All They Need(28)
While she was occupied, he opened the bottle of shiraz and poured wine into two of the plastic tumblers he’d bought along with his other supplies that morning.
“There you go,” Mel said as the second lantern came to life. “When you want to shut them off, just lift the glass and blow out the flame. They can be a bit smelly, so make sure the room stays ventilated.”
She pushed herself to her feet and he held out the glass of wine. She shook her head immediately. “I can’t.”
“Somewhere else to be?”
“Not exactly…”
“Giving wine up for Lent?”
She smiled slightly. “No.”
“Then have a drink with me. It’s my first night in Summerlea and, while I don’t have anything against swilling a whole bottle of wine on my own, as a rule I prefer company.”
She hesitated for a moment longer before taking the glass. “Thank you.”
“Have a seat,” he said, waving toward the array of pillows and rolled-up bedding he’d fashioned into a couch of sorts. “I can offer you a pillow, or a rolled-up sleeping bag and sleeping pad. Nothing but the best.”
She looked as though she wanted to say no again—no doubt she’d planned to simply stand there and gulp down her wine before making a bolt for the door—but after another one of those maddening hesitations she crossed to the fire and knelt to the right of the hearth, her wine in one hand. He’d set the chopping board on top of an old crate he’d found in the kitchen and he crouched there now and cut the brie into bite-size wedges.
“You should know I have victuals as well as wine,” he said, sliding the chopping board toward her. “This is a quality establishment.”
“I can’t eat your dinner.”
“Trust me. There’s plenty. My eyes are bigger than my belly. Always have been.”
He started peeling lids off deli containers until the peppers, olives and ham were arrayed in front of her. He added the bread, crackers and cashew nuts then reached for his wineglass. Holding it high, he offered a toast.
“To Summerlea, and camping out, and finger food.” He leaned forward to clink his glass against hers.
She frowned, but didn’t say anything. He waited until she’d taken a mouthful before nudging the cheese toward her.
“Eat something. I dare you.”
Her gaze shot to his face, startled, and he raised his eyebrows. After a few seconds she grabbed an olive, popped it into her mouth and bit down almost defiantly.
He felt a ridiculous surge of triumph. She was staying. For now.
He tried to think of something to say that would put her at ease. His gaze fell on the lanterns. “So did you do much camping when you were younger?”
“Yes. Every summer, pretty much. It was the only way we could afford a family vacation.”
“Where did you go?”
“Dad likes to fish, so we always had to be near water of some kind. Lake Eildon, Eden, Merimbula, Wilson’s Promontory.”
“Did you like it?”
She thought about it for a moment. “You know, mostly I did. At the time I thought I didn’t. But in hindsight, those holidays were some of the best times we ever had as a family.”
“Did you sit around the campfire holding hands and singing ‘Kumbaya’?”
“Why? Are you about to break into song?”
He laughed. “Hardly.” He tore off a hunk of bread and passed it to her before tearing a second hunk for himself. “I always wanted to go camping when I was a kid but Mom hates sleeping rough. Which is pretty funny, given how much she loves gardening. She always says that if there’s no hot and cold running water, she’s not interested.”
“Mostly, I agree with her. But I’m prepared to make an exception every now and then. There are some parts of the world you can’t see without roughing it.”
She was starting to lose the tense, wary look around her eyes. Flynn settled against the rolled-up sleeping bag. The fire was really throwing out some heat now. Or maybe it was the wine warming his belly. Either way, he could feel the week’s worries slipping away.
“Tell me, have you ever had to deal with a blackberry thicket?” he asked.
“Yep. Got the scars to prove it, too.”
“I’ve got a huge one on the western boundary. About five meters long by two meters thick.”
She whistled. “Impressive.”