Almost Lover

by Steph Campbell

  I try not to cringe at the way he says he ‘ended up here’ like Golden Leaf is some kind of rotting purgatory for tortured romantics.

  “She broke your heart?” I ask, shrugging to let him know he doesn’t have to answer. I’ve been through enough heartache to know firsthand that you can flip from wanting to obsess over every detail to wanting to never speak about it again in a single second.

  Enzo squeezes his eyes shut like he’s processing a memory that physically hurts. “She was never mine in the first place.” He grinds the words out, his mouth a tight line. “She was someone else’s, and I let myself go blind. So I got blindsided. And punched in the jaw by her husband.”

  My hand reflexively flies up to my own jaw. “Her husband, huh?”

  “They were a little less estranged than she led me to believe,” he mutters. “In her defense, she tried to warn me. It’s hard to make a romantic see something he doesn’t want to see, you know?”

  “I do.” I laugh like I’m about to tell this great joke, like I’m not having to rip the words out from deep in my throat, where they’re sticking. “My ex was trying to leave me every way he knew how, but I just held on like some oblivious kid who idolizes her crush. Then, just to really drive a stake in my heart, he went and married a whiskey heiress.”

  Enzo snorts. “Whiskey?” He practically spits the word out. “It’s the drink of sociopaths.”

  A giggle bubbles up from my throat and spills out of my mouth. “I’ve never had whiskey.”

  “Because you’re a nice girl,” he says with conviction.

  And my heart sinks.

  A nice girl.

  A nice girl is the girl you smile at absently, then forget the moment she’s out of your sight. The girl you take out for lunch because she’s a ‘great listener.’ The girl who holds a place in your life until that girl—the girl who you’d never call ‘nice’ because she’s ‘amazing,’ ‘awesome,’ ‘incredible’—comes along and steals your heart.

  I was reading into his protective vibe, the way he held a curl of my hair between his fingers, the way it seemed like he could see through me and warm me to the core, so it felt like my blood was simmering. But I have to ignore all that because I’m prone to being blindsided by guys.

  And it’s worse the sweeter they seem, so I knew Enzo could potentially deliver a wallop that would make what I went through with Brecken feel like the tremors before an earthquake.

  I need to watch out for myself before I get hurt again.

  “Right.” I throw my hands up and attempt a laugh that sounds unhinged. “Well, nice girls go to bed on time, so I guess I better get in.”

  “Oh.” Enzo looks surprised, but he follows as I attempt to dart away. “Sure. It’s late. We can meet up tomorrow and talk about what you want me to get going on next.” He keeps step with me until we make it to the back door.

  I could have sworn I flicked the backlight on before I left, but it’s dark now, so I fumble for the doorknob as I slide my feet out of my flip flops. I press my back to the glass and wood of the door and grip the knob hard in my hand once I find it. “I guess this is goodnight?”

  I close my eyes and sigh. Could I sound like any more of an idiot?

  “Right.” For a split second, Enzo moves closer to me and I think, ‘Is he… ?’

  He leans so close, I can feel the warmth of his body, smell the clean scent of his skin. He’s so close to me, it’s only a fraction of an inch that separates us, and I’m ready to close it. Broken hearts be damned, if Enzo’s willing to go out on a limb for me, then I’ll tilt my head back, purse my lips, and hope…

  In one swift movement, he reaches an arm up and tightens the lightbulb just above my head. If flickers on, and the sudden burst of light is blinding.

  I pull away and blink at Enzo, noticing, in the harsh bright light, all the details I missed in the dark—the green spokes of color shot through his dark-lashed eyes, the five o’clock shadow that dots his wide, strong jaw, the way his shirt bunches up at his shoulder, rounded with muscle and gorgeously tattooed.

  I realize just how out of my league he really is. Even for a romantic, this crush is laughable.

  “Thank you for fixing the light,” I murmur, offering a quick smile before I let myself into the dark cool of the kitchen. I sink against the door for one humiliated second, then flip the light off.

