“Yes.”
“But it’s a comedy.”
“I know, but it’s got that scene at the end where he’s walking and thinking about her, and then he starts running through the street to get to the party, all because he finally realized that he loves her, despite all her quirks, and he can’t go another minute without telling her how he feels . . .” My voice caught, and I had to stop and take a breath.
Dex looked at me like I was nuts.
I raised my chin defiantly. “I like a big romantic gesture, that’s all. Can you get the door please?”
He pulled the sliding door open, and we went outside.
It was a warm, humid night without much of a breeze, and the air felt thick and heavy. I placed the Frosty and spoons on the table and lit the citronella candle as he lowered himself into a chair.
“We can share,” I said, sitting down next to him and pushing a spoon his way.
“That’s okay. I brought it for you.”
“I might need the whole thing with the week I’m having. Want a beer or something?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks. You’re having a bad week?”
“It’s not really bad.” I picked up a spoon and took a bite. “Just some long days at work.”
“Where do you work?”
“At Cloverleigh Farms, in guest services.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I don’t really have a specific job—I sort of float around and help out wherever needed. This week, I’m filling in at the front desk and guests are just being extra cranky about everything.”
His eyes followed the spoon back and forth from the Frosty to my mouth with every bite. “Like what?”
“Oh, they’re mad they can’t get the dinner reservation they want, or the people in the room next to them are loud, or they want an upgrade—which isn’t even something we offer. Then there was a double-booking mistake, which I hadn’t made, but of course I had to deal with. We had no available rooms, and I had to find somewhere to put this anniversary couple.”
“Fuck. What did you do?”
“Luckily, Abelard Vineyards, which is owned by my friend Ellie’s family, happened to have a cancellation. We paid for the room there, offered the couple a free meal in our restaurant, and apologized profusely, but they were still pissed. And I get it.” I shrugged, turning the spoon over in my mouth and sucking it clean. “We fucked up.”
“You tried to make it right. That counts for something, doesn’t it?” He seemed distracted by the spoon in my mouth for a moment. “Uh, on second thought, maybe I will have a beer. But I’ll grab one from my house.”
“Suit yourself.”
While he was gone, I was tempted to run in and change—I had on drawstring silk shorts in turquoise with a matching camisole top, no bra underneath. I wasn’t terribly well-endowed, so it’s not like I was hanging out of it, but it wasn’t exactly an appropriate outfit for receiving company.
But then again, he’d come over to my house at nine o’clock at night on a Tuesday after making it abundantly clear on a Sunday that he did not find me all that attractive.
So screw it—I was going to sit here in my little pajamas and eat his apology with a spoon.
He came back a minute later with a beer and sat down again, taking a long swallow. “So do you like your job?”
“Yes,” I said. “I love Cloverleigh Farms. I practically grew up there. It’s where my dad has worked my whole life, and my mom’s family owns it.”
“I met your mom the other day at the bakery.”
I smiled. “I heard.”
He took another drink. “Did I tell you the girls raised prices for the swear box on Sundays?”
That made me laugh. “Did they?”
“Yes. Because of Jesus. I now owe a buck-fifty if I say the F word on Sundays.”
“Smart girls.” I licked the spoon again, a little more seductively than necessary.
“Listen, Winnie, I need to tell you something.” His knee was bouncing up and down like he was nervous.
“Okay.”
“It’s not that I didn’t like the taste of your dessert.”
I tilted my head. “Huh?”
“I mean, it’s not that I didn’t like what happened the other night,” he said, agitated. “Between us.”
“Oh.”
“It’s just that I don’t date. And I didn’t want to mislead you. You’re so young, I felt bad that I—”
“You thought I might be too young to understand that just because you kissed me, you’re not my boyfriend now?”
He laughed sheepishly. “Kind of.”
“Well, you can relax.” After cleaning off the spoon once more, I stuck it in the Frosty and left it. “I’m actually not looking for a boyfriend at the moment. In fact, I’m doing the opposite—I’m purposely staying single for the rest of the year.”
“Oh yeah?” Slightly more relaxed—his leg had stopped the bouncing—he took another drink. “Why’s that?”
“I’m sort of a love junkie. I’m rehabilitating myself.”
“A what?”
I laughed. “A love junkie—someone who’s addicted to love. But the problem is, I get all caught up in the rush of a new relationship and ignore red flags. And the type of guy I’m usually attracted to comes with a lot of them.”
“What type of guy is that?”
“Handsome, smart, Prince Charming types. Confident to the point of arrogance. The guy every girl wants and every guy wants to be.”
“So you date a lot of selfish assholes?”
“Indeed, I find their narcissism irresistible.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know. I guess I like capturing their attention. I think to myself, ‘This guy could have anyone, and he wants me.’ Something about that feels good. But . . .” I looked at my left hand, fingers spread. “It doesn’t last, and I wind up disappointed.”
“Were you married or something?” He gestured toward my hand.
“Engaged. Very briefly.”
“To who?”
