A Southern Star by Anya Forest Read Free Book Online Page B

enthralled by the day, the scenery, the bay itself. I can at least relax for one evening , she thought, smiling to herself as she realised her thoughts unconsciously echoed Blake’s words.  
    “That would be great,” she said.  
    “Watch it,” he replied, instantly teasing her, trying again to move past the reserve she had put up. “Too much of that and I might get the wrong idea.”  
    “I’d soon put you right, don’t worry,” Christie shot back. I know you would , he thought silently.
    Thirty minutes later, Blake placed a plate of sausages, instant pasta and buttered bread in front of Christie. “Fine dining,” Blake said, deadpan. Christie looked up quickly as Blake named one of Auckland’s best restaurants. One that she had frequently been to with Paul.  
    She hid the questioning look on her face, smiled up at Blake, continuing the joke, gesturing to her bottled water, asking Blake to send the wine waiter. Christie blushed as Blake put a miniature bottle of wine in front of her, looked up at him, realising he had clearly packed the wine knowing she would be here. His eyes were intent on hers.  
    “Do hunters drink wine?” she said lightly, her heart pounding.  
    “It’s for you,” Blake said bluntly. “And it’s still sealed, so no worries there.”
    Suddenly unable to speak, Christie reached for the miniature bottle and the small plastic cup Blake had also placed on the table. She noticed Blake had opened a bottle of beer, had already started his meal. Christie ate silently, embarrassed at Blake’s joking reference to her caution at the pub, at the way he had insisted on cooking the meal tonight, accepting no help from her, leaving her with nothing to do but simply stand and watch. She had barely registered the other tourists in the hut, focused completely on talking to Blake, deliberately shutting Paul from her mind. Blake had continued the conversation, asking her about her plans for the next day, continuing to discuss a wide range of subjects.
    Except himself, Christie thought now. “So if you’re just visiting Tony, are you working on the island?” she asked casually.  
    Blake shook his head, suddenly watchful. “I work just out of Arrowtown,” he replied.
      Quickly, she tried to recall what little she knew about that area of the South Island. “So do you work in a vineyard? Or an orchard?” she asked, genuinely interested, suddenly remembering that area was also known for adventure tourism.  
    Blake smiled slightly. “A vineyard,” he replied, before Christie could ask about tourism.  
    “You help with the harvest,” she guessed, aware of Blake’s love of the outdoors.  
    Blake inclined his head, saying nothing. Christie smiled, assuming she had guessed correctly, realising the opening he had given her by bringing out the wine. “So is this the vineyard you work in?” she asked, gesturing to the wine. Blake looked at her, hesitating slightly before shaking his head. Christie listened as he spoke about the vineyard near Arrowtown, fascinated by his stories, asking more questions. A thought struck her. “That’s the wine you got me at the pub,” she said, embarrassed as she remembered her comment about the wine not being one she would choose.  
    Blake nodded. “Why wouldn’t you have chosen it yourself?” he asked calmly, obviously remembering her comment. Christie apologised, realising again how rude she had been. Blake shrugged. “Tell me why.”  
      Christie took a deep breath. “The label,” she said quietly, blushing as Blake laughed.
      “But you said you enjoyed the wine, Christie, that’s the important thing, not the label.”  
    Defensive, uncomfortably wondering if he was provoking her, Christie explained.
    “The label is so similar to two other brands,” she said, naming them. “And it doesn’t mention where the wine is made, which is the main point of difference, when you look at where the other two are made. Especially for the pinot noir.