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“Well,” Ambrose said as he hefted his overnight bag onto his shoulder and stepped out onto the veranda with Liam, “I think it’s going great.”
Liam looked at the low clouds rolling across the sky, then at Ambrose. “Really?”
“Sure,” Ambrose said. “They’re way too nice to tell me to fuck off, but I can tell they’re thinking it.” His mouth quirked. “Except your grandad. I think he genuinely loves me.”
“Probably,” Liam said. “Grandad thrives on chaos.” He jerked his head. “Cabins are this way.”
They stepped down from the veranda, shoes crunching on the wet gravel of the path. Weak shafts of sunlight pierced the low clouds, creating columns of soft, hazy light that illuminated the landscape. From the house, the yard sloped gently down towards the road. A clump of eucalyptus trees was painted gold. A wattle drooped under the weight of the previous burst of rain, its yellow blossoms sagging. Rows of grevilleas, their red blossoms damp and glistening, lined the path that led around to the side of the house.
“The vines are that way,” Liam said, pointing out the way when the path forked. “With the sheds and everything behind them. The cabins are along here, past the pond. Mum and Dad closed the place to tourists while we did them up, because Dad reckons there’s always some moron who’ll go poking around a construction site and cut himself on a piece of tin or shoot himself with a nail gun, and he can’t be arsed with getting an ambulance or dealing with the insurance paperwork.”
They rounded the side of the house, and the vineyard itself came into view.
“Wow,” Ambrose said, hushed, and Liam guessed Ambrose had never seen a vineyard before. He’d grown up with grapevines as far as the eye could see, but now he was looking with fresh eyes, he had to admit it was a pretty impressive sight, and he felt a burst of unfamiliar pride in his family property. Row upon row of trellised vines marched across the landscape, long lines of plants tied up into place, and although they were currently bare of fruit, they still made an impressive sight, the leaves that remained on the vines a flurry of autumnal oranges and reds, contrasting with the verdant winter grass and wildflowers scattered in patches beneath the ranks of wooden trellises. Liam kind of wished Ambrose could see them when they were at their best, full of fruit and bursting with life, hanging low under the weight of a crop, vibrant and green. Then he had to remind himself that no, Ambrose wouldn’t be around for that.
“It’s ten acres,” Liam said. “It starts here on the hillside and goes all the way down into the next valley. The soil is heavy red clay, which is good for shiraz, and mourvèdre, and gamay. It’s the original vineyard. We also have one a few kilometres away, where the soil is different. That’s where we grow the grapes for chardonnay and sémillon and chenin blanc.”
“I don’t understand a thing you said,” Ambrose said with a grin, “but it’s very pretty here.”
Liam flushed.
Ambrose elbowed him. “It’s nice that you’re passionate about what you do here. Oh, speaking of passion, Passion Pop? Have you ever drunk Passion Pop?”
“God, no,” Liam said. “My family would disown me!”
Ambrose laughed, his eyes dancing. “I thought that’s what you’d say. I’ll ask your mum later if she has a bottle around the place.”
They continued along the path towards the cabins, and the vineyard disappeared from view behind a screen of lilly pilly hedges. The path turned, and the cabins came into view on the other side of a small pond. Last time Liam had been here they’d been nothing more than bare trusses. Now they were a cluster of five cute little wooden houses, painted white, with their blue tin roofs gleaming with a sheen of rainwater.
Ambrose stopped dead in his tracks, and Liam walked straight into the back of him. He did his best to ignore the way his chin would slot so nicely over Ambrose’s shoulder if he just leaned in a bit, and instead stepped back hastily, because Ambrose was pulling his phone from his pocket, frowning. “Mum?”
Liam took another step back in an attempt to give the illusion of privacy.
“No,” Ambrose said, “I can’t come over, I told you. Do you want me to call Mrs. Ahmadi for you? She can come over and sit with you.” Then he said, “Of course she won’t mind. She likes you. She’s a fan, remember?”
Liam picked up his bag and started towards the cabin, wondering what exactly was going on with Ambrose’s mum. It didn’t sound good, but it also wasn’t any of his business, so he walked on slowly ahead. He’d just made it to the edge of the pond when there was the scuff of feet in dirt and a hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry about that,” Ambrose said. “Mum just gets a bit lonely sometimes.”
Liam nodded, wondering what, if anything, Ambrose wanted him to say to that.
Apparently Ambrose didn’t want to talk about it at all, because he blew out a long breath, tucked his phone in his pocket, and said, “Wow. Those cabins look great. Which one’s ours? I’ll race you, come on!”
He darted around the edge of the pond towards the cabins, cackling like a crazy person when he almost went arse-over in the mud, and Liam found himself hurrying to catch up.
Chapter Nine
Ambrose
The honeymoon cabin was sweet. The front door had two pretty stained-glass panels set in it that made coloured patterns dance across the wooden flooring when the weak afternoon sunlight hit them. Ambrose remembered Liam’s grandad preening over dinner last week because he’d managed to get a job-lot of heritage doors from a salvage yard. He’d insisted that the doors would add some character to the cabins, “a bit of old-world charm,” as he called it, and Ambrose didn’t know much about construction or tourism, but even he could see that Grandad Billy was right. The door looked great—although it did take two tries to get the key to turn in the lock.
Everything else was clean and new, the tang of fresh paint lingering faintly in the air. The cabin was basically just a large room with a massive bed in it. Ambrose dumped his bag on the floor and flopped face-first onto the bed, sinking into the fluffy doona like it was a cloud with a happy sigh. Then, because he needed to breathe, he rolled over onto his back.
Liam was standing in the doorway awkwardly. Liam seemed to do most things awkwardly. It was cute.
“So,” Ambrose said. “Bed, TV, wine rack, of course, and oooh!” He rolled off the bed and bounced on his feet as he pushed open the door to the small glass-enclosed back patio. “Hot tub! We have a hot tub! We are definitely using that at some point, and I’m not getting out until I’m a lobster.”
He came back inside and opened and closed the other doors. He found a closet, the bathroom and, hidden away in a little alcove towards the back of the cabin, a tiny kitchen. Then he returned to the main room and spotted the hamper on the little table in the corner. He tore it open, cellophane crinkling.
