbed with the memory, and she felt him in all the places he had been. Her lips were tingly swollen, her chin prickled from his stubble. Her nipples had a tender ache and between her thighs was a pleasant soreness.
Rolling to face him, she watched him as he slept, his chest rising and falling. She waited for the intense guilt to kick in, the regret, the understanding that they’d made a mistake.
But it didn’t. Inside her heart was a gentle current of warmth and in her mind, peacefulness. How long that would last, she didn’t know.
Tom stirred and opened his eyes. A lazy smile spread across his face, and Amy’s stomach tugged low with desire.
‘Good morning,’ he whispered, voice croaky from sleep.
That deep voice of his worked along the muscles on either side of her spine, kneading and relaxing her. She smiled back. ‘Good morning.’
He glanced at his watch, then stretched his arms above his head, his muscles tensing as he did. The covers fell to his waist exposing his strong chest, dusted with a thin layer of dark hair.
Seeing him in the full light of morning stole her breath from her lungs.
‘What time do you need to be at Sugar Cakes?’ he asked.
‘I like to get there by eight.’
He rolled over and wrapped a strong arm around her. ‘So, no rush?’
She shook her head.
Tom shuffled closer until his naked body was pressed against her naked body. Skin on skin. Heat. His lips met hers for a deep kiss. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to.
And when he rolled her onto her back and arched his big body on top of hers, she sighed from the relief he gave her, his enormous presence, the sensations he invoked in her body.
Tom lifted up, weight resting on his elbows and peered down at her. ‘I don’t want to leave this bed today.’
‘Me either.’
But loitering wasn’t possible. Tom was in the middle of harvest, and she had to get to the shop.
She grinned. ‘I’m sure we can manage a productive half hour.’
His lips curled with smug satisfaction right before he kissed her again.
Chapter 17
The last expectation Tom had while at Amy’s place last night was that he’d sleep with her. Sure, he’d fantasised about it. Most days, sleeping with Amy was the dominant thought, but he’d not expected it to happen, nor how it had happened.
Never had he had sex like that—somewhat desperate to be inside her, filling up every painful fissure left raw and exposed. But it was so right, like that was the only way under these difficult circumstances he could justify feeling so good.
Sam marched up the front lawn from the car park towards him, hands pressed into his jeans pockets. Tom glanced at his watch—nine am. Sam must have left Melbourne early knowing they needed all hands on deck during this time of year.
A weariness tainted his expression. Must have been a rough night.
A twang in Tom’s guts—there was that guilt he’d been waiting for. While he was having sex, Sam was comforting their brother. Didn’t sit well.
‘Hey,�
�� Sam said.
‘Hey, how’s Mitch?’
‘Better today. I convinced him to spend the night at the apartment rather than trying to sleep on those dodgy chairs at the hospital. A couple of sleeping tablets didn’t go astray either. I don’t know how he expects to deal with all this when he never sleeps.’
Again the guilt twisted in his stomach. ‘Agreed.’
Sam furrowed his brow and studied Tom. ‘What’s up with you?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Bullshit. You had dinner with Amy last night. What happened?’
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed.
Sam’s eyes widened. A small smile curled the corners of his lips. ‘You slept together?’
A rush of sensation stormed through Tom remembering the feel of Amy’s warm, naked body beneath his. Tom answered Sam’s question with a nod, but didn’t elucidate any further.
‘Things progressed, obviously,’ Sam said.
He wasn’t sure he’d call what transpired between them progression, but what they did together didn’t seem to fall under the category of friends.
Again that throbbing ache through his body. Amy was so soft and warm and when he thrust into her this morning, the memory of the night before still imprinted on his brain, he thought he’d never want anything more in his life. ‘I hadn’t planned for it to happen.’
Sam shook his head, grin still wide on his face. ‘No. We usually don’t.’
‘I like her. A lot. She’s the first woman … I don’t know … she’s …’
Sam nodded. ‘I get it.’
‘Do you think Mitch will be angry, considering?’
‘Mitch doesn’t know what day of the week it is. He’s got enough on his plate. Last thing he’s thinking about is your love life.’
Tom nodded slowly, not quite sure how to take that answer.
‘So, you’ve got a thing happening now with Amy or was it just a one off?’ Sam asked.
Tom groaned, rubbed the back of his neck. He would love to take things further but at the same time, he wasn’t certain that was even possible. ‘Not sure.’
Sam slapped his brother’s back. ‘Tom, when will you ever learn? Sometimes you just have to come out and ask for what you want.’
‘I don’t want to push her,’ Tom said.
‘Do you want more?’
God, yes, he wanted more. ‘Of course. But our schedules.’
‘Enough with the schedules already. I’ll tell you what, dust that chip off your shoulder and finish up at the mine. Problem solved. As long as you’re away three weeks of every month, she’s not going to make any decisions for a man who isn’t making the effort for her.’
Tom bristled, his typical reaction whenever his brothers tried to tell him what to do. ‘The last person I’m going to get relationship advice from is you.’
Sam laughed sardonically. ‘Frame it whichever way makes you feel better. But, it’s the truth. You know it, and I know it. Running away out to the mine is hurting everyone, including you. I thought with Rachel passing and how you feel about Amy, you might be able to see that too. But looks like your head is still stuck up your arse.’
‘All right. Ease up. Seriously, what’s with the personal attack?’
Sam’s shoulders rounded as he sighed. ‘Honestly, I’m fucking tired. And I’m sick of trying to come up with solutions for how I’m going to run this vineyard single-handedly once you run off again. I just can’t see Mitch being ready anytime soon.’
