Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(50)

“You don’t think you could be faithful to one person?” Okay, this was good. Something negative about him.

“I could be faithful,” he said finally, staring into his glass. “I don’t ruin relationships by cheating. I just ruin them by leaving. But mostly I avoid them in the first place.”

“Why is that?”

His shoulders rose as he met my curious gaze. “I really don’t know.”

“Come on. There must be a reason.”

“When things start to get serious, I just get fidgety or something. I feel like it’s time to move on, so I do. I’ve never felt like this is it, this is the one I’ll want forever. It’s not just with relationships—it’s with jobs, apartments, cities. It’s like I’m never satisfied with where I am and always need the rush of a new thing.”

“But maybe you’re not giving the thing or the person you have a chance. Maybe the rush would be replaced by something even better.”

He thought about that for a minute. “But that’s a risk.”

I laughed. “Yeah. It is.”

“And what if I take it and feel nothing? Or what if I take it and I’m not good at it? Or what if I like the something better, but the other person doesn’t?” He shook his head. “My way is better for everyone involved.”

“In that case,” I said, “keep using those condoms. You should not get married or have kids.”

“Told you.” He lifted his glass to his lips. “By the way, I bought more at the gas station. Just putting that out there in case you felt like reconsidering the whole no-more-sex rule.”

“I won’t.” But my stomach jumped as I reached for my phone. “Give me a minute to call Winnie.”

“Wait, what about you? Do you want kids?”

“Sure. Someday.” I shrugged. “I loved growing up at Abelard and think it would be a great place to have a family. I want to teach my kids all the things I’ve learned about farming the land and family history. I want to take them on trips and cook with them . . .”

“You’d be good at that,” he said, nodding. “Teaching them things.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d be good at it too.”

“You do?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Sure. Look at the way you took care of me when I hurt my foot today.”

“Yeah, but you’re a grown adult. I mean, you’re small like a child, but you’re not a baby.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m trying to say something nice about you.”

He laughed. “Sorry. I just meant that taking care of you is not the same as being responsible for a baby. When I walked out of here, you were fine.”

“It is true that you cannot walk out on a baby.”

He cocked his head. “But I do sometimes think it would be fun to teach little kids to cook, like my dad taught me. I need some nieces or nephews or something.”

“You should do classes,” I suggested, “although they’d probably fill up with women hoping you’ll cook shirtless.”

He grinned. “Is that your way of requesting I get naked right now?”

“No.” I hit Winnie’s number. “Keep your clothes on, please.”

Gianni turned around again, whistling “Fever,” and I shook my head. It was actually good to hear him say all this stuff—it confirmed my opinion of him as the kind of guy who was never going to be right for me. I wanted commitment, he wanted freedom. I wanted a family, he wanted independence. I wanted deep roots, he wanted to be a tumbleweed.

When we left here tomorrow—and please, God, let it be tomorrow—he’d accept that TV show offer and tumble on back across the country to Hollywood . . . and from there, who knew? But I probably wouldn’t see him much once he was gone, and even if that tugged at my heart in a way I didn’t really like, I’d be fine. Better than fine. I bet my blood pressure would even get lower without him around to raise it every day.

When I got Winnie’s voicemail, I left her a message. “Hey, Win. We’re stuck here another night, but hopefully we’ll be on the road early tomorrow. The snow is supposed to slow down after midnight, and the towing company told Gianni they can get to us first thing in the morning. I hope everything is going okay there—call me if you can. Love you, and thanks for everything.”

After I set my phone down, I watched Gianni wipe out the sauce pan for a moment, but mere seconds had gone by when I started to feel that heat rising in me again. Suddenly I had the crazy urge to walk up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, press my cheek to his back.

What would his reaction be? Shock? Laughter? Confusion? Would he give me that cocky grin that said I knew it? Or would he be so surprised he wouldn’t even have a smart-ass response?

And what if this was my last chance to feel the way I’d felt last night? To experience that rush? To share my body so freely? To be that close to someone so warm and solid and beautiful?

I rose to my feet and walked toward him, unsteady on my one bad ankle, my hands clenched at my stomach, my pulse racing, my breath caught in my lungs.





THIRTEEN





GIANNI