The phone rang again.I hope that’s a reservation, not another cancellation.
Much to Clem’s relief, it was a new customer, a lady called Dana. ‘I’m desperate. And I know it’s way past lunch, but I need catering within the hour if possible.’
Clem looked at the large wall clock above the fireplace and then the glass-fronted display cabinet that was still frustratingly well-stocked.
They were just minutes from closing, and the opportunity felt amazingly timed, especially when her bottom line was already so low.
‘I’ve got a generous budget and my crew will start throwing tantrums soon. I need food for eight regular humans, three fussy vegetarians and two extremely hungry vegan TV cameramen. It’s a big ask, I know, and late notice, but can you help?’
‘Television camera men?’ Clem’s hope burst like a cheap piñata and she frowned into the phone. Just last year a friend’s sister had been caught in a tractor scam; Clem wasted no time telling this Dana she wasn’t falling for something similar.
‘Please, don’t hang up! Brew Haven in Penwarra have been catering to date, but they’ve burst a sewerage main and their commercial kitchen is out of action for the rest of the week, maybe longer. We’ll make it worth your while, and it’s only a short drive out of town. Have you heard of a property called South Giddi Giddi?’
Clem stood up a little straighter. After the foot-in-mouth incident, she was sure Spencer wouldn’t have put her name forward, but maybe Ian and Louisa had? Or was it the social media campaign and snazzy flyers that Isobel had designed?Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip through her fingers.
After confirming the details, Clem hung up the phone, dazed by the impromptu request and Dana’s generous budget, then began jumping up and down on the spot.
‘How about that, Seb?’ Clem grinned, relaying the unfortunate event that had catapulted a Brew Haven catering contract right into their hands.
‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke,’ Sebastian said, retying his apron and setting aside the mop bucket. ‘I wouldn’t send a hungry dog in Marco Grubb’s direction.’
‘Maybe if we knock their socks off, the producer will ask us to cover the rest of the filming. From what she said, it’s only while the full crew’s on set, but every dollar would help right now.’
As Clem scrubbed up and started preparing Dana’s order, she wondered whether her delight was strictly to do with taking the contract from Brew Haven. Or was it the chance to get a firsthand glimpse behind the scenes of the show?
A third explanation popped into her mind.Nope,she thought,that’s crazy.There was no way this excitement bubbling in her belly had anything to do with seeing Spencer Hawkins again …
Maybe all three ideas were ridiculous, and it was just indigestion from the self-saucing pudding she’d sampled during Kev’s test-baking session, instead of stopping and making herself a square lunch.
Spencer barely spoke to her at the best of times, he sure as heck wouldn’t be thinking about her with a house full of beautiful women vying for his affections. And even if she was looking for romance and prepared to squeeze a relationship in between work and motherhood, Clem certainly wouldn’t be looking for the kind of guy who went on reality TV.
No matter how handy he’d been in a guinea-pig emergency.
Spencer Hawkins closed the final zip on his beekeeping veil, glad for the additional protection between him and the eagle-eyed camera operators, the microphone that picked up his every word and the producers who ranLove on the Land.
‘Righto, Spencer, we’ll film a few cruisy scenes, get some closeups of you and Emily whispering sweet nothings as you potter around the hives,’ Dana said, looking up from her clipboard.
Spencer surveyed South Giddi Giddi’s boundary paddock. Rows of pastel beehives and two open tanks of water for the bees were flanked by extra cars, a marquee and a handful of camera operators, handlers and assistants. He’d never had so many people this close to the hives, and he didn’t like it one little bit.
‘Ready when you are,’ he said, grateful for the extra layer he’d donned this morning. Even with the fireplace roaring, the house had felt cooler than normal this week.
Sunday’s elimination dinner hadn’t helped; now there were just three ladies left—Madeleine the FIFO worker, who had cheered when Ginger left for the airport on Sunday night; Kyra, who showcased her veterinary nursing skills and animal know-how at every opportunity but had the worst table manners he’d seen in years; and the quiet, confident Emily, who he’d chosen for today’s solo date.
She’d won the muddy four-wheel-driving challenge fair and square, no matter what Madeleine and Kyra had said afterwards, and even Addison had admitted—albeit reluctantly—that Emily seemed like the best match for his personality and for life at South Giddi Giddi.
So why were the days passing so slowly, and why did all the ladies still feel like contestants, not women he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?
Emily’s assigned staffer jogged across, one arm loaded with pink, purple and aqua workboots all bearing a sponsor’s distinctive logo. The staffer was the nervous type, and Spencer watched him take a deep breath before addressing his boss.
‘You’re not going to like this, Dana, but Emily’s wearing her old boots and the spares are all the wrong size.’
‘Tough luck,’ Dana said, holding up a finger to silence him before cupping her earpiece and reaching for her clipboard. She nodded, taking notes swiftly and talking quietly into her mouthpiece. As producer, she kept her finger on the pulse of every interaction, and seemed as happy with drama as with the hints of affection.
‘We’re not going all the way back to the house for a fresh pair,’ Dana said. ‘Not when it’ll be raining and blowing even more of a gale this afternoon. Tell Miss Brewington-Major she can wear those boots or go barefoot. We’ve got sponsors to promote. Emily can change back into her old workboots after we finish filming if that makes her happy.’
Spencer looked at the immaculate shoes, feeling a wave of sympathy. The boots he’d been given still rubbed, even after weeks of wearing them in. They’d be the first thing he threw in the bin once filming was done.
‘Wait a moment,’ Spencer said, jogging back to his ute. He pulled a pair of thick socks from the glove box and ferried them to the marquee that doubled as a producer’s studio, shelter and change room throughout filming.
