Dating the Kiwi Male by Olivia Caldwell

Author:Olivia Caldwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Upstart Press

Andrea, on the too-good-to-be-true Marlborough winemaker

Upon first sighting, I was into him. Tall, curated beard, good manners. The three pillars.

I was a bridesmaid for one of my best friends and there were about a dozen of us on this hens’ do at one of Marlborough’s finest wineries. We had all flown in from various spots around the country — I had flown across from Wellington. As you can imagine, we were pumped for a massive weekend together and became tipsy and kind of girlish silly very quickly. Probably a nightmare for anyone within a 100-metre radius. By mid-afternoon we were in full flight and that’s when I met David. He was perfect, just immaculate, and the girls could see he was my type at first glance. Lucky me, I was the only single one of the bunch. Being a Welly girl from birth, I like that artistic, sophisticated, well-put-together look. David’s dress sense was spot on. He had great shoes, a crisp white shirt, perfect hair, a gorgeous smile — there wasn’t a single thing out of place, and I guess I am one of those girls who tries to be the same. My motto: if you can control anything in my life, it is your appearance. I straighten my hair every day, and don’t leave the house without make-up; it is just who I am and how my mother was. My house is immaculate, my car, my nails. So, as pretentious as it sounds, I like my men to be this way too.

I started the conversation with Mr Perfect as he served us Pinot Noir, Gris and the rest. I pretended to pay great attention to the talk on the tannins, grape skins and hints of peach he talked about. He was born and bred in the region and wine was his passion, one he got from his father. I found his interest in wine to be attractive; it’s always great to see a guy so involved in his work. At 38, I was a little older than him — he looked early to mid-thirties, but he was so well spoken and easy around women. He seemed worldly and cultured. I felt a bit in love, actually. He had a hint of Hugh Grant about him, Kiwi Grant . . . super charming, blinky and cute, but without the accent. I wanted him. Bingo, he was taking an interest in me too. And girls being girls, my friends did the dirty work and found out he was single.

As we all left the venue he coolly asked for my details in front of the group. Bold, I thought. There was something about giving out my number that made this so formal and refreshing. It had been a while since a guy had really appealed to me like this, and I was coy but excited. I had been single for a few years after a long-term relationship and I was getting sick of the same old. I wrote my number on a piece of paper, the old-fashioned way.

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