Zander

Sweat drips into my eyes as I slice the axe through the large chunk of wood. The splintering sound of the wood echoes, followed by a bubbly giggle. Cupping my hand in a half-moon shape over my eyes, I peer over the pile of wood at my niece who is playing a one-sided chasing game with my dog, Diesel.

"Hey!" I call out to her, my deep voice startling her. She stops abruptly, glancing over her shoulder, sending her curly hair flying around her face. "Where's your hat?"

She does a dramatic eye roll before plucking the floppy hat up from its spot in the grass and yanking it over her head. She might only be five years old, but she has the attitude of a teenager.

"I'm hungry," Mila complains, pouting her lips in a way that certainly would get her what she wants from my sister and brother-in-law.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, I glance down to the piles of wood around me that needs to be split by tomorrow.

"Pleaaaaaase!"

"Fine, fine," I yield, pulling up the bottom of my shirt and dabbing at the excess sweat that has accumulated over my brow.

Mila lets out a delighted squeal, rushing towards the back porch, Diesel happily trotting behind her. He may have a tough outer exterior, but he is soft as a marshmallow when it comes to my golden-haired niece. Her rosy cheeks and toothless smile are enough to make even the coldest people, and dogs, thaw.

The wooden floorboards groan with each of my steps as I walk through to the kitchen, snagging my keys from the bench. The house is old, and needed renovations ten years ago, but it was a space that was purely and utterly mine. It may be weathered, leak when it rains too heavy, and have a few missing tiles here and there, but it's home. The place I can come to get away from everyone and everything.

"Hurry up, Uncle Z!"

Well. Almost everyone.

I swig down almost an entire stubby of beer and follow my niece out. I offer Diesel a quick pat on the head before shutting the door. Mila climbs into the babysit which looks extremely out of place in my old, rusted truck.

The engine has barely rumbled to life when the Frozen soundtrack starts blaring from my speakers. I side-eye my niece whose smile is stretched from ear to ear as she sings. The time flashes in faded red numbers from my dashboard, and I realise it's almost time to drop Mila back home.

The trip into town is usually short but feels twice as long when 'Let it Go' is blaring at full volume. With my arm hung loosely over the wheel, my gaze skims across the endless, brown-grassed paddocks. If it doesn't rain soon, we are going to spiral into another drought. A lot of us farmers haven't long recovered from the last one.

The sun is hot and unrelenting today, which is felt even stronger in my truck that hasn't had a functioning air conditioning for about three years. I lean across and wind down the window for Mila. Her face lights up as the warm breeze washes over her face.

As we cruise through town, I raise a finger in a 'hello' gesture as I pass by the locals. It seems to be busy in town today. Everyone appears to be shopping for the same things at the same time.

We pull up in front of the ice cream store that's owned by a woman who has known me since I was in diapers. Honestly, that can be said about a lot of the people in this town. I can recite the first and last name of every resident in Glendale. Even their kids' names. As hard as I try to stay off everyone's radars, it became near impossible when I had the stupid idea to take over the local pub.

Mila basically catapults herself from the car in excitement, and I swoop down and grab her arm before her knees scrape across the cement. One thing is for sure, I can never turn my eyes away from this kid. She gets herself into almost as much trouble as I did back in the day.

As I enter the shop, I see my reflection in the shop window and realise I'm covered head-to-toe in red dirt and grime, but that's not anything unusual for me, or half the people in town.

"What flavour are you feeling today, Miss?" I ask her, squatting down beside her as she presses her face against the glass.

After I let her pick one for me, we head over to the table and chairs. The ice cream has already started to melt by the time we sit. The bell above the door rings, and when I look up, I internally groan.

Veronica is all legs and dark hair. Her eyes land on mine immediately, and I give her an awkward tight-lipped smile. After months of begging, I finally let my sister set us up on a date. She was fine. More than fine. But dating—relationships—they're not for me. Never have been. Veronica doesn't understand this. To make things worse, she dated Nathan all through and three years post high school, who happens to be my childhood-friend-turned-nemesis. That's half the reason I didn't want to get involved with her—too much drama.

History between Nathan and I go way back to high school rivalry. Grades, girls, sport. It progressed to new heights when I kissed his younger sister behind a candy floss van at the local fair. This stupid rivalry continued into adulthood, our farms competing, and even our other side businesses. It seems no matter what one does, the other must counter it in some way.

The moment Mila has finished licking her spoon clean, I discard the rubbish, and haul her into my arms, escaping the tiny ice cream store as fast as I can.

The dust is circling above Maya's driveaway when I arrive, meaning she has only gotten home recently. She greets me at the door.

"Thanks a bunch for having her today," she smiles at me, taking Mila into her arms, and pressing a kiss into her hairline. Mila is a spitting-image of my sister. Rosy cheeks and light blonde hair. I took after our father in the looks department—tall and dark. "Did you have a nice day?"

"Yes!" Mila beams, licking her lips in hopes to find some remaining ice cream left there.

"She was good. Got some ice cream as a reward," I reply.

"Lucky girl," my sister smiles. "How are you doing, Z? You look tired."

"That's because I am."

"Late nights with a certain someone?" she asks, raising her eyebrows, a sly grin tilting the corners of her mouth.

"Veronica and I aren't going to happen."

Maya makes a disgruntled tsk sound. "Of course not. Because she wants to settle and news flash: You don't."

I rub my hand cross my face. "I don't like dealing with others. You know that."

We have had this conversation countless times. She purses her lips at me, narrowing those eyes that are so like our mother's, shaking her head.

"I'm worried that you're lonely, Zander."

I flinch. The conversation never goes in this direction. I step back, adjusting my cap.

"I like being on my own. Always have."

"Things will change one day," says Maya, her soft, pitying gaze making me feel nauseous. "You just need to meet the right person."

"Mmhmm," I mutter. "I gotta' go."

"Sure." She replies, adjusting a squirming Mila on her hip. "Thanks again. For today."

"Any time."

Since we lost both our parents in a fatal accident, we have been each other's support. We'd always been close, but we are next level close now.

"Love you, Z," she calls out to me.

I throw my hand up as a response, sliding behind the wheel. I take the familiar route to the local pub that I've owned for the past two years. I ignore the fact that the chores at home still need to be done, no matter what time I get back there, but that's a future me problem.

A few tables are filled when I enter by the same people who are always here. Angela smiles at me and throws an overused rag over her shoulder.

"Hey, Boss Man." She places a schooner under the tap before sliding the glass across the bench.

I nod at her, taking a sip. The beer is cool and crisp on my tongue. I try my best not to let my sister's words hit too close to home, although they certainly did, as much as I hate to admit it.

As much as I dislike having to socialise, I enjoy owning the pub. It's a lot of hard work, but it keeps me busy, which I like. Farming gets old quickly when we have a drought every few months.

Draining the beer, I head out to the office, and grab some of the files I need to sort through before making my way back home.

Pulling another beer from the fridge, I sit down out the back. The sounds of Diesel's toenails scraping against the porch sound before he collapses in a huff at my feet. I reach down and scratch behind his ears.

"It's just me and you, mate." I say softly. "Just how I like it."

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