But what if those profits had other costs attached to them? Attached to the cottage. Attached to Ryder.I shut down that lineof thinking. I couldn’t afford to go there, or I might do something really, really stupid.
In between Ryder’s glasshouse software upgrades, I’d continued to work on the software proposal for Elosand’s data storage cooling system. We were competing with two other companies for the contract, both of which had much more experience and a full team to dedicate to the proposal, not just one man—me. The contract was only a small cog in the overall development, but it was an important one. If we got this deal in the bag, it would be a major coup and could set the company up for life.
If Phillip sold me his share and the company was going to survive, then I needed that contract. I didn’t want Phillip to win. I didn’t want him to havemycompany that I’d started from scratch. But I needed him to think that Ididn’tcare. That I was happy to leave. I wanted him worried that he’d have to replace me or dissolve the company altogether. To see how seriously fucked he was without me. All I had to do was wait him out and let the pressure mount.
Was it petty? Sure. And the part of me that knew that didn’t approve in the slightest. It was the same part that wanted me to just walk away and do something else.
Emails done, I spent a couple of hours working on the cooling system proposal until the guilt finally got to me and I put it aside. Instead, I finished the new software for the glasshouse, tested it for bugs, and by lunchtime, it was installed and working like a dream. It had far more functionality than his old system, and I was pretty sure Ryder was going to be over the moon. I grinned as I imagined that full sunshine smile of his when I demonstrated it later in the day. Considering the proposal I was working on, it felt good to give something back to him instead.
I made my way back to the cottage on light feet and Ziggy on my heels. A cheese and pickle sandwich and a strong cup ofcoffee later, I was stacking the plates in the dishwasher when I heard a knock at the front door. It was Ryder’s stone delivery that I’d completely forgotten about.
“Did Ry tell you where he wanted this one?” the burly driver asked.
I nodded and accompanied the man back to his truck, which was parked next to the sign to the cottage. I pointed to the machinery shed at the end of the track opposite and said, “Down there.”
“Thanks.” The man climbed back into his truck and began reversing onto the gravel road so he could make the tight turn onto the track.
Watching him got me thinking, and I waved him to a stop.
The man poked his head through the driver’s window and frowned. “Something wrong?”
I held up a hand. “Just give me a minute.”
He rolled his eyes but waited while I looked between the cottage and the machinery shed. The driveways sat on opposite sides of the paper road that ran between them. My finger tapped my bottom lip. There’d been no sign of the council yet, but according to Tim, they were coming any day. I pulled out my phone and tried calling Ryder, but he didn’t answer.
Damn.
I walked into the middle of what was, on paper, Storten Road. Making sure to keep the two driveways clear but not leaving room for anything more than Ryder’s small utility trucks to come and go, I found the perfect spot and opened my arms. “Dump them here.”
The driver looked taken aback. “Are you sure?” He studied me like I had a screw or two loose in my brain. “I wouldn’t want to piss Ry off. He’s a good customer.”
I shrugged. “Well, Ryder’s not here, and I am. I take full responsibility.”
The man shot me a narrow look. “You do realise that it’s gonna take more than a wheelbarrow and a bit of sweat to move them if you change your mind.”
I grinned. “Even better. Go ahead. Dump them.”
The man shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”
I sure hoped it wouldn’t be. It was a risk to presume that Ryder would be okay with my plan, but there it was. I stood back and watched as the driver skilfully manoeuvred his truck into position and summarily dumped several tonnes of large rocks across Storten Road—the paper version that lay beyond Ryder’s driveway.
The truck driver shook his head. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”
Me too.I waved him off and studied the mess I’d made with a bright smile. “Fat chance of getting your big trucks turned around now,” I muttered to no one in particular. It might not stop the council work in the long run, but it would sure as hell slow them down.
Feeling just a little bit smug, I dusted off my hands and headed inside. With a fresh coffee in hand, I slipped on my jandals and wandered out into the gardens to find the river Ryder was so passionate about, the one targeted to provide water for cooling the new data facility.
Ziggy pranced at my heels, snapping at the monarch butterflies that swarmed in abundance. I paused for a moment, sipping my coffee as I watched the gorgeous creatures flit gracefully around the veritable nursery of swan plants Ryder had planted to keep them happy. As I watched their bright dancing, the anger and anxiety I carried about all that had happened began to bleed from my bones, little by little, into the soil beneath my feet.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d walked through a garden before I’d come to the cottage. My mother’s, perhaps?But we mostly stayed in the house when I visited, or met for lunch or coffee. My apartment complex had a communal rooftop garden and barbecue area, but I’d never bothered going up there. I walked through Wellington’s Botanical Gardens on a semi-regular basis, but only for exercise, listening to music while working on whatever coding issue was foremost in my mind. I never looked around. Never listened. Never stopped.
It was something I’d noticed about Ryder in the short time I’d been at the cottage. He often stopped whatever he was doing to pay attention to something that I’d missed. I’d look up from my coding to find him standing at the bifold doors, entranced by something in his garden, although I wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly what. One, because I didn’t want to look like an idiot for not knowing. And two, because it felt wrong to interrupt him, the same way it was wrong to disturb someone in prayer.
Other times, I’d catch him staring into the kitchen sink with his head cocked to one side. Then he’d smile, walk into the laundry, rummage around for a few seconds, then head out the back door. It took a couple of times for me to register that he’d been listening to a tui. The bird would sit in the large cherry tree by the clothesline, where a nectar feeder hung, and if the feeder was empty, the cheeky thing would actually call to Ryder, telling him to get his shit together and refill it.
Ryder invariably obliged.
I was living with fucking Doctor Dolittle.
