Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“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.”