Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(65)

It was fucking terrible! How could anyone like this feeling?

And why wasn’t it going away? Since our two days together at the motel, I’d done exactly what I’d said I would, which was leave her alone. I avoided the tasting room, because it was her space. In the kitchen, I was polite and respectful. If we ran into each other anywhere at work, I kept things friendly but formal. I never brought up our ancient history, I certainly never mentioned our recent history, and I kept my eyes where they belonged. Actually, I tried not to look at her too much at all, because looking at her made me think about touching her, and I’d sworn to keep my hands to myself.

It wasn’t easy.

I glanced at the calendar on the desk. It was mid-March, which meant I had just over two weeks left here. Would I make it without losing my mind?

What the fuck did you have to do to evict someone from your head?

I’d tried to distract myself with work—specifically, with training Felicity MacAllister, who would remain in charge of the kitchen at Etoile until the Fourniers found the right chef to replace me. They’d been disappointed when I asked to get out of my contract early, but they said they understood and wanted me to be happy. Every day, Felicity came in early to learn my routines, and every night, she worked alongside me. She was smart and creative, a quick study, asked excellent questions, had amazing recall and no ego. I had total confidence in her.

Which meant that work wasn’t a good enough distraction.

And I had to see Ellie there every night! Not that she paid me any mind. She did her job with a smile on her face, but the moment she came from the dining room into the kitchen, that smile would fade. She’d look at me for just a second, and sometimes I’d give her the old grin, hoping she’d smile back, but she’d quickly turn away, and my heart would sink.

Was she still intent on punishing me? It had been over a month already!

No. This cold silence between us was ridiculous. She was supposed to be the mature one, and she was acting like a child! I said I was sorry, and she said she forgave me, so why did we have to go around pretending like we were strangers? We’d had fun together, dammit! I fucking liked her.

Putting my pen down, I pushed my chair back and marched out of the office with my jaw clenched, determined to find her and end this nonsense.

She wasn’t in the dining room or tasting room, which was locked up and dark. In the lobby, I asked Kanani if she’d already gone home.

“I think she might be in the kitchen—the family kitchen,” she clarified, gesturing to a door that led to the private part of Abelard, where the Fournier family lived.

“Thanks,” I said, ignoring the sign on the door that said PRIVATE. I pushed it open and headed down the hall toward the kitchen, where the lights were still on.

When I burst in, I saw her sitting at the island, eating something that looked like a janky cake pop. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you.”

She glanced over her shoulder at me for half a second. “Why?”

I opened my mouth to go off on her, but got distracted by the thing in her hand. “Is that . . .” I squinted at it. “A spoon?”

“Yeah. Dipped in peanut butter and M&M’s.”

Then I noticed the jar of peanut butter and giant bag of M&M’s on the counter. “Interesting.”

She took a bite off it. “Did you come here to judge me?”

“No. I came to tell you something.” Mad all over again, I strode across the room and stood next to her, chest puffed up. “Stop avoiding me. I want to be friends again.”

She said nothing. Took another bite.

I raised one hand and gestured with it. “I know what I did was wrong, and I apologized. I’ve been good. I’ve kept my hands to myself, even though it’s been difficult. Because the thing is, Ellie, you’re hot, and I fucking like you. Okay? There it is. I like you, and I can’t just stop liking you—believe me, I have tried. So what do you say? Can we be friends again?” I tried the old grin. “Maybe even friends with benefits?”

She kept eating that stuff on the spoon.

“Okay, bad joke. Sorry—unless you want the benefits, in which case they are definitely available—but I’m just saying that this silence is ridiculous. We might not get along perfectly, but you have to admit we had a good fucking time at that motel, and I don’t see—”

“I’m pregnant, Gianni.”

“—any reason why we can’t . . .” Slowly, her words sank in. But they were out of place, not part of the script. “Wait, what did you say?”

She took another bite. “I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” I repeated, like I wasn’t sure what the word meant.

“Yes.” She looked at me over her shoulder. “Pregnant. With your baby.”

“That can’t be right.” My vision started to go gray at the edges. “We used a condom every time.”

“Almost every time.”

“No, we did! I remember! I put one on every single time!”

“If you recall, there were a few minutes where we were a little irresponsible.” She lifted her eyebrows, and in a heartbeat I had her back against that wall.

“But—but that was nothing! It was a moment of insanity! It was before the finish!”

“It was close enough.” She slid off the stool and walked around the other side of the island.