Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(56)

“You can stop talking, Gianni. I’ll never believe another word you say.” She was eerily calm as she crossed in front of me on her way to the bathroom. “Get dressed. I want to leave in the next five minutes.”

Then the bathroom door slammed shut.

I sank onto the bed and dropped my head into my hands. What the actual fuck was I doing? Why had I confessed? All I had to do was go outside and pretend the car started this morning. Maybe she’d have been a little suspicious, but she’d probably have been so glad we didn’t have to wait for a tow truck, her joy would have overshadowed her doubt.

Now she hated me again.

I fell onto my back and threw an arm over my eyes. This sucked. Usually, I ducked out of relationships before the other person involved really cared, and I was always careful not to mess around with anyone I worked with. It was too awkward seeing them in the kitchen the next day, and that was a space where I wanted a clear head, the respect of the staff, and positive energy. By telling Ellie what I’d done, I’d not only made things awkward between us, I’d ruined our friendship and polluted our working relationship.

Exhaling, I hauled myself to my feet and scrounged through my bag for some clothes to throw on—underwear, jeans, T-shirt, sweater. As I pulled it over my head, I remembered how she’d looked in it, how she’d worn it with nothing underneath, how I’d chased her around the room and pinned her beneath me and eventually tore the sweater right off her.

I pulled the collar over my nose and mouth, hoping it still smelled like her, but it didn’t.

Slowly, I pulled on my coat, boots, hat and gloves, grabbed the keys from my pocket, and went outside to dig my undead car from its snowy grave.





The ride back to Abelard was long, tense, and silent. The storm was over now. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, although the temperature was close to zero, with a windchill of eighteen below.

But that was nothing compared to the arctic air in the front seat of my car, where Ellie sat bundled up in the passenger seat with her knees pressed together, her arms folded over her chest, and her face turned toward the window.

A few times, I tried talking to her. Results varied.

“Ellie. Can we talk about it?”

Stone cold silence.

“I’m really sorry about everything. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

She harrumphed, and that was it.

“I confessed and apologized, didn’t I? Shouldn’t that count for something? You never would have known if I hadn’t said anything.”

“Because I’m a fool, right?”

Shit, that came out wrong. “No! That’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to show you that I told the truth voluntarily. I didn’t get caught.”

“Good for you. But I’m fresh out of gold stars.”

“Tell me what I can say or do to make it up to you,” I begged.

“You can stop talking.”

Exhaling, I gave it a couple minutes and tried again. “I didn’t think you’d be so mad.”

That earned me a sharp look. “I guess you don’t know me very well.”

“Yes, I do, Ellie! I know you better now than I ever have.”

“Ha!”

“I know how badly you wanted the Tastemaker thing, not for your own ego, but for the good of your family business. I know how disappointed you were with the way things turned out. I know you put your heart and soul into everything you do at Abelard because you love it and you never want to leave it. I know you feel like you’ll never be as perfect as your mother expects you to be—which you’re wrong about, but I’ll just shut up about that—and I know what you look like naked, what your skin feels like against mine, how you like to be touched, and what sounds you make when you have an orgasm, so don’t tell me I don’t know you very well!” I’d managed all of that in nearly one breath and felt my heart beating hard inside my chest.

In response, Ellie reached over and turned up the radio.

I turned it down. “At least say you hate me or something.”

“I hate you. Feel better?”

“No,” I admitted.

She stared straight ahead and sighed. “You know what? I don’t hate you. I feel nothing, which is even better.”

I glanced at her. Her profile was set hard.

A minute later, when she turned up the radio again, I didn’t touch it.





When we pulled up at Abelard, it was just after ten. Someone had been there with a plow already, and most of the lot was cleared, a huge mountain of snow over on one side. I pulled up close to the kitchen and turned off the engine.

Immediately, Ellie reached for the door handle and I reached over, placing a hand on her leg.

“Don’t,” she said, pushing my hand off her.

“Are you going to give me the silent treatment forever? We have to work together, Ellie.”

“Only until you leave, and the sooner the better.”

“Even if I take that show offer, I won’t go until April.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled. “Fine. I can be professional until you go. But that’s it. We’re not friends.”

The pit in my stomach widened. “Why can’t we be friends?”

“We’re too different, Gianni.” Her voice had lost its edge. “What happened at the motel was a mistake.”