Page 12 of Because of Me

“I’m not single.”

I take a long sip of my drink, sucking the last of the coffee through the straw and dumping the empty cup into the tray of dishes. And my father has the balls to laugh.

He throws his head back and guffaws, each loud ‘ha’ stabbing my eardrums. I resume the power pose and wait for him to be finished.

When he finally settles, he looks at me and I can’t quite figure out the expression on his face. His eyes are … kinder, maybe. But beneath his greying beard his lips form the tightest of lines. He shakes his shoulders, regaining his composure.

“You can’t possibly mean the boy from the wedding.”

Boy.It shouldn’t piss me off as much as it does.

“His name is Noah. And I love him.”

I don’t give him time to answer, picking up the crate of dishes and storming through the boutique to the back room where we installed a dishwasher. I don’t give myself a moment to think about how effortlessly that last line slipped over my tongue.

I listen as Cassidy politely offers him the bouquet she created, and as he thanks her abruptly. The doorbell chimes but still I wait, trying not to overthink how the conversation ended.

It was a lie in the heat of the moment. That was all.

Only, I can’t stop thinking about how there’s a small part of me that wishes it were true.

NOAH

My eyes blur as I scroll through the spreadsheet. I should be paying more attention, cross-checking the figures and making sure everything is in line before I close off the quarterly books and send everything to the accountant. But I learnt long ago that half the numbers don’t make sense to me anyway. The previous manager and bookkeeper created these reports, and so much of it is calculated automatically from the formulas they set up in the beginning. I input this quarter’s invoices and sales figures, take the production data and payroll information and drop those in their designated spots, and voila, the front-end report fills itself in.

I just scroll and check if the number at the end is green or red.

For as long as I’ve been in charge, they’ve always been green. Sales are increasing, revenue jumping. The winery I never thought I’d be able to keep afloat is not just maintaining, it’s thriving.

I inherited this place a little over a year ago, from a grandmother I’d never met, and when I first stepped into this office I was certain I was going to run the place into the ground. I knew nothing about wine, or running a restaurant, or owning a business. Some days, I still feel like I know nothing. But I’ve learnt to take each day as it comes and somehow we’re growing to be one of the biggest and most sought after wineries on Melbourne’s Mornington Peninsula. Our events calendar is fully booked for the next eighteen months, the hot air balloon contractor that uses the winery as its lift off point is filling every basket of sightseers. And the wine has gone from ‘run of the mill pinots and chardonnays’ to ‘the best bottle of Rosé this side of the equator’ according to Australian Wine Magazine.

With the help of my team of experts, we continue to grow and expand. We’re even toying with the idea of adding luxury accommodation to the property.

So maybe my initial worries were unfounded. Maybe I could have told my friends the real reason I had for moving down to Melbourne. But I was scared and unsure. The expectations I had on myself were hard enough, I didn’t want to add the pressure of everyone else knowing. Now, they all think I just run the events, and none of them have any clue the whole winery is mine.

Aside from the lawyer that signed over my grandmother’s will, and the team here at the winery, the only other person who knows is Callum. My cousin’s boyfriend started digging early in their relationship. Cassidy’s business was struggling and he had this grand billionaire plan to buy the winery and hire her on as a permanent florist. When he made an offer, I had to turn him down. His idea was great though, considering I’d already had the same one.

Having Cassidy as our go-to florist not only eases the burden for couples booking weddings and events with us, but it also means I never have to worry about fresh flowers for the tables or cute decor for setting up luxury picnics. She handles it all, and as a result, she never has to worry about her floristry business drying up. That, combined with her idea to go into business with Amira, means my cousin’s business is thriving too. I like to think my paternal grandmother would be proud of how widespread my achievements have been.

Giving up on the spreadsheet, I reluctantly book the next available appointment at the nearest optometrist. I’ve known for years my vision is far from perfect, it just never mattered before. I spent my days teaching surf lessons and my weekends pouring drinks behind a nightclub bar. I wouldn’t have been able to wear glasses most of the time even if I had them. Moving here, taking on the winery, I knew my eyesight would become a problem. I’ve put off doing something about it for long enough.

When the email notification dings with the incoming confirmation of my appointment, I drop my head into my hands. I press my palms into my eye sockets, blocking out all the light. Storm clouds fill my vision as I use more force than I need to, but the tension headache that had been building begins to ease.

“Knock knock.”

I groan inwardly at the interruption, assuming it’s one of the waiters coming in to ask something that can definitely wait. But Cassidy’s sharp voice proves me wrong.

“I said knock knock,” she calls from beyond the large sliding barn door.

“Come in.” I lean back in my chair and drop my hands away from my face. I blink rapidly while my eyes adjust to the sudden light, fighting the urge to reach behind me and pull down the window blind.

Cassidy makes herself comfortable in one of the armchairs, leaning back and curling her legs under her. Her dark T-shirt is wet in the front, and stray pieces of her hair have fallen from her messy bun to stick against the sides of her face. But her resting expression is bright and her green eyes twinkle. She looks … happy. Thrilled. She loves working with flowers, and it shows.

“You okay?” she asks as she pulls one of her ankles closer to her body. It looks uncomfortable, all squished into the tiniest of balls, but she always does it, so it must work for her.

“Yeah just … spreadsheets.” I have to gulp down the word. I know she isn’t meaning to be nosey, but whenever we start talking about my work, I can’t shake the feeling she is waiting for me to slip up. As though she knows there’s more to my position here than I let on. Lord help me when I bite the bullet and actually hire someone to do the job I tell everyone I hold.

“Have you finished setting up?”

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