Free Almost Mine by Lea Darragh Page A

bedroom, was set up and ready for a baby; the lemon yellow room with white furniture awaited a precious son or daughter. The others were left bare and painted antique white so that the excitement of decorating a nursery could be felt with every new addition to our family.
    A large floor-to-ceiling-cream-tiled bathroom with ample amenities for a handful of growing children was also on the top floor, equipped to keep any messy teenage boys or make-up-exploring girls happy.
    A visitor to the Mathieson’s Vineyard would be safe to assume that the farmhouse style homestead had stood proud in its position at the head of the driveway for over a hundred years; it took on an old world charm, not looking the mere twenty-four months old that it was.
    It was late afternoon, and, as I nailed on our ‘Welcome Home’ sign beside our timber leadlight door, Nick came to stand with me. He’d been building a surprise in the back shed and smelled of timber shavings and hard work, something that I had come to recognise only on my exhaustless husband.
    ‘Looks good,’ he grinned widely and wrapped his arms around my waist. I tapped my chin distractedly and tilted my head to one side before stepping forward. Lifting the right corner of the sign, I straightened it a millimetre before stepping back into Nick’s arms.
    ‘Now it looks good,’ I announced up at him, satisfied. He chuckled and kissed my smiling mouth.
    ‘I love you,’ he whispered.
    ‘I love you, too,’ I whispered back. It was true, I did love him, I was sure of it, and I held Nick’s gaze like I always did when the words were spoken, just so that I could gauge his belief within them. Then Nick spoke, attempting to hide a smile that was pulling on the corners of his lips.
    ‘You know, that’s the first time that I might actually believe you,’ he said, grinning now almost victoriously. Despite the fact that delight was spreading across his entire face, I still felt my guilt weighing heavily.
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘It’s ok, angel,’ he pulled me close, ‘now, come and take a walk with me. I have something to show you.’
    ‘But it’s about to rain,’ I complained as he tugged on my hand, leaving no room for discussion.
    He guided me down the eight hardwood stairs that were almost as wide as the front veranda was long — making for a grand entrance to our no-expense-spared homestead — continuing across our sandy, turn-around driveway and past our new black Jeep Patriot; more of a family car than his two-seater ute. Light rain began to cover our hair and shoulders with tiny beads of mist as he guided me down to the end of the winding path that led to his own work that he’d completed earlier that day. He proudly presented me with our mini wine barrel letterbox. On it he had beautifully inscribed the words ‘The Mathieson’s’ followed by the message, ‘Better Late than Never.’ Of course the mail delivery around this off-the-beaten-track town left a lot to be desired, but the message seemed to now be anambiguous one. I stared at the words, in awe of my husband and his ability to keep his sense of humour, even when it came down to something as serious as this.
    He took my in his arms. ‘So, what do you think?’
    I had to clear my throat. ‘It’s amazing,’ I whispered as tears wet my cold face. Nick turned me into him.
    ‘What is it, angel?’ he hushed me. I took in every part of his face, of his softened blue eyes and slightly upturned amused mouth, his crinkles around his eyes that deepened with happy adoration whenever I was in his presence. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, ignoring the rain that had just begun to trickle down our skin. He pulled me against him, allowing his warm lips to calm my trembling own. ‘Please, don’t cry. It begins now. We have this home, we have this winery, and soon we’ll have the family that we created all of this for.’
    He kissed me at our letterbox at the foot of the abundant garden before