The air had mellowed into that honeyed late-afternoon glow that only Margaret River seemed capable of. The vines shimmered in rows of deep and light greens, leaves rustling with the sea breeze drifting inland from the coast.
A kookaburra cackled somewhere in the distance, mocking, supportive, who could tell?
Noah’s gaze swept over the rows, his whole posture relaxing into something I’d learned to recognise as deep contentment.“Vines are happy this year,” he said. “Best growth we’ve had in a decade.”
“Must be because of the excellent management,” I teased.
He tilted his head. “Funny. Izzy said the same thing. Except she phrased it as, ‘Maybe they’re finally responding to you not being a total grump for once.’”
I smiled. “Accurate.”
He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side,” I said, looping my arm casually through his. “I just also enjoy teasing you.”
He let out a resigned laugh, and the sound warmed something deep inside me.
We kept walking, the hum of the estate fading into the distance, the distant chatter from the cellar door, the faint whir of a drone that a tourist was almost certainly not licensed to fly over farmland.
Everything felt alive. Abundant, and thriving.
Just like the estate itself.
“It’s wild,” I murmured to him, glancing out over the rows. “Six months ago, everything was so different. Now look at it. New bookings every day. Private tastings. That magazine feature.”
“And a waiting list for your weddings,” Noah reminded me.
“Well, yes,” I said with as much humility as I could muster, which admittedly wasn’t much. “But your wines are the reason people come. Sophie’s labels are everywhere now. It’s like the brand has its own heartbeat.”
He looked proud, though he’d never have called attention to it. Something about that made my chest ache in the nicest possible way.
We drifted farther than usual, down where the land started to dip into a shallow bowl of eucalyptus trees and rocks. The sun hit at just the right angle, painting everything in amber.
Noah slowed, his brow furrowed. “Haven’t been down here in a while.”
I followed his gaze. “Is this the area you said your grandfather used to disappear to?”
“Yeah,” he said. “For hours. He’d tell everyone he was doing ‘field adjustments,’ which absolutely meant nothing.”
“Maybe he buried treasure,” I said jokingly.
“Well,” he said instantly, deadpan. “Then we’d be the poorest treasure hunters in Western Australia.”
“True,” I admitted. “Sophie would design a beautiful treasure map, though.”
“She would,” he said proudly. “She’s good here.”
We stood together for a bit, watching the breeze ripple through the gum leaves overhead, the sunlight filtering down in soft shifting patches across the grass.
Noah stepped closer almost absentmindedly, like his body had made the decision before the rest of him caught up. His arm slid around my back, drawing me gently into his side.
We wandered a little farther, our hands lightly linked, swinging between us.
“That crest there,” Noah said, nodding towards a cluster of rocks, “he used to sit on it like it was his personal throne. Wouldn’t let us kids climb it when he was up there.”
“Maybe he was hiding something.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Although knowing him, it was probably a hip flask.”