  I should wait for him, I guess, to make it back to his place before I leave him in the dark, but I feel like a scared girl running away from the horrifying unknown. I pad my way to my room, strip out of my dress, pull on my nightgown, and sit by the window to breathe the cool night air and slow the riot of emotions unspooling through me.

  That’s when I see him, still standing where I left him a minute ago. He looks up at my open window and I feel all the skin up and down my arms prickle with goose bumps. We lock eyes, and I try my best to ignore the electricity that hums through me. He nods, turns on his heel, and heads back to his apartment.

  I take two steps back into my empty room and wonder: if I’m the princess in the tower, is Enzo the knight coming to save me? As soon as the thought crosses my mind, the light from his apartment snaps on.

  I watch his silhouette as he moves in the room, finally sitting heavily on his bed, his head in his hands, and I realize there’s a reason fairytales are for children. I pull the heavy shutters closed over my window, guilty over trespassing on Enzo’s privacy.

  Tomorrow we’ll work together more closely than we have before, and I need to get it out of my head that this relationship will ever be anything more than professional before my heart gets hurt in a way that might just be unfixable.

  There’s been something different about Jordan since the day she went to meet with Florence Dahl. The night I walked her back to her place under the full moon, there was something there between us. Something I couldn’t get a handle on but knew was probably a seriously bad idea. I’ve had my fair share of flings, but the electricity I felt with Jordan—the connection—was like nothing else I’ve ever felt.

  My plan was to tell her that I’d have to head out the next morning for some dumb reason. Some reason that never even hinted at the fact that my heart goes wild whenever I see her face. But something about the aloof way she treated me the next day made me stop and think I’d probably imagined it all. Or at least exaggerated it. Late night, romantic vineyard, lots of moonlight, beautiful girl…I have been known to let my imagination run a little wild.

  As the days went by, our relationship was all about work, all the time, with zero interruption for play of any kind. And I should have loved that. It’s exactly what needed to happen so I could keep this job.

  So why am I still so confused and pissed about it? Why am I so annoyed that she never mentioned the date we promised each other if things went well at the meeting with her mother? Did she think it was a joke? Maybe I should leave it as one.

  I watch her on the grounds and realize there’s a lot to love about the way she’s changed in the last few weeks, even if I catch myself missing the sweeter, shyer Jordan.

  She swaggers around like a general leading her troops into battle. She’s more decisive and confident with each new decision, each new project she tackles head on and completes victoriously. There’s a sureness that radiates through her. No one can resist catching her enthusiasm, which is a huge reason this expansion is all coming together so quickly.

  “I love the gazebo. I love the twinkle lights idea, Enzo, and I know this is super short notice, but what do you think of reusing these old lanterns,” she points to a bunch of dirty old lanterns she dragged out of the barn that morning, “hitting them with some spray paint—maybe just a nice, flat cream?—and hanging them around the outside?”

  I think I want to pull Jordan Caletti behind that gazebo and lick and kiss every inch of her until she’s pulling my hair and moaning my name—

  I shift my weight and rein my thoughts in.

  “I think that’ll look great.” The wind picks up,
and it wafts the scent of her sweet skin my way. I want to drink it in for hours, not just catch a whiff of it whenever she forgets to work like a machine for two seconds and lets herself get close to me. “Jack’s cousin Meredith came down to help for the weekend. I think her last job was working on some home improvement show in the Bay Area. He says she has a shot at getting her own design show.” I watch as Jordan loosens her hold on her clipboard and takes two quick steps my way, those big brown eyes wide with excitement.

  Damn, I like the way she looks when she gets excited about something. And it’s happening more and more now—because things are looking up at Golden Leaf—and they need to stay that way, even if part of me wants to see her make that exact face—naked, in my bed.

  And that’s exactly the kind of shit that will get my ass in trouble…

  “Enzo!” she cries. She grabs my arm hard and squeezes. I wouldn’t have expected her to have that kind of grip. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna leave a bruise. “Meredith Cho is Jack’s cousin?”