“To a very handsome and charismatic asshole named Merrick, who now lives in Manhattan where I imagine he is joyfully banging an array of hot models, which was what he told me he’d rather do than be with me.”
“Got it.” He took another drink. “So this stretch of being single—it’s going to cure you of your taste for those guys?”
“Hopefully.” I shrugged. “But if not, I will at least prove to myself that it’s possible to be happy without being in love.”
He gave me one of his signature grunts. “It’s definitely possible.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said, amused. “You don’t believe in happily ever after.”
“Who told you that? Wait, never mind.” He shook his head. “Those two cannot keep their mouths shut.”
“So it’s true?”
“Yes.”
“Was your divorce that bad?”
“My marriage was that bad.”
“Ah.” A hot gust of wind ruffled my hair, and I tucked it behind my ear. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wouldn’t change anything. I got Hallie and Luna out of it, and I can’t imagine my life without them, so I figure this was always how it was supposed to be.”
I tilted my head. “You think you were destined to be unhappily married?”
He took another sip. “I think I was meant to be a father, but not a husband.”
“Got it.” I looked up at the sky. It was too cloudy to see stars tonight. “I think I was meant to be a wife and a mother.”
“You’re young. You’ve got plenty of time.”
I chewed my bottom lip a moment. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”
He gave me a wary sideways glance. “Okay.”
“Did you leave your marriage? Or did she?”
“She asked me to leave.”
“Oh.” A minute ticked by in silence, while my mind wand
ered between the past and the present. “My mom left us when I was two.”
He was silent a moment. “That must have been tough.”
“I think it was harder on my sisters. I was so young, I don’t even remember her living in the same house with us. I grew up hardly knowing her.”
“You didn’t visit her?”
“At first we did. She moved down to Georgia after she left, and my sisters and I would visit her there during the summer for a couple weeks, but we never loved it.”
He sipped his beer again. “I used to go really long periods of time without seeing my kids—months and months, when I was deployed. I dealt with it because I had to. But now I can’t imagine it. I fucking miss them when I don’t see them for five days.”
“She used to make promises about coming up to see us, but she rarely kept them. After a while, we stopped believing them.” I paused. “And eventually, she didn’t even make them anymore.”
Dex looked at me, then reached over and touched my wrist. “You deserved better.”
Surprised, I glanced down at his hand, which must have made him self-conscious because he removed it. “Anyway,” I said, trying to lighten my tone, “I’m hoping my declaration of independence will prevent me from making the same relationship mistakes I’ve made in the past. Or at least help me learn to be a better judge of character.”
“So if I see any selfish-looking pricks on your doorstep, should I tell them to fuck off? I think I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, smiling as I imagined him lurking on his doorstep, giving the next Merrick a menacing growl.
He nodded. “I can spot a narcissistic asshole a mile away. I was raised by one.”
“Oh.” My smile faded.
“It’s fine. Believe it or not, his shitty example taught me a lot of valuable lessons about the kind of man and father I want to be.”
“That’s good, I guess. Silver lining and all.”
“Exactly.” As he finished off his beer, lightning flashed in the sky. He rose to his feet. “I better get going.”
“Okay,” I said, wishing he didn’t have to leave. But I stood up too. “Thanks for coming over. And for the Frosty.”
“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry again for what I said.”
I shrugged. “No hard feelings.”
Once more we stood almost chest to chest, just like we had the other night, the candle flickering next to us in the dark. In the distance, thunder rumbled softly.
Dex glanced out to the left. “Storm coming.”
“Yes.”
He met my eyes again, then dropped his gaze to my lips. I held my breath, waiting for him to make another stupid mistake and kiss me again. Hoping he would.
But instead, he lifted his beer bottle and slowly rubbed the mouth of it along my lower lip, watching intently. I opened my mouth slightly, and he eased the bottle in a little deeper. I slid the tip of my tongue along the rim. My nipples stiffened beneath the silk of my top.
Exhaling, he lowered the bottle.
“Dex,” I whispered.
But he turned around and walked away, leaving me alone in the dark.
Lightning flashed again, and I put a hand over my stomach. My legs felt wobbly, and as the thunder reverberated through the sky, I felt it in my bones. My skin prickled with goosebumps, as if the air was charged with an electrical current.
I could barely breathe.
Eleven
Winnie
The following night I drove over to Abelard Vineyards to meet with Ellie about our wine tasting dinner, which was going to be at Cloverleigh Farms in mid-October. Henry DeSantis, the head winemaker at Cloverleigh Farms, was a good friend of Ellie’s dad and loved the idea. I’d put it on social media this morning, and already we’d received several calls from people inquiring about tickets.
Ellie answered the back door with a scowl on her face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, following her into the large, French-country inspired kitchen.
“He’s here,” she said bitterly, taking down two globe-shaped wine glasses from an open shelf.
“Who’s here?” I sat down at the marble-topped island, setting my laptop bag on the stool next to me.
“The scoundrel. The rake. The bane of my childhood.” She attacked a bottle of wine with an opener, taking out her anger with vicious twists of her wrists as she drilled into the cork.
