He had a tray of newly sprouted violas waiting to be replanted into bigger sized pots. He pressed his hands into the bag of soil and squeezed it between his fists. The gritty give of the soil pulsed upwards through his hands, working through his body.
He could pour the soil, but he preferred to get amongst it, dirty, as though he was playing a big role in the process rather than just a mediator.
Handful by handful, he filled the pots, one after the other, almost to the top. With tender movements as though the new flowers were babies, he tipped each small tray, thumb and finger around the sprout, into his palm. He gently flaked away some of the soil exposing the small gangly roots, then placed it in its new home and blanketed it with more soil.
Already, the tension from what happened back at the pub was leaving his body, though his mind was still swirling with it. Memories, unwanted memories, kept flickering through his brain. It had been a long time since he’d thought about Tamara.
What triggered it all so strongly? Perhaps the glint Tiffany had in her eye or the malicious smirk on her lips.
He repeated the process with the next sprout. Each tiny stem so small in comparison to his hand.
Sam knew he was a big man, physically strong and tall. He could be tough, determined, hold his own when needed.
But there was another side to him too.
Beneath all his brawn, a part of him was at odds with his outward appearance. That part of him, though, remained hidden. He learned to do that early in his youth. He especially tamped it down after Tamara.
His grandmother was always so good at putting how he felt into words. She had said he was a sensitive soul trapped in a Viking’s body. He agreed. He was trapped because people didn’t allow Vikings to be sensitive.
When he was nine, he was at the inter-school sports carnival, running in an eight hundred metre race. A hundred metres in, the boy beside him tripped and fell onto the track. Sam slowed to check he was okay. He knew falling on these rough, hard tracks hurt, ripped the skin from knees and elbows. In his mind, there was no other option but to help him.
But his athletics teacher, from the sideline, screamed angrily for Sam to keep going. He was gesturing his hands forward and yelling, ‘You don’t stop. No matter what.’
Sam looked again at the boy, but despite the dissonance in his gut, he kept running just like his teacher said. He finished last in a race he should have won. The school wasn’t happy. That was his first instruction in how to be a man.
Then when he was twelve, he watched a documentary about the Titanic. Men on board had willingly allowed women and children onto the safety boats first. Even though they knew they were going to die, they wanted to see their wives and children safe.
And the band stayed behind as the boat sunk, continuing to play to ease the panic of the doomed passengers.
And the Captain remained on the sinking ship until it plunged into the icy sea.
This display of human courage and honour struck him at his core.
He told his mum that he would have stayed on board too. And deep in his heart, he would have. And he could see himself there on the broad deck, watching his mum float away with the other women and children as he faced his own death.
Tears came to his eyes, and his dad had growled, ‘No need for the waterworks, Sam. You’re not a little boy.’
Before his year-twelve end-of-year exams, he approached his Biology teacher, explaining how much it meant to him to succeed and how he had wound himself into a tight ball of nerves worrying that he wouldn’t.
Mr Richardson, a gruff middle-aged man, looked at him and laughed. ‘A big lad like you, anxious?’
And that was the crux of most people’s reactions. ‘A big man like you, upset? I don’t believe it.’ He soon learned that big men didn’t show emotion. Big men were strong of body and mind and simply endured life without any effects.
But at times he didn’t feel like that inside. He felt the world, the despair and hopelessness, the good and the bad, so keenly sometimes, he wondered if existence had any purpose at all.
He didn’t dare tell anyone that, though. Not anymore. Only his grandma. And she would pat his arm and pull him in for a cuddle and whisper in his ear that she understood. She was the same. But it was harder for a man because men weren’t allowed to show it.
‘People always expected so much from you because you’re big,’ she had said. ‘Even as a toddler, they always thought you older than you were. And I’m sorry for that.’
He didn’t blame anyone because he expected more from himself too. And being here in his glasshouse, hands deep in soil, allowed him to forget about all of it.