‘We’ll make it work.’
‘Stop telling me we’ll make it work,’ Sam hissed through gritted teeth. ‘And actually give me your word that you’ll be here to help me make it work.’
Tom shook his head. He couldn’t do that.
He had never been able to explain to his brothers why his job meant so much to him. That job, those twenty-one days, was the one area in his life that was uniquely his own. It was freedom—to be himself.
He was never given the option of what he wanted to do with his life—it was handed to him. He’d never even been given the freedom to contemplate another future—it had always been the vineyard.
And that meant a life alongside his brothers. Working together. Living together. Socialising together.
He loved them both. He truly did. But out at the mine, he didn’t have to confer with them on any decisions. And he didn’t have to feel their disappointment when he got it wrong.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t make that promise.’
Sam dropped his head as he blew out a long breath. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. And I’m sure Amy will be overjoyed too.’
Tom bit his tongue. His work had nothing to do with Amy, and he resented Sam for saying that it did. But this conversation had already transcended unprofessionalism. So instead of biting back with anger, he did what he usually did and walked away.
When Tom arrived home later that evening, Sam had already gone out leaving behind too much silence. As Tom cooked his dinner and ate it alone in front of the television, unsettling emotions brewed.
He needed to talk to Amy. Talk about last night. And talk about where they stood with each other. And maybe Sam was right—not about Tom leaving his job at the mine—but at least about asking for what he wanted.
He headed down to Mitch’s a little after seven.
Amy answered the door with a wavering smile. She had showered, her hair still damp as it hung around her shoulders, and she was wearing a cute pair of pyjama shorts and a matching pink singlet.
She was truly the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. Knowing how great she felt, body against his body, only increased her irresistibility.
‘Come on through to the lounge,’ she said, gesturing inside. ‘Do you want a drink?’
Tom shook his head. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
They sat side by side on the couch in the lounge. Tom shifted in his chair until he was facing her. ‘About last night.’
But she had said the exact same thing at the exact same time, and they both laughed.
‘You go first,’ he said.
‘No, that’s okay. You go first.’
Tom smiled and shuffled a hand through his hair. He would have preferred to hear her thoughts first in case he was about to make an idiot of himself, or worse, screw this up between them.
‘I enjoyed spending time with you,’ he said.
‘I think last night was a big mistake,’ she said at the same time.
He flinched, felt her words like a punch to his stomach. ‘Pardon?’
She pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it was … great, you were great, but it was wrong.’
‘Wrong?’
She lurched to her feet and paced across the floor in front of him. ‘So wrong. We can’t be doing this, Tom. Not while … not when. What the hell were we thinking?’ Her hand movements were jittery. ‘My best friend just died. We’ve got Mitch coming home on Sunday with Sophie. And here we are, doing—’ She pointed to her bedroom, ‘—like we don’t care—’
‘Oh, come on. It wasn’t like that at all.’ He could understand the guilt, but he would not accept that what they did was wrong. It felt too good, too right, to be wrong.
She spun to face him, hands on her hips. ‘What is it like then?’
He shrugged. ‘Two consenting adults who have been through fucking hell and back, being a support and comfort for one another. There was nothing wrong with what we did.’
‘But Rachel. What about Rachel?’
‘What do you think Rachel would say?’
Her mouth flapped open then shut. She squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter what Rachel would say, because Rachel isn’t here.’
Tom sighed. ‘No. She’s not.’
Amy sat down beside him again and huffed as she rested back against the couch. ‘Tom, we can’t take back what happened—’
He opened his mouth to protest.
‘Not that I’d want to,’ she
qualified. ‘But we can’t do that again. If Mitch found out, with everything he’s been through and is still dealing with … I don’t feel comfortable. If we had a chance for a future together maybe it wouldn’t feel so … wrong.’
Each time she said wrong was like a slap to his face.
‘So you’re still planning on leaving at some point?’
She frowned. ‘I’ve got no choice. I want to be here for Mitch as long as I can … but I also have obligations.’
His heart grew heavier to hear that.
A question sat in the back of his throat: ‘What if I left the mine?’ But what a stupid question. Sure, resigning from the mine would make the logistics of a potential long-distance relationship with a chef a little easier, but it was still an enormous longshot.
He regretted each word that came from his mouth, but he said, ‘I see your point. It’s not the right time.’
Amy nodded. She was frowning. ‘Thanks for understanding.’
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he intuited that Amy could be the best thing that ever happened to him, and he could be that for her too if she’d just let him in. Yet barriers were thrown up at every turn, and it was all starting to feel a little hopeless.
It annoyed him so much that timing and circumstance had beaten any chance of seeing where this obvious chemistry could lead. Chemistry he had never felt before with anyone else; it’s severity unfamiliar, exciting and completely frustrating.
He stood up, blew out a long breath. ‘No worries. Thanks for the talk.’ He pointed his thumb in the direction of his house. ‘But I better get back.’
‘Sure. I’ll, um, see you later?’
There was the lilt of a question to what should really have been a statement. ‘Of course. Have a good night.’
‘You too.’
He left through the front door. After the buoyancy he felt waking up beside Amy this morning, the trajectory of that emotion had taken a steep decline. But, he had no alternative but to accept her position on this regardless of how much he wished it was different.
If friends was all she could handle right now, then that’s what he’d be. He would rather that than to lose her from his life altogether.
Bittersweet Page 14