“What’s that?”

“I can have a beer instead.”

“You don’t like the wine?”

I shrug. “It’s just not really me.”

His smile widens so his teeth gleam in the candlelight. “Deal.”

When Craig appears through the door a moment later to lay our first course on the table—seasoned scallops in their shell—James hands him back the remaining wine in the bottle. Sensing a complaint, Craig immediately looks defensive.

“Something wrong with the wine, sir?”

“No, not at all. We’ve just decided we’d rather have a beer each, thanks.”

“A beer, sir?” Craig hesitates, unsure.

“Yes, whatever you have on tap will be fine. And don’t worry,” James reassures him, “I’ll still pay for the wine.”

“Should I just…tip it down the sink?” He seems to balk at the very thought.

“God no. At that price someone should enjoy it. Why don’t you and the chef finish off the rest.”

“Oh no, we’re not allowed to drink while working.”

James shrugs. “Then take it back to your room after you knock off. It’s yours to do whatever you want with. I’m gifting it to you. Enjoy.”

Craig gives a small smile and nods. “In that case, thank you, sir. Enjoy your starters.” He backs out of the room holding the bottle carefully.

I smile at James.

“What?”

“That was nice of you.”

“I’m a nice guy.”

“Yes. You are.”

I watch him eat his scallops with gusto, the juices running down his chin before he dabs at them with a serviette, murmuring his delight as he eats. He is incredible. Not only is he the most ridiculously good-looking man I have ever met and been attracted to, but he is kind, and generous, and just a really good all-round person.

I really like him. As in like, like. The realization hits like a ton of bricks and I feel my whole body clench with it. Why? Why now? He has come into my life with the most lousy of timing, and he is making me crave desperately things that I can never have.

I push back my chair and stand. “Excuse me. I need some air.”

“Are you OK?”

But I can’t answer him, only nod as I walk quickly toward the open doors and the deck outside. Grasping tightly onto the railing, I squeeze my eyes and will myself to hold it together. The last thing I want to do is make a scene of myself, and make him feel uncomfortable. He has done such a nice thing, bringing me here. I don’t want to make things awkward.

“Ava? What’s wrong?”

He has come to stand beside me, and I have a strong urge to turn and bury myself in his arms. I remember how it felt when he carried me across the paddock, and I long for that feeling again. Instead, I force on a smile and loosen my grip on the railing, relaxing against it.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I’m sorry, I just got a little light-headed. Maybe the wine was a bit much.”