  I try not to pay so much attention to the fact that her fingers are on my skin—and they feel really damn good. I can’t help thinking about how they might feel even better touching me other places.

  “Yep. Cho is definitely her last name,” I manage to grind out.

  Like she can mind-read my dirty thoughts, she drops her hand away from my arm and grips onto that clipboard for dear life. Those big doe eyes shift to the dusty ground at our feet, and now I can tell she’s working hard to keep the excitement in her voice.

  “Just when I think things can’t get better, you tell me something amazing. Can you have Meredith meet me at the central wine tasting room as soon as she’s able, Enzo?”

  Jordan’s pulled herself up stiff and tall, her backbone set like an iron rod. The way she speaks is like a woman who’s in front of a boardroom full of investors she knows she’s reeled in, hook, line, and sinker. It’s a nice switch from the nervous, trembling girl who got pushed around by everyone and gave up before she started. I love the majority of what’s changed about her, no doubt.

  But her turnaround from shy girl to in-control woman affected us too.

  Not that there is or ever was an ‘us’ in the official sense of the word.

  And, damn it, I need to stop with that whole idea of Jordan and me and what could have been…or could be. I wanted things simple, professional. We both did. The minute things were definitely that way, my idiot brain started to complicate shit.

  But, if I’m honest, I’ll admit that there was something kind of starting between us. Something sweet and slow despite the fact that we’d both had our hearts stomped on in the not very distant past. Despite the fact that I imagine her type as preppy with an edge of nerd, and I know my type runs towards girls faster, hotter, and a lot more dangerous than Jordan Caletti.

  So maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re two bruised people who make no sense for each other. Maybe that made flirting feel safe.

  So I flatten my voice. Take a step back. Put my hands in my pockets and don’t make much eye contact. Business. All business. “Sure. I think she was helping Jack figure out how to border the paths leading to the north field.” She’s all business, I’m all business, and that’s exactly the way it should be.

  Why does it feel so damn wrong?

  “Great.” There’s a long pause. Jordan’s eyes flutter to my face, then back down to her feet. She smooths a hand over the tight skirt she’s wearing, and I try not to drool over the way it hugs her curves.

  The way she’s dressing now is a far cry from the faded button-downs and jeans she used to wear every day, usually paired with dusty shit kickers and an old ball cap. She still wears that get-up for regular work days, which is cool. Because, sexy as the polished version of Jordan is, I’d miss seeing her with smudges of dirt on her face and pieces of hair falling in her eyes, looking cute as hell.

  But when she’s meeting people or giving early tours or interviews, she gets all done up, and I’ve noticed her getting a ton of appreciative looks from the guys who used to see her as one of the boys. Right now she has on this silky pink top that’s a little see through. I can just catch the tease of the lacy details of her bra when she’s in the right light. I feel like a pervert, but I can’t help looking.

  And liking what I see. Really liking it.

  I have to keep reminding myself that girls like Jordan are not my type. Too innocent. Too sweet. Too delicate.

  Though those arguments are getting poked full of holes pretty fast, especially considering how boss like and tough she’s been lately. She’s definitely throwing the shy, innocent thing right out the window.

  I watch her tug that plump bottom lip in between her teeth—damn, this girl knows how to drive me crazy with the tiniest gestures—and then straighten up and collect herself. When she speaks, it’s ice cold. Which is better for both of us. We don’t need to get involved for too many reasons to count.

  “Enzo, I’d love to chat more, but I know you’re on a strict timeline to get the gazebo ready, and I have to double-check the cheese and chocolate orders.”

  I’m about to remind her that I argued the timeline she set up for me was too crazy, but I stop myself and smile instead. No more excuses. If I can’t be with her the way I want to be, I can impress the hell out of her.

  “Aye aye, captain.” I give her a quick salute.

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head, the freeze melting quickly and completely. “Oh god. I’m totally micromanaging, aren’t I? I trust you to tell me the truth, Enzo. Am I pushing it too far? Am I being a bitch?” she asks in a low, shaky whisper.

