Mister Maybe by Emma Powell

Author:Emma Powell [Powell, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-02T16:00:00+00:00

Rich

‘I don’t want her. I want you!’ Rich called out after Laney as he reached for his clothes, trying to run after her and jumping from foot to foot to get his pants on without falling.

He cursed himself for being an idiot. She had every right to be angry. He had gotten so carried away with wanting her that he’d totally forgotten about Charlotte. He didn’t think she’d mind but he did. He didn’t want to start anything with Laney before ending it completely with Charlotte. But now he’d most likely stuffed it with Laney anyway.

He’d finally managed to pull his wet trousers up when he heard the vineyard manager’s gravely urgent voice.

‘Ricco! Ricco!’ Carlos entered the barn out of breath.

‘What’s up?’ Rich asked, still shirtless.

‘It’s not good, boss. Not good at all. The hail.’

He bent down and picked up his buttonless shirt.

It was only at that point Carlos noticed his boss was half naked. He raised a quizzical eyebrow and Rich shook his head. ‘It’s a long story my friend. A long story.’

‘Well I think I saw your long story heading that way.’ Carlos pointed towards the main building.

Rich closed his eyes and let out a deep breath to get himself back on track. ‘Ok Carlos. Show me the damage.’

They stepped out of the shed into the dense muggy air.

He couldn’t believe how thick the humidity was. Normally a storm would have cleared it. This time it had made it worse. It was the kind of wetness that decades ago had only occurred in northern Queensland and had slowly but surely been making its way south – not the optimum climate for wine grapes. Rice, yes. Grapes, no.

He looked down at his once flourishing vines that had stood so proudly in the summer sun were now a wilting bunch of leaves in the post-storm Armageddon.

He and Carlos made their way down to the crop. He walked through the rows of vines, surveying the damage. Dark brown mud caked his once shiny black Oxfords, from which they would never recover. He caressed the hail-damaged leaves and bent down to inspect the trauma to the grapes.

It wasn’t as horrendous as it looked. The canopy of leaves had done their job and protected their little round, delicious, money-making offspring. They would’ve been no good for a supermarket shelf but for wine-making they would pass muster.

‘Carlos!’ Rich called out to his vineyard manager who was inspecting the fallout a few rows away.

Carlos popped his head up over the vine and had a huge smile on his face. Rich smiled back at him.

‘Hallelujah, Ricco!’

‘Hallelujah, Carlos! As long as we don’t get another one in the next few weeks we’ll be fine.’

‘My car didn’t fare so well from those hailstones,’ Carlos said, ‘but as long as these babies made it, I don’t care.’ He bent down and with a Mwaw kissed the leaves.

Rich clapped his hands and laughed, relief surging through his body. The relief was quickly replaced with guilt about what he’d done to Laney.

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