For mains, he could do fajita burrito bowls, prawn and avocado ceviche, avocado pesto pasta, and chargrilled avocado with Asian chicken. Desserts could be chocolate avocado mousse parfaits and berry avocado mini pavlovas, with avocado margaritas as the signature cocktail.
His brain whirred and he couldn’t sit still. Pushing back from the desk, he tore off the piece of paper he’d been brainstorming on and headed for the back door. Surprised to find himself humming under his breath, he strode outside, heading for the first shed tucked alongside the driveway and nearest to the homestead. When he’d worked on the farm, it had been used to house everything from broken chairs to fence-repairing materials, fertilisers to packing crates. He’d suggested turning it into a hothouse once, and his father had stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. Mac had never been interested in anything Cruz had to say. No surprise that Cruz had clammed up and grew more introverted. His mum tried, insisting they share dinner as a family every night, but even she gave up the first year after Cruz finished school. Around that time, his father had started staying out late most nights, heading into town to have a beer with his best mate Roger or going for long walks around the property despite working all day, and Cruz had cooked alongside his mum. The evenings had become the best part of the day.
Ferne loved eighties music, and he’d rib her endlessly about her off-key singing as they made lamb roast and veggies, tuna pasta bake and one-pot Moroccan chicken. The meals they shared were simple yet hearty, and no matter how they tasted, he enjoyed the prep more, dicing and chopping and frying alongside his mum. The repetition of their evening routine soothed him and kept him sane after the long days spent on the farm as his father’s lackey. Mac didn’t teach, he barked orders like Cruz didn’t have a brain cell between his ears. How he’d lasted two years before making his escape to the city, he’d never know.
The shed had an old padlock on it that hadn’t been used in years, so Cruz slid it off and turned the handles at the same time. A faint odour of dirt and mouldy grass tickled his nose as he flung the double doors open, surprised to find the shed mostly empty. Towering crates were stacked in one corner, a folding platform trolley next to them, and about twenty terracotta flowerpots that he remembered once housing herbs stood nearby.
In the opposite corner, plastic chairs that the pickers and packers used were neatly arranged along the wall, and four suitcases lay face down in disarray, like they’d been flung there. Had his mother packed his dad’s things and thrown them in here? He hadn’t been into the main bedroom yet, so had no idea if his mum had cleaned out his dad’s wardrobe. He hoped so, because that’s one job Cruz did not want to do. He should’ve asked her, but he’d been too busy resenting her for summoning him back here and seething at the stupid stipulation in his father’s will to ask logical questions.
The shed had a dirt-packed floor and good structure, with no dodgy beams or leaning corrugated-iron walls. He could get Kyle to help him clean it out and rig up temporary cooling and heating, considering the weather in Rosevale Grove could be scorching during the day and frigid at night.
Then again, he couldn’t operate a restaurant during the day. He had a farm to run. But evenings could be doable, and he smiled as he spun a slow three-sixty, imagining what this place could look like. Rustic wooden tables and bench seats, Aussie flora in hand-hewn wooden vases and tea lights on the tables, fairy lights strung across the walls and beams. Simple and elegant, a backdrop to the main attraction: farm-to-table fare.
He had to share his excitement and he knew just the person.
El would probably be in the studio, but as he rounded the corner of the machinery shed, he saw her standing with Kyle by his ute, laughing at something he’d said. Cruz had known she’d meet the farm manager at some stage, but seeing them interact made something hard congeal in his gut. He refused to label it jealousy.
But he couldn’t help but notice the way El glowed as she chatted with Kyle, alive in a way he could never be. Only genuine happiness could produce that kind of glow and he’d never have it. He’d bottled up too much resentment for too long and being back here, where it had all started, merely exacerbated his dourness.
Gritting his teeth, he strode towards them. El saw him coming and waved like an excited kid.
‘Hey, Cruz. Kyle’s having dinner at the pub and there’s a trivia night afterwards. Want to go?’
And encroach on their date night? No way. He couldn’t believe Kyle had gone after El even after Cruz warned him off. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about his attraction to her, and Kyle was a nice, good-looking bloke. It stood to reason that El would say yes if Kyle asked her out.
‘I’ve got a lot of work to do—’
‘Come on, man, you have to eat some time and you haven’t been back here in years,’ Kyle said. ‘It’ll be good to catch up on old times.’ His grin turned sly. ‘Besides, I remember how much of a nerd you were in high school. The Galahs could do with a brainiac like you on our team.’
‘The Galahs?’
‘Me, Robbo, Thommo and Bindi. I’m pretty sure they’d like to catch up with you, too.’
Cruz had no interest in seeing old classmates, let alone conversing with them. He hated the inevitable small talk that accompanied seeing people he went to school with.What are you up to these days? Where do you work? Are you married? Any kids?If he’d stayed away from them in high school, why would he want to hang out with them now?
‘You know, Kyle, I think Cruz may not be as smart as you think he is. Maybe all that time inhaling oil fumes from deep frying has addled his brain?’
El winked at him and damn if he didn’t want to spank her butt for being so cheeky.
‘You could be right, El.’ Kyle tapped his chin, pretending to think, while Cruz resisted the urge to land a punch on him when her name dripped so easily from his lips. ‘I think our illustrious boss may be a little chicken.’ Kyle plucked an imaginary feather off Cruz’s shoulder and blew it into the air, chuckling as he did so.
‘You two are a real riot.’ Cruz rolled his eyes. ‘Fine. We’ll go to the pub for dinner, but only because I want to check out the competition.’
El’s eyebrows rose. ‘Does that mean you’re considering opening a restaurant here?’
‘Thinking about it,’ he muttered begrudgingly, unprepared for Kyle to slap him on the back.
‘That’s great, mate. How bloody exciting. Your parents raved about your food all the time. I can’t wait to taste it.’
Kyle must’ve meant Ferne raved about his food, because no way in hell would Mac have offered a kind word. Hearing that his mum praised him when he wasn’t around elicited a warm glow in Cruz’s chest. Not that she’d sampled his food for years, so she must’ve been referring to the times they cooked together years ago.
‘Ferne said you made the best roast chook she’s ever tasted. I love a crispy-skinned roast chook with plenty of seasoning.’
‘If you don’t harass me to be a Galah, maybe I’ll roast a chicken for you one of these days.’
Kyle held up his hands in surrender. ‘No harassment here, mate, but I reckon the others will coerce you into it.’
‘I’m coming to the pub for dinner and that’s it,’ he said, mustering his chef face, complete with a glare that made underlings drop pans.