“Gianni Lupo?”
“Shhh.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway that led to the main part of the house. “I don’t want him to know I’m here.”
“Is he being interviewed for the head chef position?”
“Yes.” Setting the corkscrew aside, she poured us each a glass of ruby red Gamay from Abelard. “Tell me you mentioned the position to your sister.”
Guilty, I bit the tip of my thumb. “Shoot. I forgot.”
She stopped pouring and pinned me with a fiery look. “If he gets this job, you are dead to me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been a crazy week. My mind was all distracted.”
“With what?” She picked up her glass and swirled the wine before sticking her nose in it and inhaling.
“I don’t know.” I slid my glass a little closer to me. “Work. Family.”
“Hot grumpy neighbor.”
“Hot grumpy neighbor,” I admitted, figuring there was no point in lying to her. “He came over again last night.”
“Oh yeah? What happened this time?” Her brown eyes danced. “Did he accidentally take your pants off?”
“No,” I said, like I was offended. “He brought me a Frosty.”
Her eyebrows went up. “How did he know you like them?”
“I guess I mentioned it the other night.”
“That was thoughtful of him, to bring you a little gift,” she said with syrupy sweetness before she took a sip of her wine.
“It was an apology, not a gift,” I explained. “He felt bad about what he said the other day at the pool.”
“He should. That was a dick thing to say.” Ellie swirled her wine again. “But I still think he doth protest too much. I think he is interested in you, and he was just trying to play it cool.”
“He said he was mad at himself and took it out on me.”
“Mad at himself for what?”
“Making a move on me, I guess. He thinks I’m too young. And he doesn’t date anyway.”
“He announced all those things?”
I shrugged. “Kind of.”
She nodded shrewdly. “More protesting too much. This dude is into you. He kiss you again last night?”
“No,” I said quickly, dropping my eyes to the marble counter. “He didn’t kiss me.”
“But he did something.”
“Sort of. Maybe.”
“What?”
I peeked up at her. “He—he kind of, uh, penetrated my mouth with his beer bottle.”
Ellie nearly choked on her wine. “What?”
“He stuck his beer bottle in my mouth,” I said, enunciating more clearly.
Unfortunately, right at that moment, the door from the hallway swung open, and Gianni Lupo strode in like he owned the place. “He stuck his what in your mouth?”
“What are you doing here?” Ellie snapped. “This is the private part of the house. Family only.”
“Good thing your parents just told me I’m family, and that’s why they hope I’ll accept their job offer.” He gave Ellie one of his cocky grins and turned his attention to me. “How are you, Winifred? Long time, no see.”
I hadn’t seen him since graduation, but he’d hardly changed. Same wavy, floppy dark hair that somehow looked styled and messy at the same time, same blue eyes that girls used to sigh over, same finely chiseled jaw, only now it held a thin layer of scruff. His nose was slightly crooked—if I recalled correctly, it had been broken by one of his brothers in a fight. But it took nothing away from his looks or his confidence in them.
I smiled
back. “I’m good, Gianni. How’ve you been?”
“I can’t complain.”
“Can you leave?” Ellie asked.
“In a minute,” he said, picking up Ellie’s glass and tasting her wine. “But first I want to hear the story about the beer bottle.”
Furious, Ellie took her glass back and moved it out of his reach. “No. This is a private conversation, asshole.”
Gianni looked at me. “I don’t know about these work conditions. I might have to document this as harassment.”
“So are you taking the job?” I asked.
“I’m thinking about it. I love the concept, and the setting is perfect. I’d have input on finishing the kitchen, which I like. And hiring staff, which is important because I like things done a certain way.” He grinned again, glancing at Ellie. “And I love the idea of collaborating on the menu with the winemakers here. They’re so friendly.”
Ellie glared at him.
“Except maybe this one.” He jerked a thumb at her. “Why’s she always so mean?”
I smiled. “I think you bring it out in her.”
“You’d think she was the one who took seven pies in the face.”
“Eight,” said Ellie. “I threw eight pies in your face. Because you dunked me like fifty times in that stupid tank.”
“I know.” He chuckled. “I couldn’t resist. You looked so dry and comfortable sitting up there in your little crown and that Cherry Princess sash over your bathing suit. I spent every dollar I had on your booth, and then I borrowed some more. I was in debt for months. You should’ve been flattered.”
“They put my picture on the front page of the news looking all soggy and gross, thanks to you.”
“But just think of all the money you raised for our senior class,” he said. “We probably wouldn’t have been able to have that chocolate fountain at the Prom if it wasn’t for me. Anyway, thanks for inviting me to stay and hear the rest of the story, but I have to get going. Another time.”
“Bye, Gianni,” I said.
As he moved past a stone-faced Ellie, he planted a kiss on her cheek before she had a chance to duck.
“Ew, don’t!” She rubbed her cheek as if trying to erase the imprint of his lips.
Ignite: A Grumpy Single Dad Romance Page 11
