Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(31)

“What would be the reason if he didn’t promote you?”

She sighed. “Who knows? I think I’ve proven myself where work is concerned, but sometimes I feel like he looks at me and still sees the smart-mouthed teenager who ignored curfew, bent rules, and didn’t give a shit what people said. Maybe he’s worried I’ll make too many changes and not respect tradition.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, reaching ahead of her to move a branch in our way. “I get the feeling he trusts your instincts and appreciates your work ethic. I’ve seen the increased sales and visibility of Cloverleigh wines over the past several years. I think you’ve proven yourself.”

“Thanks.” She gave me a smile. “I was thinking the other day that if I do get promoted, I’d probably move back to Cloverleigh, maybe into Frannie’s old apartment over the garage, now that she’s moved into Mack’s house.”

I whistled. “Move back home? You’re brave.”

“Well, I’d like to be on site more, and I think my parents are planning to travel a lot, so they won’t be breathing down my neck all the time. That’s my hope, anyway.”

We walked a little further in silence, slapping at the occasional mosquito, pulling out water bottles for the occasional sip.

“Tell me about Frannie and Mack. He’s the CFO, right?” I asked.

“Right. They started dating over the winter and just got engaged a couple weeks ago. He’s a single dad of three girls that Frannie absolutely adores. They’re perfect for each other and totally in love. I think she wants to get married this fall.”

“Wow. That’s fast.”

She looked over at me with mischief in her grin. “That’s kind of the way it’s supposed to be, Oliver. You get engaged so you can get married.”

Somehow I had veered into dangerous territory, and I tried to back out of it. “Can I borrow your sunscreen? I think the back of my neck is getting burned.”

“Sure.” She grabbed a can of SPF 30 from a side pocket of her pack. “Want me to do it?”

“Okay.” I turned around and let her spray me, hoping she’d forget about the topic of engagement.

Nope.

“So whatever happened to your fiancée?” she asked as we started moving again. “What was her name? Alice? Ellen?”

“Alison.”

“Alison. Right.” When I didn’t say more, she poked again. “So where’s Alison now?”

“In Chicago, I assume. With her new husband.”

Chloe stopped walking. “She left you for someone else?”

“No. I broke it off.”

“Why?”

“Because it was never going to work. I wasn’t who she thought I was,” I said, continuing to move along the path.

Chloe hurried to catch up. “Who did she think you were?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that without giving everything away. “Probably my brother Hughie.”

She snorted. “So she wanted someone stuffy and predictable?”

“She wanted a certain kind of life. She wanted to get married, quit her job, and move into a house like Hughie and Lisa’s, where she’d have a housekeeper, chef, and personal trainer at her fingertips.” I stared at the ground as we walked for a moment. “When we first started dating, I think she hoped I’d play around with the distillery for a while and then get serious and go to work for Pemberton. Join the country club. Buy a yacht. I could tell she felt let down when that didn’t happen. Also, she told me so constantly.”

“She sounds really fucking terrible, Oliver. You should be glad you’re not married to her.”

“Believe me, I am.”

“Why’d you propose to her in the first place?”

I kicked a rock on the path. “She said it was time. My parents said it was time. My grandmother said she wasn’t getting any younger. And my brother made me feel like I was a fuckup. I guess I was trying to show them I wasn’t.” I was silent for a moment. “But as it turns out, I was.”

She elbowed me. “Stop. You’re not a fuckup.”

“No?”

“No,” she scoffed. “You’ve got everything, Oliver. A successful business, a great family, probably a cool apartment and a million friends. You made the right decision by not marrying the wrong person, you give back by teaching sailing to underprivileged kids, and you’re even marginally attractive. What about that says fuckup?”

I laughed, giving her the side eye. “Marginally attractive, huh?”

“Sure. I mean, you could use a haircut, and your gut could be all soft and flabby for all I know, but objectively speaking, I’d say you’re okay.”

“Gee, thanks. But I assure you …” I cut her off and stood directly in front of her so she walked right into my chest. I had to grab her arms to keep her from falling backward. “There’s nothing soft and flabby about me. Feel free to check.”

She glanced down at the space between our bodies and then met my eyes again. Her cheeks colored slightly. “I’ll take your word for it. Let’s keep going.”





13





Chloe