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“How so?”
“He’s a bartender and also like Ryan Turner esquire running his historic sheep station in Ballydoon with thousands of livestock with his family, and yet he’s pulling beers behind the bar. Bit like you now.”
I avoided Blake’s observation unnerving.
I had no idea why Ryan worked at the pub when he was also a mechanic and had to run his property.
“Not like my place is anything like the Turner’s.” I found cooking oil in with the coffee cups. “I will have to take everything out, clean it all and then organise the cupboards.”
Blake chuckled. “Right on, Martha Stewart.”
I was about to chip him for that comment but caught him staring at the counter where a fly was checking out breadcrumbs, then to the fruit bowl on the kitchen table.
Jesus, I had a fruit bowl now.
My life once fitted into motorbike panniers, and now I was the owner of an amber glass retro fruit bowl, dish drainers and welcome mats at the front door.
The Turners had fruit bowls and dish drainers and welcome mats.
My eyes pinged between the fly-humping stale breadcrumbs and the fruit bowl, unsure of what to do.
You idiot, shoo the fly, clean the bench, get the snags!
“Should’ve got you a housewarming present,” Blake mused. “That’s what you do, right?”
I quickly wiped down the countertop and the fly took off. “Honestly, I have no idea.”
We both laughed as I threw the washcloth on the dish drainer. Blake’s gaze strayed to the fridge where I had a magnetised calendar from a real estate agent, a shopping list scrawled in pen and a reminder to go to the hardware store in town.
I had lists now. And household maintenance.
“How do you do it?” Blake asked.
“Do what?”
“Just stay in one place?”
His gaze then strayed to the fruit bowl. Fruit bowls were for people who intended to stay in one place.
“Not sure, to tell the truth. I’ll be able to tell you in a month or two. Feels weird not looking at the jobs boards or getting texts about shearing down south.”
Our contractor would be texting us daily at the moment with work on various properties. Blake and I could afford to be selective too, knowing we were in demand with our good reputation.
Right on cue, Blake’s phone pinged with a message. He glanced at the screen. “Huh. Looks like South Australia will need shearers earlier than thought this year.” He pocketed his phone and looked around the room again. “But you’re not coming, are you?”
I shook my head. “Think I’ll make a go of it here. Besides, throwing drunks out of the pub is just like sending a cranky ram on its way down the chute.”
Blake snorted, not looking me in the eye. “You know, seeing Theo again makes you think about what we were like back in the day.”
“We were two little shits.”
We both laughed. “That we were.”
“And now?”
“We scrub up alright.”
We laughed again, and I heated the frypan. “You’re always welcome here, whenever you need.”
