Page 13 of A Wolf in the Garden

Van’s nostrils flare ever so slightly, and he reaches out towards me. Too late I realise he means to tuck my hair behind my ear, something he used to do often when we were together, and as his fingers brush the side of my temple I panic, flinching back automatically,Not the ears!ringing in my head before I can process what I’ve just done.

His hand falls in a solid thump against his thigh, his mouth slightly parted in shock, confusion, and hurt. He swallows heavily, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, that was…” he says, and inside I cryOh no, I ruined it, though all I can manage is an open-mouthed shake of my head, my heart hammering in my chest.

“It’s okay.” My voice sounds hollow to my own ears, and I clear my throat, desperately wanting to set this meeting back on track. “Let’s talk about the plants needed for the project. It’s going to be a long list.”

* * *

It takes two hours to pace out the entire field, discussing various projects within the garden with Van. We both agree that the best decision is to tackle the garden in thirds, starting with planting both flower and vegetable seedlings, with the goal of all the produce ending up on the restaurant menu. Usually, I hire contractors to help complete the physical labour, but Van and I decide that he’ll first attempt to find contractors that can work on both the garden and the restaurant, and reach out if he needs any of my contacts. We also decide that I’ll be physically present and overseeing the work two days out of five per week, which will give me the flexibility to complete the other design jobs I already had lined up for the next few months, while still keeping a close enough eye on the progress here. I can’t give him an exact figure for the quote yet, but the numbers I do mention don’t appear to panic him, despite being eye-wateringly high due to the sheer scale of this project. I don’t mention that this will surely mean the vineyard will be running at a loss for this financial year, as I get the feeling that Lost Moon is more than just a business for him. It’s the place he wants to settle down in, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he pays for this work out of his own pocket rather than trying to balance the vineyard’s books.

Van convinces me to eat lunch at the vineyard, insisting that it’s on the house. I should say no, but having gone through occasional periods during my childhood where there was very little food outside of the basics of bread, milk, and eggs, offers of a free meal are an absolute weakness of mine. After hours spent in the heat of the sun, it’s nice to relax into one of the cushioned booths in the corner of the restaurant. He slides in opposite me, and the same waitress from this morning scuttles over, wide-eyed.

“Mr. Livingston! What can I get you two?”

Van gives the girl a kind smile. “You can call me Evander, okay?” Her head bobs in a nod like a marionette on a string, and he continues. “Two glasses of pinot gris from the reserve collection, one of the bread boards, one of the salt and pepper squid, one lamb backstrap, one eye fillet steak, one salmon, one pulled pork pizza,” my mouth drops open as he continues, the waitress furiously scribbling on her notepad, “one cheese platter, and two of the crème brûlée with the berry sorbet.”

I wait until she leaves before I nudge his foot under the table. “I’m sorry, are you feeding an army?”

He leans forward conspiratorially. “Just a wolf and his friend. Thank you for taking on this job. I know it’s last minute to start next week, and I know it’s selfish of me to want that when you already had clients booked in —”

“I’m making it work. Don’t worry about that. I have less booked in over the summer months anyway.”

“I know, just… let me know if it gets to be too much. We can re-look at your workload.”

I laugh, shaking my head just as the wine arrives. It’s exceptionally quick service, but then again, he’s the boss, so I doubt anyone is willing to leave him waiting for long. “You’re meant to be the one demandingmoregets donefaster. Not already worrying about my workload.”

“Is that how it often is for you? In your job, I mean. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Our glasses clink together, our eyes locked on each other, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing —Seven years of bad sex if you don’t make eye contact.It’s one of the things we used to joke about when we were younger. From the way a small smile pulls at his lips, my guess is that he is.

I take a sip of my white wine, the sharp sweetness of it making me hum in appreciation, and consider how to answer his question in a tactful way.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he butts in before I can say anything.

I sigh. “Well yeah, that is how it is, often.”

“Why?”

I shrug, deciding to be bluntly honest. This is Van. He knows how I grew up, knows how I used to think about those blind to their own privilege. Not much has changed about me in that regard. “Because to them, I’m just an average gardening girl they’re hiring, and they are the rich bitchesbestowingme with their favour by hiring me to do their literal dirty work. Some of these people — particularly the ones with old money — I don’t think they even have jobs. They just have money from god knows where. And apparently it makes them a thousand times superior than a regular pleb like me.”

He stares at me for a long moment, eyes searching my face. He looks so incredibly handsome in this light, the sun streaming through the window making his eyes glow like amber jewels. “Can you promise me something?”

“It depends. What is it?”

“If I ever get like that, reign me in. Give me a kick up the ass, and tell me to stop being such a rude prick.”

I huff. “You won’t ever be like that.”

“I don’t know, money corrupts good people. Word on the street is that my father used to be a decent guy, once upon a time.”

I find that hard to believe. My thoughts must show on my face, because Van only quirks a brow and mutters “Shocking, right?”

I don’t have anything nice to say to that, and myKoro’sold voice echoes in my head from long ago.“Don’t say anything at all.”

As if he can read my thoughts turning towards my family, Van asks, “How is your mom?”

“Mum is good. She still lives at the same property, but now she’s in a tiny house too; she put it in the backyard of that old bach I grew up in, and we renovated everything a few years ago, so now she rents the bach out as holiday accommodation. It’s how I managed to afford my place; she signed on as guarantor on my mortgage, using the bach as equity because I didn’t have a large enough deposit for the land and the house.”

“I’m glad she could help you. You deserve… I always thought you deserved far more than your upbringing allowed.”

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