I would also like to extend an invitation to the shareholders’ meeting in August. More info to follow.
C.G.
Franco could barely believe the words. He’d sat and stared a long time at that email.
And he’d wondered about a woman who was full of surprises.
And who’d just given him the biggest surprise of them all.
The cellar door had been busy with a couple of last-minute bus tours and Holly had sent Josh home before finishing the dishes and hanging up the last few glasses in the racks herself. Josh had a date with Rachel from the bakery again and she was happy for him, even though he’d looked guilty about going out to have fun and leaving her finishing up.
She didn’t mind. Sooner or later she’d get over Franco, and until then, she might as well stay busy. That was the good thing about working in a vineyard and winery—there was always something to do, even if it couldn’t stop her thinking.
Did Franco ever stop to think about her? Probably not. He was probably relieved to have escaped at last, back to his own vines in Italy where the women no doubt looked like women. Did he have a woman now?
She shook her head as she racked the last glass and gave the bench top a final wipe down. Sometimes it didn’t pay to think.
She heard the crunch of gravel and the growl of an engine outside and cursed herself for worrying about the dishes before bringing in the open sign. She glanced out the window, seeing the bonnet of a flashy red car pulled up outside. Typical, she thought, someone down from the big smoke trying to cram in as many wineries as they could for the day. She was glad she’d sent Josh home because he would have stayed for the duration, whereas she wasn’t in the mood to be hospitable.
‘I’m sorry, we’re actually closed,’ she said, busy wiping down the sink as the door swung open behind her. There was no time to waste on pleasantries.
‘I’m not here to taste.’
Her hands stilled on the sink’s edge and she used them to hold herself up.
She spun around and found Franco standing in the doorway, larger than life, his chiselled Chatsfield good looks even more beautiful than she remembered.
‘I called by the house. Gus said you were here. He’s walking. He looks good.’
And a shiver ran down her spine. She knew he hadn’t come to see how Gus was. ‘Is there a problem with the wine?’ They’d recently sent a batch of the sparkling Rubida to London for Gene Chatsfield’s upcoming wedding. ‘If anything’s happened …’
He shook his head. ‘It’s good. All good.’ But then he frowned. ‘What happened to the khaki uniform?’
Holly glanced down at her fitted floral dress—the result of a spontaneous shopping trip to Adelaide the day she’d gone to disgorge and dosage the order for Gene’s wedding. Because after working there alone, in that space, after the day she’d spent working there with Franco, she’d needed cheering up. She’d spent a lot of money in her effort to cheer up and it had worked too, for all of five minutes.
But the dress had become one of her spring favourites with its square neck and cap sleeves and it made her feel good wearing it.
‘I save that for when I’m working in the vineyard.’
He nodded, approval in his eyes. ‘You look good.’
So do you. ‘Thank you.’
He just continued to stare at her with those grey eyes and she let him because it gave her an excuse to stare right back at him. How many nights had she lain awake thinking of Franco? Remembering Franco? Picturing him in her mind’s eye? And yet her memories had done the man an injustice. He was taller somehow, his shoulders broader, his features more chiselled, his olive skin darker, like he’d spent time working outside under a Piacenzan sun.
He was so beautiful it ached to look at him, knowing she’d been in his orbit for a time—such a short time—until their paths had spun them apart in different directions and she’d lost him.
It hurt even more to feel the tiny flicker of hope that curled from her heart, knowing how likely and how easily it would be extinguished. She forced herself not to let it catch.
‘So … why are you here?’
He blinked like he’d lost his way and had to find his way back.
‘Why did you sign?’
A nerve twitched in her cheek. She squared her shoulders, strangely disappointed. ‘It’s a good deal. Too good to turn down. Already Chatsfield’s is apparently working on a new marketing campaign featuring the new menus and wine choices. It’s all good.’
‘You didn’t have to sign.’
‘I know. I didn’t do it for you.’ She hadn’t done it for Nikki’s Ward either—in spite of what had happened, Gus and Holly had signed the week after she’d won the award and she hadn’t known about Nikki’s Ward then.