Spencer cleared a pile of farming magazines and wet weather gear off the kitchen countertop.
‘And how about Jeff and Mia too? They’re back from their Queensland holiday, right? From what you’ve said, Mia’s due soon too, they’ll have heaps in common and I’m sick of being cooped up here.’
Spencer turned to Emily. ‘You know we can’t, Em. Family’s one thing, but we promised to keep things under wraps until after the last episode’s aired, and inviting the Angelinos around is the opposite of low-profile. And as much as I like Mia, she’s pretty full on right now. I learned more details about labour plans and perineum stretching than I ever needed to know during her baby shower at work last week.’
‘Okay, but while we’re on the topic—’ Emily slid between Spencer and the countertop, looped her hands through his belt and pulled him to her. ‘Maybe we should put this baby-making idea into action, get some practice before I start ovulating.’
Spencer looked down at her upturned face, startled by the chill that ran through his veins.
He’d lain awake beside her the night before, well past midnight, trying to analyse the tenuous relationship and the way their on-camera discussions about family and their future had felt so different to the here and now. They both wanted a partner, they both wanted children … so why did this feel so wrong?
6
‘I’m about ready for this fog to shove off,’ Sebastian said, tossing his car keys into the small staffroom locker. ‘Nearly ran straight into a kid on an e-bike after dropping off the catering at the bowls club. If it’d been five minutes earlier, I’d have had cakes, croissants and baklava donuts splattered against the back of my seat. What type of idiot’s out riding in a pea-souper like this?’
Shaking his head, Kev jostled a pan of polenta-crumbed pumpkin, sweet potato and eggplant until all the pieces were rearranged, then returned it to the oven.
‘Someone with a death wish is my guess,’ Kev said. ‘I nearly hit an e-bike when I was driving back and forth to the sawmill last year. Not a scrap of road sense, no headlights, not even a helmet.’
The discussion was interrupted by the sound of gravel crunching on the driveway. It had been a quiet morning, all their regulars had been and gone by lunch, and this close to closing time, the dreary late July weather kept the tourists at bay. ‘I hope that’s Brian with the extra apples and spuds. He’ll be fit as a fiddle with the number of trips he’s done up anddown those cellar steps,’ Clem said, brushing her flour-dusted hands on her apron.
‘Don’t put them all on the produce stands,’ Kev said. ‘I had a request for the German apple cake today, if he has more Granny Smiths.’
But instead of a produce delivery, a customer emerged from the fog, bundled up in a heavy jacket and a scarf that could double as a throw rug.
She wiped her boots thoroughly on the mat before stepping onto the polished concrete.
Clem hadn’t recognised her from afar, but realisation dawned as Emily came inside.
‘Please tell me there’s soup on the menu?’
‘Emily,’ Clem said. ‘Welcome back to the cafe. Are you … visiting? Staying?’
While she knew filming had wrapped up a few weeks earlier, Clem hadn’t seen much of Spencer or the Brealys since she was catering at the farm.
Emily gave a tight smile. ‘I can’t really say,’ she said. ‘But I’d kill for a bowl of something warm and hearty if you’re still serving.’
Clem shook herself.You’re here to sell food, not wrangle gossip out of paying customers.‘Of course,’ she said, rattling off the specials.
She’d barely finished taking her order before Emily pulled a notebook and pen from her handbag and settled into the booth by the window, a signal she was there for food, not small talk. And even though Clem could tell when a customer wanted to be left alone, she couldn’t help lingering when she delivered the bowl of steaming soup.
‘Come January, that paddock will be a riot of yellow and gold,’ Clem said, gesturing to the window and sneaking a look at the notebook. It was either a diary or a journal, andfor some reason she found herself itching to know what Emily had been writing. ‘Sunflowers as far as the eye can see,’ Clem went on. ‘It used to be a sunflower farm in my grandfather’s day, and the last two years we’ve put in a new crop. Heads as big as dinner plates, they look magnificent in full bloom. You’ll be here in summer to see it, then?’
Emily placed the pen between the pages, marking her spot, and took her time answering.
It was a cheeky question, and they both knew it.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I really can’t discuss that,’ Emily said. ‘Soup looks delicious, thanks.’
Clem glanced at the notebook as she left the table. It probably contained every juicy detail about the reality TV experience, and whether Emily and Spencer were an item, but short of ripping it out of the woman’s hands, there wasn’t a snowball’s hope in hell Clem would be reading it.
Who even are you? Is your life really this devoid of excitement? Stop fixating on what’s going on between Spencer and Emily and focus on the business you should be running, the new employee you can’t really afford and the school camp invitation you haven’t fully committed to yet.
Seb looked up from the coffee machine when she returned. ‘I thought you were above fangirling?’
‘Iwasn’tfangirling,’ Clem protested. ‘Just making polite conversation.’ But when the door opened again a few minutes later and the Brealys walked in, she couldn’t help noticing the way Emily packed up her notebook.
On her way out, Emily paused at the produce stall to exchange the briefest of hellos with Ian and Louisa.