  It reminds me that nothing’s ever simple with Jordan Caletti. She’s layered, multidimensional, always showing me a side of herself I never would have expected.

  Yet another thing that drives me absolutely crazy about her.

  I give myself permission for one quick touch, just my fingers on her chin. Her skin is soft and warm. I tilt her face up so she’s looking right at me.

  “Not a bitch. A boss. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it suits you. And it gets shit done. Quickly. So stop doubting yourself and own it.”

  I drag my hands away, letting my fingers trail over her skin. Amazing how touching something so innocent—like a woman’s chin—can be so sexy.

  “Thank you, Enzo.” Her eyes meet mine and she gives me a quick, sweet smile.

  I realize before the words leave my mouth that I should stop them, but I don’t.

  “Plus that, a woman in charge is sexy as hell.”

  I turn and start walking just as her jaw drops. Professional is the way to go when it comes to Jordan. I know this. She’s making it clear that’s what she wants. So what am I doing?

  I stalk back to the gazebo like a man on a mission and almost smash into Jack. He’s trying to balance a stack of lanterns piled stupidly high, and he’s muttering to himself in what I guess is Chinese. He only speaks it if his mom calls or if he’s seriously pissed.

  “Whoa, Jack, hold up!” I start taking lanterns from the Jenga pile he’s got going on. “I told you I was coming right back.”

  “Yeah, and then I saw you got busy flirting with Jordan. I know that takes up a lot of your time,” he growls, ducking low to catch a tipping lantern and keep the stack balanced.

  We’re in the middle of a shit storm of work, and Jack just called me out on a legitimate issue—there’s no reason to freak out. I know it’s just the nature of the job for tensions to run high, especially before a big event like this.

  The thing I should do right now is back off before this blows out of proportion, which I’m usually really good at.

  So I’m fairly shocked when I hear myself snarl, “What the hell are you trying to say?”

  Jack keeps walking to the gazebo, and I stomp after him. I’m too pissed to think clearly, but somewhere in the back of my head this nagging little voice won’t shut up.

  He’s right.

  The infuriating thi
ng is, I know that voice is speaking the truth.

  “You’re wrong,” I say through clenched teeth as we pile the lanterns on the gazebo steps. “She’s the boss. I respect that.”

  He takes two cans of spray paint from the back pockets of his jeans and gives me a look of pure disdain. “C’mon, man. I never said you don’t respect Jordan. I said you spend a fuckton of time flirting with her. It’s none of my business—”

  “Damn right it’s none of your goddamn business,” I say, snatching a rag from one of the dozens of buckets that are piled all over. Yet another thing we’ll have to clean up and clear out before tomorrow morning.

  “What I was saying,” Jack growls as he shakes a can of paint, the metallic click of the ball bearing digging under my skin, “was it’s none of my business as long as you’re pulling your weight.”

  “You don’t think I’m pulling my weight?” I demand.

  Technically speaking, I outrank Jack and could call him on that here and now.

  Realistically, if I didn’t have Jack around to teach me everything there is to know about every piece of equipment in this place and function as my right hand man in every way, I’d be cruising way up shit’s creek without a paddle.

  “I wouldn’t say anything otherwise.” He yanks the cleaned-up lantern I’m holding out of my hands and starts to spray.

  “Is that cream?” I ask.

  “No, asshole, it’s paint.” He holds up the can.

  “I know it’s paint, dickweed. Is the color cream?”

  We both glare at each other for a few seconds, then Jack laughs and shakes his head. “Dickweed? That’s old school, dude. Brings me back to junior high.”

  “That’s what you’re acting like, dickweed. Like some junior high girl with her panties tied in a big ole knot.” But I’m laughing with him. And then I’m eating crow, because I know without a doubt that I was way out of line. “Sorry, man, I shouldn’t have blown up like that. I know you’re not going to say something that doesn’t need to be said, and it’s fucked up that I left you in the middle of all this. It’s just…shit is really complicated with Jordan.”