Page 11 of A Wolf in the Garden

“Ellie, sorry, I had every intention of meeting you at the front door and then this call came through and,” he shrugs, the crease between his brows deepening for a moment, “I had to take it, unfortunately.”

“It’s alright.”

“It was my father,” he blurts out, digging his hands in his pockets, looking far too good in his business attire, the fabric of his shirt straining over his biceps and pectorals, and I have to force myself to focus on what he’s telling me.

“I thought you said you weren’t talking to him.”

“I wasn’t. And turns out all he wanted was to tell me he’d heard I’d bought this place and that it was a poor business decision and that it’s not going to turn a profit. So,” he shrugs again. “I didn’t want you thinking I’m a dick to everyone on the phone. It’s justhim.”

“I get it.” I say the words without thinking, that memory of the last time I actively spoke to Weston Livingston still fresh in my mind. Van barks out a short laugh.

“I know you do. Come on,” he gestures for me to follow him, “I’ll show you around. You saw the restaurant and bar?”

“Briefly. For some reason I thought you wouldn’t be up and running at the moment — I guess with it changing hands I assumed a refurbishment was on the cards.”

He chuckles, shooting me a quizzical look. “You’re saying it currently looks like shit here?”

“No! No, I mean —”

“Relax Ellie, I’m teasing. And it does look like a mess; the decor inside is at least ten years too dated. It’s got good bones, that’s why I bought this place, but you’re right, it needs a full refurb. That’s where you come in — I want the outdoor area to be an attraction in itself. Those things we talked about on Sunday — sunflower fields, pick your own flowers, a setting people want to share on social media — that’s what I want. Ihadplanned on closing us down to get things sorted, but when I got here I realised how stressed all the staff were. They thought they were going to lose their jobs.”

“So you’ve stayed open for them?”

He nods, looking up over my head to where the building sits at the top of the hill. “Even when we close the restaurant for the refurb, we can do that quickly; two weeks, if I throw enough money at it, which I’m inclined to do. The books might look shit for the first year, but I’m in this for the long haul. This place is where I want to settle, where Lacey is going to raise her kids. So the plan is to do everything that we can in stages. The staff that I can temporarily redirect to other areas of work on the vineyard will do that, and the rest will be put on paid leave while we renovate. It’s not their fault that the vineyard sold. I don’t want good people stressing about their job security when there’s no need.”

“That’s thoughtful of you.”

He shrugs dismissively. “It should be what all employers do — take care of their employees. What little extra cost it will be to me in the short term will well and truly pay for itself in the long run. I like to invest in the people that work for me.”

I nod, not exactly surprised, but impressed all the same. It’s a far cry from the topics we discussed when we were younger, and a clear reminder of how much we’ve both grown since then. For all that I feel like I know him, so easily slipping into that sense of bone-deep familiarity, we are just as much strangers to each other now. Nine years of life and experience separate us from the people we once were.

We walk adjacent to the grapevines, following a grassed path towards the expansive paddock that sits parallel to the road. As we approach it I can see what he meant by it not being suitable for growing grapevines — you could, technically, grow them here, but on completely flat terrain your yield is going to be less for a number of reasons, and probably not worth it in a business sense. “Have you thought of anything else in regards to the space? Are you going to be hosting weddings here? Are there any special requirements to consider with certain guests?”

“No water features.”

I glance at him, noting his clenched jaw, and the way he keeps his eyes trained on the horizon as we walk. I don’t blame him for wanting to avoid anything that could result in a drowning accident, though it makes me wonder about the beach here. Since Sunday, I’ve spent my time researching Lost Moon, and I know that there’s a private beach at the base of the hill here, tucked in a small bay and accessible only from the Estate’s land. “Everything I’m going to suggest will meet safety regulations, but absolutely, we can rule out water,” I reassure him.

“Thank you.”

An electric fence runs around the perimeter of the field. “The current is off,” Van informs me, climbing over the wooden stile with ease. It’s a single step on either side of the tall fence, serving as the access point, just a tad too high for me to navigate gracefully with my short legs. I wobble at the top of the stile, and Van’s big hands catch me around the waist before I fall. He plucks me from the fence as if I weigh nothing, murmuring “Careful,” quietly as he lowers me to the ground. I catch a whiff of his scent, all dark, spicy musk and so achingly familiar, and his hands remain on me a beat too long after I’ve found my footing, fingers curling in a caress of my waist before he pulls away.

“Thanks,” I croak, heat coiling down my spine, licking between my legs. We walk side-by-side in silence, the ghost of Van’s touch lingering on me in an entirely distracting way.

“Thoughts?” he prompts.

“Hm? Oh, this will need to go,” I say, gesturing at the fence behind us, “You could replace it with nicer fencing or a wall along the roadside and then,” I step around him, “alongthisline we can talk about creating a natural barrier between the vines, dense hedging or espaliered fruit trees.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “If we can keep the fruit trees at a lowered height, I’d prefer that. I don’t want anything that’s going to disrupt the light on the vines.”

“Of course. Totally.” I take out my tablet from the small satchel I wear across my body, and begin to jot down notes, bringing up a blank screen in my favourite design software. I start to sketch freehand my ideas, my spine prickling with awareness as Van steps closer, peering over my shoulder.

“Who are your clientele?” I ask.

“All people,” he replies, his tone clipped.

I keep sketching as I speak. “I mean, are you going to market the vineyard to adults only, or will it be more of a relaxed family affair? Some of the vineyards on this island aren’t really set up for entertaining children, while others have specifically added features to keep kids busy when designing their outdoor spaces.”

“Like what?”

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