Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(68)

“I wish things were different.”

She forced something like a smile as she wiped her eyes. “Well, like you said. We had a good fucking time at that motel.”

“It was more than that,” I said quietly.

“Don’t.” Her voice trembled. “Please don’t.”

My hands were clenched into fists at my side. At that moment, I nearly said to hell with it and vaulted that island so I could get my arms around her, but told myself to respect her body and her wish. I’d done enough damage, hadn’t I?

Forcing myself to turn around, I pushed the kitchen door open and walked away.





I barely slept that night, and when I woke up feeling like a zombie, I remembered why in an instant.

A baby. Ellie was pregnant with my baby.

And I was terrified.

I wasn’t prepared to be a father. I was only twenty-three! I still felt like a kid myself! And speaking of babies, I’d never changed a diaper. Or fed an infant a bottle. Or helped a kid get dressed or cross the street or read a story.

Babies were so fragile! You had to hold them a certain way or their heads would fall right off their necks. I didn’t know how to hold a baby!

I didn’t know anything.

Plus, I’d been a fucking hellion as a kid—a smart-ass, rule-breaking, back-talking, brother-punching, umbrella-smashing little asshole. What business did I have trying to raise a child?

I was immature and vain and egotistical. Food and sex were my two favorite things. I had a hot temper. I liked to sleep in. I threw darks and whites into the washing machine at once. I forgot to recycle. I never went to the doctor. I drove my car with the gas gauge on E for days. I didn’t make my bed, take vitamins, or drink enough water.

I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow. Ellie would probably be amazing at all the baby stuff. She probably knew everything—what they ate and how to hold them and why they cried all the time. She’d been the perfect child, hadn’t she? She’d listened to her parents and teachers. She would know instinctively how to bring up a child to be smart and kind and well-behaved. I’d know how to teach it to cook, that was all. And I couldn’t even do that until it was older. Kids weren’t supposed to be around stoves, right?

Maybe I’d only be in the way. Maybe Ellie really didn’t need me. Maybe she didn’t even like me. She probably figured she could do a lot better, and maybe she could.

I mean, not in the bedroom or kitchen, but maybe in other rooms of the house.

But she didn’t seem to want me around. Was she just letting me off the hook by telling me to go do Hot Mess? Or did she really want me gone? I couldn’t fucking tell.

Maybe I should just go do it. Give her space.

Besides, we’d need the money, wouldn’t we? Having a kid was probably even more expensive than opening a restaurant. If a restaurant failed, you could close it, but a kid was your responsibility for at least eighteen years. Better to have some cushion going into it.

It was settled. I’d do the show.

I got out of bed and headed for the shower, my mind made up.

Except five minutes later, it still wasn’t sitting right with me, leaving her so quickly. It felt like running away. And what were things going to be like when I returned?

I knew fatherhood was forever, and I intended to be a father to my child, but what was I going to be to Ellie? What did she want me to be? What did I want us to be?

I felt like I’d fallen overboard and couldn’t swim, couldn’t even tell which way was up.

Yesterday morning seemed very far away.





On the drive to Abelard, I decided I needed to tell my parents immediately. It didn’t feel right keeping this from them, even though I was worried they were going to blame me for everything. But first, I’d make sure telling them was okay with Ellie.

Even though Monday was her day off too, I figured I’d find her in the tasting room as usual, but she wasn’t there. I checked the restaurant, the Fournier kitchen and family room, and the front desk, but she wasn’t in any of those places. Toby, busy at reception, said he hadn’t seen her.

Worried, I texted her.

Hey. Are you working today?





I’m not sure. Feeling a little out of it.

Even more concerned, I typed three different questions and deleted them all before sending.

What’s wrong?

Duh.

Are you okay?

No, dickhead.

Can I do anything?

Yeah, fuck off.

Frowning, I typed something and hit send before I could talk myself out of it.

Are you hungry?

I’ll bring you breakfast.





No thanks.

While I was trying to think of something else to say, Winnie passed by me. “Morning, Gianni.”

“Morning.” I barely looked up from my phone, but then I thought of something and took off after her. “Winnie,” I said, following her into her office. “I want to bring Ellie something to eat. What’s something she likes in the morning?”

“Easy.” She smiled. “She adores these blueberry scones my mom makes. You’d have to go to her bakery downtown—it’s called Plum & Honey—but I promise, Ellie can’t resist them.”

“Thanks.”

Happy to have a mission, I raced out of Abelard, drove back into town, and picked up the scones. The woman behind the counter looked familiar and greeted me by name, so I figured it was Winnie’s mom.