When all the new seedlings were potted, he filled a spray bottle with water and a capful of organic fertiliser and drenched the leaves and soil with a fine mist. The damp scent of water and a faint decomposed smell filled the air.
The night was getting cold, even inside the glasshouse, and a layer of goosebumps spread along his forearms. He walked along the rows of flowers inspecting for any little weeds or moths or caterpillars that had found their way inside.
He shouldn’t have reacted like he did back at the pub. But the look on Ellie’s face, the disappointment in her sad eyes, was more than he could bear. He wanted to be different for her. But he wasn’t sure he was even capable.
Besides all that, he had nearly kissed her. Even after she had told him she wasn’t interested in a relationship. Yes, she was willing enough, but she had had a lot to drink too. Her guard was down. But those lips of hers when she pouted at him and that tiny diamond above the bow of her lips twinkled, he was a goner.
Stupid, Sam. Tomorrow Ellie would be ten shades of angry at him. And he deserved whatever wrath she would unleash upon him.
Perhaps Tiffany was right. He was a manwhore.
Hands blackened from the soil, he reached for his beer and downed half of it in a few gulps. Then he pulled his mobile out of his jeans pocket and typed out a message to Ellie.
SAM: I’m sorry about tonight.
No answer came, even after he closed the door to the glasshouse and headed upstairs for a shower. He checked his messages once more before going to sleep. Nothing.
Sunday morning, Ellie pulled up outside Sam’s house. He sighed with relief when he saw the car with the dandelion dangling from the rearview mirror. It twinkled as the sun filtered through the windscreen and caught the glass.
He hadn’t known if she would come, especially after what happened Friday night. He hadn’t heard another word from her until he texted her this morning and explained that he was driving into Melbourne this afternoon and if she would mind dropping in earlier to collect her week’s flower order.
Ellie climbed from the car. He pushed through the front door and came down the steps to meet her. When their gaze met, her beautiful hazel eyes bright but wary, all that sensation from Friday night, which had been stuck solid inside him as if he stopped it with a cork, started rushing through his limbs, into his chest.
She was gorgeous, the way her fringe hung blunt over her brow like an ornamental frame accentuating her eyes. Her skin was so soft and touchable. And that body, tall and curvy, substantial in all the ways he loved.
‘Good morning,’ he said, waiting to see her reaction.
‘Hi,’ she said. Nothing more, face blank.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘Fine.’ Not curt, but not giving either.
His heart raced, angry at himself. This wasn’t like him. He never allowed himself to become wrapped up emotionally with anyone. But Ellie was different. Strong yet vulnerable. Independent yet social. Rational but with flashes of crazy. She was real. Didn’t hide. Spoke her mind. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie.’
She shook her head. ‘No need. I was there too. Just as willing.’
‘So why do you look like you want to kill me?’
She planted her hands on her hips as she stepped towards him and growled, audibly, like she was a bear. ‘Why can’t you j
ust be mean or something?’
A small smile touched his lips. ‘Pardon?’
‘Why do you have to be so—’ she waved her hand at his chest and arms, ‘—damn sexy as well as nice?’
His small smile grew even wider. This was not what he was expecting at all. ‘I’m … sorry?’
‘Yes, you should be sorry. Because I keep thinking about you …’
He shook his head, narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you … is everything okay? I don’t understand.’
She sighed, lowered her head. ‘I want you. But I can’t have you. And it’s making me crazy.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Because of our conversation? When we agreed we are both not looking for a relationship?’
She shook her head hard, blinked a little too aggressively. ‘No. Not completely. I … I …’ She cleared her throat and wiped a hand on her jeans. ‘I best collect this order.’
His stomach sunk with disappointment. ‘Sure. I’ll get it all organised for you. Come on. I’ll take you around the back.’
They walked in silence around to the glasshouse. But his insides were tugging. His throat was clogged with a question he stupidly wanted to know the answer to. ‘Can I ask why?’
She stopped walking and looked up at him. ‘Why, what?’
