Page 10 of The Orchard at Rosevale
He stiffened beneath her hold and turned his head to glance over his shoulder. ‘Comfortable?’
‘Very.’
A lie, and they both knew it.
‘Hang on,’ he said, and she tightened her grip as he started the engine and the quad rumbled to life beneath her.
True to his word, Cruz didn’t take the quad beyond a slow crawl as they meandered between the rows of avocado trees, the fruit hanging ripe and ready for picking. She tapped him on the shoulder a few times and he stopped, giving her time to take photos and video. Surprisingly, she didn’t see any workers on the farm. Then again, despite researching, she didn’t know if avocado trees needed tending all year round or if farms like this only hired seasonal pickers.
They reached the southern perimeter, where a large dam bordered the next property, delineated by a barbed-wire fence. Cruz killed the engine and swung off the quad before holding out his hand to help her dismount. As she took it, another frisson of awareness shot through her, and she gritted her teeth.
‘Thought we’d stretch our legs a bit before heading back,’ he said. ‘What do you think so far?’
‘Incredible.’ She brandished her phone. ‘I got some great shots and footage.’
‘Good.’ He stared at the dam and beyond, his expression pensive. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve been out here.’
‘How long?’
‘Just over four months.’ His fingers curled into fists and he thrust them into his pockets. ‘I came back to the farm for my father’s funeral.’
She didn’t want to offer trite condolences, especially when she could see how much his dad’s death affected him. ‘That must’ve been tough.’
‘It was tougher seeing Mum still tethered here until probate for the old man’s will came through.’
The bitterness in his voice alerted her to the kind of relationship he must’ve had with his dad. While she’d blamed her parents for a lot over the years—labelling her highly strung rather than getting her diagnosed; their self-absorption to the point of excluding her; their nomadic lifestyle—she still saw them twice a year when she flew up to the Gold Coast, where they’d retired, for a week during winter and when they flew to Melbourne for Christmas.
‘I should’ve visited Mum over the last few months, but I got caught up at the restaurant.’ He scowled. ‘I guess that makes me as much of a selfish prick as Dad.’
Self-flagellation didn’t help; she’d done enough of it when she woke up to Jason’s cheating antics. But she didn’t know this guy well enough to give advice, so she settled for changing the subject, determined to banish the haunted shadows scudding across his eyes.
‘If I tell you something, will you promise not to hold it against me?’
Cruz glanced at her. ‘Depends. How bad is this deep, dark secret?’
‘Bad enough, considering where we are.’
‘The farm?’
She nodded. ‘I promise to do the best damn job I can to increase the prominence of your farm.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘But I hate avocados.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’ She shuddered. ‘I hate them. Can’t stand their texture or their taste. And having them mushed on toast? Yuck.’
For the first time since they’d dismounted the quad bike, a reluctant smile curved his lips. ‘I’m assuming you didn’t tell my mother the truth when she interviewed you?’
‘Of course not. I’m not a complete idiot.’
He laughed. ‘Why tell me now?’
‘Because you’re an incredible chef with access to fresh produce.’ She gestured at the avocado trees. ‘So I’m assuming at some stage, you’re going to try and ply me with the green stuff.’
‘You assume right. There’s nothing like fresh avocado.’
She held up her hand. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
Thankfully, he hadn’t lost the smile. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re going to tout the wonders of avocados online while hating them. Isn’t that false advertising?’
