Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(10)

“Don’t worry about it.” I reached up to close the hatch, and she grabbed my arm.

“Gianni, what is it?”

“It’s just an appetizer. I had all the ingredients because I was planning to make it at my parents’ house tonight. Those are the plans I had to cancel.” I paused for effect. “You’re welcome.”

She looked scandalized. “We can’t bring food!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s insulting! The hostess is cooking.”

“I’ll just offer. If she turns me down, fine.”

“What is it?”

“Prawn and chive dumplings with sake butter and ponzu sauce.”

She scowled. “That sounds delicious.”

I laughed at her mad face. “They are. I thought they’d be a nice surprise, but if you want me to take them out, I will.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure everyone will love them, and I can pair them with the sparkling white. Just . . . just don’t make tonight about you, okay?”

“It’s just some dumplings, Ellie.”

“I know, but you have this way of—of sucking up all the energy in a room. You’re entertaining without even trying to be, so just stay in the background and don’t be charming,” she begged. “Don’t even smile.”

“I will be a bump on a log. Now will you let go of me so I can shut this and we’re not late?”

Reluctantly, she took her hands off my arm, but she stayed right there while I shut the hatch, as if she didn’t trust me not to add any other illegal cargo to her ship.

Once it was closed, I turned to face her. Snowflakes floated down around her. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and her skin seemed paler than usual—was she nervous?

“What’s wrong?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said, her brown eyes troubled. “I just have a weird feeling.”

“I thought you had a feeling that tonight was going to change your life.”

“I did. I do. I just . . .” She shivered. “I have this other feeling that something could go wrong.”

“The weather?” I looked up at the gray sky. “Come on, it’s barely snowing. These are just flurries.” I thumped a hand on the back of my car. “She’s sturdy. We’ll be fine.”

“Aren’t you the one who said I should cancel?”

“I changed my mind.” Taking her by the shoulders, I turned her around and steered her to the passenger door, which I opened for her. “I turned the seat warmer on for you. Get in and toast your buns. Leave the rest to me.”

“Okay.”

“If you want, I can give you some lessons in charm on the drive.”

She rolled her eyes and hopped up into the front seat. “Wow. It is nice and warm.”

“See? Now relax. Everything is gonna be great.” I shut the door, hustled around to the driver’s side, and we headed out.





Abelard Vineyards was located mid-way up Old Mission Peninsula, a narrow, eighteen-mile strip of land jutting into Grand Traverse Bay. Its gently rolling hills and surrounding waters not only gave it gorgeous views, but a microclimate that was particularly suited for growing grapes and other fruit. We passed several other wineries and farms on the twenty-minute drive to Traverse City, as well as some luxury vacation homes. Ellie seemed distracted by the scenery for a while, but the moment I exited the highway, she snapped to attention.

“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing around. “This isn’t the way.”

“I have to stop by my apartment real quick.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to show up in jeans, okay?” I turned into my complex.

“Why didn’t you do this sooner?”

“Two minutes, and we’ll be on the road again. Promise.”

She remained silent as I pulled into a spot in front of my building, arms folded over her chest.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked, unbuckling my seatbelt.

“No.”

“I’ll leave the car on so you have heat.” I opened the door and started to get out.

“Wait, I’ll come in,” she said, opening her door too. “I forgot to go to the bathroom at Abelard, and it’s a long drive.”

“Okay.” I shut off the engine and grabbed the key fob, locking the doors behind us.

Ellie followed me into my apartment and looked around. It wasn’t a big place—one bedroom, one bath, small living room and kitchen right behind it—but it was enough room for me.

“Kinda sparse,” she said, taking in my couch, coffee table, and lamp, which was really the only furniture I had.

“Yeah, it’s just a few things my parents gave me from their house. I didn’t know how long I was going to be here, so I didn’t want to buy too much.” After ditching my boots, I went around the corner into my bedroom, gesturing to a door off the hall. “Bathroom is right there.”

“Thanks.”

Inside my room, I took off my coat, lifted my sweater over my head, and tossed it onto my unmade bed. Kicking the door shut with my foot, I traded my jeans for a pair of dress pants and yanked a clean white shirt from a hanger. After buttoning up and tucking in, I zipped up my pants and grabbed a nicer belt.