Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(3)

“That’s probably a good idea. This storm looks big.”

“Didn’t you just say the news was full of made-up problems?”

“Yeah.” I flashed the screen at her. “But this isn’t a made-up problem. This is a polar vortex.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not canceling.”

“Ell, I get that the opportunity is important to you, and that you love to disagree with me whenever possible, but it’s not worth spinning out on an icy highway or sliding into a ditch.”

“I’m going.” Her eyes blazed with determination. “The snow isn’t supposed to start until ten or so anyway, and the tasting is at six. I’ll probably be back home in my pajamas with a cup of hot tea before we get an inch or two. I don’t even know why I mentioned it.”

But I heard the shaky note in her voice and looked at my phone again. According to my weather app, Ellie was right and the worst of it wouldn’t reach northern Michigan until later tonight—but that could change. Weather was unpredictable. “I still think you should reschedule.”

“Well, you’re not the boss of me.” She folded her arms. “And if something was this important to you, I know you’d find a way to get there.”

“It’s really that important to you?”

“Yes!” She threw her hands in the air. “I can’t explain it, but I just know that somehow, tonight will change my life. Look, I know this place doesn’t matter to you like it does to me, and Etoile is just a temporary diversion for you while you weigh your next big Hollywood career move, but this is it for me, Gianni. This is my dream and my family legacy, and I want to give it everything I have.”

“Abelard matters to me too,” I said defensively. “Just because I don’t want to spend my life or career in one place doesn’t mean I don’t care.” I made a split-second decision. “I’ll take you tonight.”

The scowl was back. “No. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not letting you drive more than a hundred miles north in a blizzard tonight by yourself, Ellie. In what car?”

“Mine.”

“Your little Honda? That thing looks like a toy. I had Matchbox cars bigger than that.”

“Not all of us can afford a fancy new SUV.”

“My SUV isn’t new or fancy, but it does have good snow tires. I’m driving you.” I stuck my phone back in my pocket like the matter was settled.

Ellie continued to glare at me. “This is you not listening again, Gianni. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Yes, you do. Remember Tommy Tootag from grade school?”

“What about him?”

“He stole your Scholastic book fair money in third grade.”

“Gianni, you stole my Scholastic book fair money in third grade. Then you gave it back to me because I threatened to tell on you.”

I shook my head. “The money I gave you was mine. Tommy Tootag took yours.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because Tootag was a fifth grader and he was fucking huge—he had a beard already.” I shrugged. “And you were crying. I felt bad.”

Her expression softened—slightly. “Well, thank you for the book money, but I’m not eight anymore. I can take care of myself.”

When she turned around like the matter was settled, I changed tactics. “Stop being so selfish.”

She whirled to face me again, her mouth agape. “Selfish!”

“Yeah. Tonight is my night off, you know, and I had plans with my dad. But how am I supposed to enjoy them when all I’d be doing is picturing you shivering beneath an overpass, wishing you’d have listened to me?” I gave her a little performance just for fun. “Gianni . . . Gianni,” I moaned pitifully, “why didn’t I believe you? I’m sorry . . . you were right all along.”

“That is ridiculous.” But her lips were dangerously close to a smile.

“No, it isn’t. And I’d feel terrible. Your parents would never forgive me. In fact, I’d probably lose my job, and soon I’d be poor and homeless. Hot girls wouldn’t go out on dates with me, I’d never have sex again—for fuck’s sake, I might as well join the priesthood at that point. No one would ever taste my cooking again. And it would be all your fault, which is why I will cancel my plans in order to chauffeur your ass safely to Harbor Springs and back.”

“Give me a break. You would never join the priesthood.”

“What if you got a flat tire?” I persisted. “What if you ran out of gas? What if you were driving perfectly safe but someone skidded out of control and hit you?”

She chewed on her lip, and I could see her resolve start to melt.

“It’s safer to go together,” I told her with finality. “You know your dad would feel better if I took you. Go ahead and text him right now. See what he says.”

She didn’t even get her phone out because she knew I was right.

“I’m not asking you to do this,” she said quickly. “Just so we’re clear.”

“I know—it’s a gesture, Ellie. A nice, gentlemanly gesture, like giving you my Scholastic book fair money. Jeez.”