Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(59)

She came to the arched entrance where I stood, her back straight and her face impassive. Her hair was down, which surprised me. She looked beautiful, but I couldn’t help thinking she was even more stunning first thing in the morning, no makeup, her hair a mess, her skin warm and soft against mine.

“What do you need?” She kept her voice low. “I’m working.”

“Your hair looks pretty.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

I held out the flowers and candy. “I brought you some roses and M&M’s.”

She eyeballed them like they might explode or squirt water in her face. “Why?”

“Because I’m sorry. Because I want to be friends again. Because they didn’t have hedgehogs at Meijer.”

“Friendship cannot be bought, Gianni.”

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I told you—I don’t hate you.”

“Okay, well, I don’t want you to feel nothing for me.”

She tilted her head, her eyes penetrating mine. “What is it you’d like me to feel?”

“I don’t know. Something,” I said pathetically. “I don’t want you to walk away regretting everything.”

“Don’t you?”

“No! That was the most fun I’ve ever had with anyone. I didn’t want it to end—that’s why I lied.”

For a moment she said nothing, then she took a breath. “I had fun with you too, Gianni. I just don’t like being misled. I feel like you batted me around like a toy because you were bored.”

“That’s not it at all,” I insisted. “I just wanted you to myself a little longer, and I knew once we left that place, whatever we had would end. It was a dick move, and I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I told you the truth, I should have just left it alone.”

“I know why you told me the truth,” she said. Like it was obvious.

“You do?”

“Yes. To ruin things.”

“Why would I ruin things between us?”

“Because that’s what you do,” she reminded me. “Remember? You ruin things on purpose.”

“But that’s about relationships,” I said defensively. “That’s not about—about what we have.”

She raised her hands. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just leave what happened between us where it belongs, back in room thirteen at the Pineview Motel.”

Exhaling, I dropped my eyes to the floor and noticed she wore flats instead of heels. “How’s your ankle?”

“A little sore.”

“You shouldn’t stand all day. Can you sit behind the counter?”

“Maybe. But I should get back in there. Are we done?”

“I guess. I came here to make things better, but I’m only making them worse.” I searched her eyes. “Will you accept my apology?”

“Yes. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“We go back to being co-workers, nothing more. And nothing like that ever happens again—you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Fine.”

“I’m not done. I want you to be professional around here. Stop giving me a hard time. No more coming in here just to fuck with me—this is my space. You stay out of it.”

“I can do that. Scout’s honor.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You were a Boy Scout?”

“For about ten minutes. Until the snacks ran out.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. I have one more condition.”

“Name it.”

“You accept the offer to do Hot Mess.”

I cocked my head. “You really want to get rid of me, don’t you?”

“I just want you to go where you belong, Gianni. You know you’re not going to stay here, so why drag it out? You did what you had to do—opened Etoile. Started the fire. Now that it’s burning, you’re free to go. There’s no reason to stay, right?” Her tone was defiant, almost like she was daring me to argue with her.

“I guess not.”

“So go.”

I nodded, even though something about this felt off. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Good. Then I’ll accept your apology.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I have to get back in there. I’ll be up in time for the first seating.”

“Okay.”

Then she surprised me by taking the roses and M&M’s from my hands.

“I thought friendship couldn’t be bought,” I said.

She hugged them to her chest. “We’re not friends.” Then she turned and walked away, leaving me with a smile on my face.

And an ache in my chest.





SIXTEEN





ELLIE





Later that night, after I was finished at Etoile, I met up with Winnie in the kitchen—my family’s personal kitchen, not the one at the restaurant, where Gianni was still closing up. I was exhausted, but I’d promised Winnie we could have a glass of wine so I could give her the full scoop on the last two days.

I opened a bottle of wine, poured two glasses, and put some light snacks on a platter for us—cheese, crackers, nuts, dried fruit, olives. It reminded me of sitting on the bed with Gianni, a pile of gas station snacks between us. Definitely less sophisticated, but no less tasty in the moment. I remembered his idea about a tasting with good wine and inexpensive snacks—I still liked it. Maybe I’d add it to the summer lineup of events.