‘Why can’t you have me? Because of my reputation?’ The question was chunky, too big in his mouth.
‘I’ve dated guys like you, Sam. And it always ends badly for girls like me. And I don’t want to be hurt like that again. I don’t want you to hurt me.’
He nodded, blew out a breath and turned away from her. His body was pulsing with something he didn’t want to feel: regret. So much regret. ‘Fair enough,’ he managed, still not meeting her eyes again, then kept on to the glasshouse.
He had already boxed her order up.
Wordlessly, they carried the three boxes out to the car.
And Ellie left.
That was that.
Chapter 9
Ellie was buzzing as she drove away from the vineyard, gravel and sticks crunching under the tyres of her small work van. Buzzing with what exactly, she wasn’t entirely sure. It felt like a sticky concoction of sexual frustration, confusion and reversion.
No denying that Sam made her knees melt. And seeing his lips today, reminded her of just how close she got to kissing him Friday night.
The meeting had stirred up a renewed desire to lean in and press her lips to his and push her tongue against his tongue …
She shook her head and gripped the steering wheel harder, not seeing the vineyards as she rolled past, her mind solely on the man she was just now leaving behind.
Sam.
She hardly knew him.
Anything and everything she felt for him right now was biological. No rationality at all. And she knew where biological impulses could lead. She still felt the deep war wounds left over from so-called ‘love’.
Despite all this, she couldn’t ignore the reservoir of lust sitting squarely in her chest, feeding the rest of her body, tainting her emotions. It kept getting in the way, making her daydream about Sam, even though she knew from his own lips this afternoon that he had a reputation.
So why the confusion still? Why the urges that pulsed deep and hard?
His expression came to mind, so forlorn, so remorseful, perhaps even a little embarrassed after she had told him why she couldn’t be with him. Would a true ladies man, someone who had the intention of playing her, ever look like that? Show emotions like that?
A flash of colour darted across the track, startling her out of her contemplation. She screamed as she was headed directly for it. An animal. Long needles protruding from its back.
A big waddling echidna.
Ellie slammed her foot on the brake, swerved to the side of the track to avoid hitting the echidna and skidded to a halt just before ploughing through a fence that bordered the vineyard. She was flung forward against her seatbelt, then hard back into her seat.
Her heart was thudding against her ribs. The sound of her harsh breaths was all she heard.
Looking out the front window, the echidna shuffled past, under the fence, and continued up the vineyard. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, emptying the relief from her lungs.
The dandelion hanging from her rearview mirror flickered in the filtered sunlight. She looked at it and sighed. ‘I just wish I was good at love.’
A car came up the track and pulled over to the side. Amy climbed out and jogged over. Ellie wound the window down, heart rate still accelerated.
‘Everything okay?’ Amy asked.
Ellie nodded. ‘An echidna. I nearly hit it.’
‘You’re not hurt?’
‘I … I don’t think so.’ A strange, tight sensation started in her chest, then crept up her throat. Her hands shook as she held the steering wheel. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel …’ Perhaps the stress of the last couple of weeks had finally hit home, coupled with the emotional stress of the conversation with Sam, and being in Alpine Ridge on her own without anyone close to vent to.
‘Come on,’ Amy said. ‘You’re not driving anywhere in this state. Come home with me. I’ll make you a cup of tea, and you can relax until you feel more able to drive home.’
Ellie nodded but pointed to the boot of the van. ‘I’ve got flowers in the back—’
‘It can’t be more than three degrees. The flowers will keep for an hour or so.’ Amy put her hands on her hips and stared at her sternly. ‘I’m not taking no for an answer.’
Ellie managed a smile, knowing she wasn’t going to win this one. And, to be honest, she truly was in no shape to drive home yet. ‘Fine. Thank you.’
She climbed out of her van and got into Amy’s car.
When at Amy’s home, Tom made himself scarce, heading out in his car to tend to some quickly concocted excuse to give them privacy.
