The way she’d been bagging out reality TV in the school car park was funnier in retrospect, especially given she’d been right about most of it. He looked up to find Dana studying him curiously.
‘Clem the caterer. She’s got a kid at your school, doesn’t she? I’m sensing there’s some shared history there?’
The brainpower required to keep the three remaining ladies separate in his mind, plus Belle, was hard enough; Spencer risked whiplash if Clem Crossley was thrown into this game of mental ping-pong.
‘Hate to break it to you, Dana, but your senses are up the creek. Nearly every family in the district goes to my school. My in-laws are a big fan of Sunny Cross Cafe, but you’re grasping at straws if you think there’s anything romantic going on. Coffee maker; customer. Parent; teacher.’
His mind formulated an extra line, but he’d be damned if he was going to let that one slip from his lips.
Single mum; childless widower who’d always dreamed of becoming a father.
Spencer pressed his lips together. Apparently Dana’s fanciful ideas were contagious.
‘Acquaintances, nothing more,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve got to check the rest of the hives, I’ll be back at the farmhouse in an hour.’
‘The caterer looks a lot like your late wife too, doesn’t she?’ Dana said lightly, tapping her finger against her chin. ‘They’re not related, are they?’
He felt his back go ramrod straight.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do,’ he said, and with a shake of his head, Spencer picked up his tools and hightailed it to the furthest pallet of hives.
‘Ten bucks says these ladies are three wineries deep into a wine tour.’
Clem looked up from the blueberry bagel she was buttering to see three bicycles peel into the cafe car park in wobbly succession. A cyclist in a bright-pink puffer jacket nearly fell off her bike with laughter when she and one of her companions collided, and a third made a shaky dismount.
‘Pissed as newts.’ Kev sighed. ‘They’ll be feeling mighty sorry for themselves if the Sarge spots them in that state. If I were a nasty bugger, I’d tip him off.’
‘That sounds like a Marco move,’ Clem said, recalling how the Brew Haven owner had campaigned long and hard to evict a teenage squatter from a vacant farmhouse in Penwarra last year. She turned her attention back to the trio of women ascending the cafe steps.
‘We’ll feed them up, ply them with enough water that they can float and hope the booze wears off before they get back on those bikes,’ Clem said, marching to the entrance and opening the door to welcome the ladies inside. With a warmsmile on her face, Clem subtly angled her body to protect the produce stall. The perfectly imperfect butternut pumpkins and locally-grown apples were piled up in cane baskets and she suspected they could be as dangerous as ten-pin bowls, given how unsteady the ladies were on their feet.
‘You! You’re the sunflower lady! With the apple crumble cupcakes!’
Customers turned, curious about the noisy new arrivals, and recognition dawned on Clem as the women shucked their jackets, scarves and bike helmets to reveal the three remaining contestants fromLove on the Land.
Clem caught Sebastian’s eye, grateful for his initiative as he pulled out seats at a far corner of the cafe, set down menus and beckoned the women over.
‘You’ll warm up quickly by the fire,’ Clem said, leading the way with a water jug and glasses. She snuck discreet glances at them as she ran through the specials and took their orders.
The women weren’t as dolled up as they’d been when she’d delivered the food to South Giddi Giddi, and despite their obvious inebriation, there was a weird energy between them. Almost like bridesmaids who’d never met before being lumped together at an elaborate hen’s night, where the bride was their only shared connection.
Except these women are competing for a husband, not supporting a dear friend,Clem thought,returning to the service counter with their orders. Delicacies she’d included in the South Giddi Giddi catering had been at the top of their requests, much to Clem’s delight.
‘Good to see them downing water at a rapid rate too,’ Kev said, pulling a fresh jug from the fridge. ‘Red wine hangovers are the worst.’
‘Better than tequila shots,’ Clem chuckled. She dusted icing sugar over the sweets, balanced the plates on her arm and carried them over with the replacement water bottle.
‘You liked the choc-orange madeleines, then?’ Clem said, smiling as she delivered the sweets.
‘It’s my namesake, of course I loved them!’ the blonde with dead-straight hair and a faint British accent said. ‘I can’t cook for quids, but even if I could, I’d never be able to knock up something this decadent without eating the entire batch in one sitting. I bet the batter’s as good as the finished product?’
Clem nodded. ‘Sure is. Though most customers eat them after their lunch, not the other way around,’ she added brightly, hoping it might prompt them to order a round of savouries to help soak up the alcohol. ‘Can I get you a bagel? A locally grown pumpkin and herb frittata?’
‘Kyra, Emily and me aren’t most people, and today we’re on a terribly well-deserved day off. I don’t know about those two, but I’m ready to eat and drink whatever the dickens I want today.’
Kyra tipped her head back and laughed, revealing a gap between her front teeth. From the tint on her lips and teeth, Clem guessed she was a fan of the region’s world-famous red wine.
‘Sounds good to me,’ Clem said. ‘We’re open for another hour, so you’ve got plenty of time.’
