Page 26 of Christmas in Kiwi Country

GWEN

My hair blows around my face as we take the ferry to the island of Waiheke to end our time in Auckland. Cullen had humored my need to be a tourist when we planned this trip, but since we landed, I think it was less that he was against it and more that he didn’t knowhow.

We’d already sent two boxes back to the states filled with chocolate, pineapple lumps— which I was shocked to discover taste like a high-end dark chocolate-covered pineapple taffy and are absolutely delicious—and postcards for practically the whole town of Clementine Creek.

Isla had been overjoyed at the prospect of impending mail, and she’d only cried twice over the video chat saying she was just so happy to see us having a good time. Cheyenne had been far less emotional but equally happy that we’d been enjoying our time in New Zealand, and I promised to send her more pictures if she promised to check on Isla to keep Cullen’s mind at ease.

A smile graces my lips as his chest is pressed against my back and his strong arms bracket me against the railing of the ferry. I’ve only been on one a handful of times, and I love the way it moves through the water and the feel of the gentle spray that cools my heated skin. It’s peaceful and refreshing and everything I need in this moment.

In fact, Christmas in summer might be my new favorite next to spending it with Cullen.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks, his lips brushing against my ear.

Letting my head fall back against his shoulder, my smile grows as my eyes lock on his. “Best time of my life.”

And it’s the truth.

I’m honestly surprised he agreed to take this ferry excursion after the one yesterday, but I think the promise of wine has something to do with it too. Yesterday, we’d taken a ferry to explore the volcanic fields of Rangitoto Island. We’d hiked to the summit and taken a moment to appreciate the absolutely breathtaking view. Somehow I’d never get over the color of the water, the green of the trees, and the way everything seems to go on forever.

Cullen hadn’t just given me a vacation—he’d given me an opportunity to take in the beauty of a land and a culture so different than our own.

He stopped to read every marker along the path to the summit, and it made me wonder if he’d ever just…stopped in his old life. I may not have ever left Tennessee, but I’d lived and had few regrets. I loved seein’ the joy on Cullen’s face as he took in his surroundings. His enjoyment was palpable and gave me plenty of time to admire the man who’d quickly wormed his way into my heart.

While the volcano had been my indulgence, Cullen’s was determined to be wine. He’d read up on the Waiheke wineries and vineyards and had secured a private tour of Cable Bay.

I’d grown up a whiskey girl, but since Cullen had landed in Clementine Creek, he’d taken great pleasure in teaching me about the different blends and processes, grapes and aging. Wine still wasn’t my favorite, but I loved hearing him talk about it and he always rewarded my attention to his musings with orgasms, so it was hard to complain.

After docking at the wharf, we make our way toward a man leaning against a car parked on the opposite side of the road. Slightly younger than I am, he’s dressed casually and straightens with a smile when he spots us.

“Cullen and Gwen?” Cullen holds out his hand to shake as the man’s smile widens. “I’m Michael. You get in all right?”

“We did,” Cullen says as Michael shakes my hand. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Michael puffs his chest as he motions to the car. “And you haven’t even seen the best part.” He takes our overnight bag and puts it in the trunk—another surprise from Cullen.

Settling inside, Michael talks animatedly about the island and the history, but nothing quite compares to a yarn he spins about an unknown individual leaving sausages in the mailboxes of the island residents and the uproar it caused.

It sounds so ridiculous and exactly the kind of thing you’d expect from Otto and Case Thayer in their younger years. Michael swears it’s true, and I just might believe him.

Pulling up to the winery nearly has my jaw dropping open. It seems like every time we see something new on this trip, I’m rendered speechless by the sheer magnificence of it, and anyone who knows me knows that’s a task in and of itself.

After parking, Cullen holds out his hand and I take it as we follow Michael to the first tasting room where we’re introduced to one of the head winemakers, Paul. Cullen shakes his hand before we’re both given a glass of Merlot.

“Welcome,” Paul says with a smile. “This is one of our best sellers.” He allows us time to take a sip and savor the dark, fruity flavor, layered with—something—chocolate or coffee.

It’s decadent and I’m not sure if it’s the wine or the atmosphere. Glasses in hand, we walk the grounds as Paul tells us about the different varieties of grapes and the history of the vineyard, its growth, and expansion and plans for the future. He’s been enthusiastic about the soil and how the ocean plays a role in the way they operate on the island as if it’s something fragile and precious rather than this vast piece of land.

He’s passionate but it’s so much more. There’s a romanticism about the way he talks about what he does here. Not unlike myself, it’s a part of who he is and not just a job. His heart beats to the rhythm of the land and the grapes and the masterpieces he creates each day.

Cullen is in his element and it’s notjustthe business that has his eyes bright and his smile easy. He’s naturally curious, and I can tell Paul is equally eager to match Cullen’s enthusiasm.

“Cullen bought our local apple orchard when it went up for sale not long ago,” I say when there’s a lull in conversation.

“Brilliant,” Paul says. “Big business over there?”

The tips of Cullen’s ears heat and it’s cute he’s trying to be so modest. “It’s a retirement project,” he replies while reaching for my hand. “Gwen is helping freshen up the place, but I’m letting the staff continue to run the day-to-day operations.”

“Family business?” Paul asks.

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