They sat together in the kitchen, Ellie on a stool, Amy standing opposite as she prepared tea.
‘So,’ said Amy with a small grin when she pushed a hot cup of tea towards Ellie.
Ellie pawed the mug, held it between her palms. ‘So.’
‘You feeling a little better?’
Ellie held one hand out and noted the shaking had stopped. Her heart wasn’t racing either. ‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘You’d just stopped in to see Sam?’ Amy asked this evenly, running her finger around the rim of her mug.
Ellie nodded. ‘To pick up my order of flowers.’
‘Of course. Yes, I’d forgotten about that.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘Is everything okay with Sam?’ She asked this slowly and evenly.
Ellie narrowed her eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’
Amy grinned, shrugged a shoulder. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I can tell that he has a crush on you. And maybe I saw you two almost kiss at the pub the other night. And then Sam freaked out after that serpent woman said what she said, and he’s been a miserable shit since.’
A brow arched. ‘A miserable shit?’
Amy nodded emphatically. ‘A big, miserable, moping shit. And when I saw you on the side of the track, I wondered if you were distracted. Maybe.’
‘An echidna,’ Ellie explained.
‘Of course. An echidna.’ Amy had another long sip of tea, letting some silence hang in the air.
Ellie sighed. ‘And I may have been distracted. A little.’ God, Amy was as persistent as a thirsty mosquito with a very sticky beak.
Amy grinned, not even attempting to hide how proud she was of pulling the right threads to get to the truth of the matter. ‘You like him?’
The truth was out there now, and Amy didn’t seem like someone who gave up on getting what she wanted, so Ellie may as well get it all off her chest. ‘I’m physically attracted to him.’
That brow arched again; it asked, ‘oh really, just physically?’
‘Okay, and as I get to know him more, I kinda like who he is too. Except for the manwhore side. I don’t like that one bit.’
Amy frowned. ‘Hmmm. Yes. I can see how that could be … unlikeable. And I really don’t know what to say about that, except that I know Sam. I know his heart. It’s guarded, yes. But it’s warm and loyal and kind. If he’d allow himself to love and be loved, you’d be the luckiest woman on the planet.’
‘I don’t want to love him.’ She moved her hands indicating years into the future. ‘That’s way off where I am now. Right now, I think just a kiss would be enough.’ And maybe a tad more. But a girl had her secrets to keep.
A slow smile curled Amy’s lips. ‘Very nearly got your wish.’
Ellie lowered her eyes to her tea. ‘Nearly. I’m relieved now nothing happened. Considering his reputation and all.’
Amy laughed. ‘Reputation? It’s really not as bad as you think. He’s actually very discreet.’
‘Oh. Discreet. Well, that excuses everything. He can screw anyone he wants as long he’s discreet.’
Again that deep frown appeared. ‘I don’t really want to put words in Sam’s mouth, but screw it, here goes anyway: something feels different since he met you. Like from that very moment in my shop.’
‘Because he hasn’t slept with me?’
Amy sighed. ‘This doesn’t excuse anything, but Sam has had a somewhat rocky past. He’s closed his heart. But, because of you, Tom and I think he might be letting his guard down.’
Ellie didn’t want to hear this. It didn’t matter if Sam was changing or not, she wasn’t ready for a relationship. She certainly wasn’t ready for Sam. ‘I can’t.’
‘You can’t what?’ Amy asked.
Ellie shook her head, pulled at her earlobe. ‘I can’t do this.’
Amy shrugged, nodded. ‘I get it. His reputation is a tough hurdle to get over.’
‘No, it’s not that. Not just that. I didn’t want coming here to be about a man. I want to do this on my own.’
Understanding flashed across Amy’s features, shone in her eyes. ‘I definitely get that.’
No, Ellie was sure Amy didn’t completely understand—not the full extent. No-one did. Ellie wasn’t proud of her past. But mostly, Ellie wasn’t proud of herself. It had taken some time to stop hating herself.
The Sweetest Secret Page 8
