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“I’m gonna get you some water,” Liam said, and headed for the fridge out the back. Hopefully he’d get back in time to prevent Grandad from pouring more wine down Ambrose’s throat and also agreeing to make hard milk. That honestly seemed like something Grandad would attempt. “Also, hard milk is already a thing! It’s called Baileys!”
Ambrose lifted his glass in agreement. “To Baileys! Even though it doesn’t have subtle notes of cow.”
“Would that not just be cow shit though?” Grandad asked. “The notes of cow? Or would it taste of steak?”
Liam missed Ambrose’s reply, too busy retrieving a water bottle and some crackers and dip from the fridge. Something to soak up the wine could only be good at this stage. Maybe he should have warned Ambrose about Grandad and his tastings. Although now he thought about it, they’d tried in the car on the way up. Maybe Ambrose just hadn’t believed them because Grandad seemed so harmless, all charm and blarney, right until he was breaking out the special reserve port, the one that could fell a grown man.
Shit, the port. Liam hoped he wasn’t too late.
He was.
He got back to the tasting room just in time to hear, “—aged for seven years in an oak barrel to give it some depth. You can taste the heart of the grape. Go on now, no sipping, take a decent mouthful!”
Ambrose was staring wide-eyed at the glass of port Grandad had plopped on the table in front of him. “Do grapes even have hearts? Do they get heartbroken when you make the wine? Do they miss the rest of their bunch?” He giggled and swayed on his stool, then picked up the glass carefully with both hands and slurped noisily. He set the glass down, licked his lips, and belched. “I like that one,” he declared, right before he slid sideways off his stool.
Liam dropped the crackers and darted forward in an attempt to catch him while Grandad cackled. “Your boy’s a lightweight, Liam!”
Ambrose lay on the floor, blinking up at Liam and smiling dozily. “I like green grapes.”
“Yeah,” Liam said. “From Woolworths. You said.”
Ambrose’s smile widened. “And you remember!” Then his smile wavered, and he exhaled heavily. “Why am I on the ground?”
“Because you drank the wine,” Liam reminded him, and tried not to be charmed by Ambrose’s helpless confusion.
“You’re not on the floor though,” Ambrose pointed out. “Why aren’t you on the floor? Don’t you wanna drink with me? Drink with meeeee,” he wailed, and Liam wasn’t sure if he was asking or if he was just singing lines from Les Mis incredibly badly. John Phillip gave a querulous howl in agreement from his position under the table and licked Ambrose’s face.
“I am drinking,” Liam said, and pointed to his half-full glass on the table.
Ambrose scrambled into a sitting position then, taking Liam’s arm, hauled himself to his feet, frowning at the glass. “It’s full,” he accused. “You didn’t swallow.”
Grandad, still perched on a stool, chuckled. “He’s got you there, lad.”
Ambrose’s bottom lip quivered. “I wanna drinking buddy like in the movies,” he declared. “And now you’ve pulled out.”
Grandad cackled into his glass. “Drink with your boy, Liam. A good boyfriend swallows and doesn’t pull out.”
Ambrose cackled, and Liam sighed. He should have known Grandad wouldn’t let him get away with just one glass. Saying no to Grandad was like fighting off a hurricane with a paper fan. Pointless, and a waste of energy. And truth be told, Liam didn’t really mind having a few glasses with the old man. They’d had some of their best conversations halfway into a bottle of red. Liam even remembered some of them.
He helped Ambrose back onto his stool. “You drink your water, and I’ll drink my wine, okay?”
“Okay,” Ambrose agreed happily. “And we’ll meet in the middle!”
“What?” Liam asked.
“What?” Ambrose echoed, his brow wrinkled.
“Drink your water,” Liam said, hiding his grin behind the rim of his wineglass. Ambrose was a messy drunk, but he was cute as hell, and the last thing Liam needed to do was confuse pretending to care for him with actually caring for him. At least as more than a friend. God. Were they even friends? Probably not. He didn’t know a thing about Ambrose, not really.
Ambrose returned the smile and drank his water.
Chapter Eleven
Ambrose
Ambrose woke to the sound of rain on the cabin roof. It took him a moment to realise where he was, and a moment longer than that to realise what day it was. Then he had to check his phone to figure out the time. It was Friday afternoon, and he appeared to have missed most of the day.
He blinked around the cabin. There was no sign of Liam, but there was a large bottle of water and a packet of Panadol on the little bedside table.
