Almost Lover Page 10

  Jack sits back on his heels and raises one eyebrow at me. “Yeah. I know. Look.” He runs a hand through his hair, which is spotted with paint from the gazebo and matted with sweat and dust. The guy’s been working his ass off in the blistering heat, and I’m an asshole for not being where I should have been, helping him out. “Again, this is probably none of my business, but Jordan’s not just someone I work for. I consider her a friend. And she’s…well, she’s Jordan.”

  He shrugs like there’s no other way to describe her, but he doesn’t need to say more.

  I get how complicated things are when it comes to Jordan. No question about that.

  “I know. That’s exactly what I like about her.” I clean off the next lantern without looking Jack’s way. He shakes the can and I listen to the click of the ball bearing without feeling my temper spike this time.

  Which is a relief.

  It’s not like me to be so out of control.

  When he finally sprays the paint, I actually watch, and notice it’s not cream, but a deep red. “Uh, that’s not the color she wanted.”

  Jack stops spraying and glares at me. “Yeah, well sometimes Jordan wants things she’d be better off staying away from.”

  All the Zen I just wrangled to get my emotions under control slips through my fingers, and a sharp prickle of anger wells up in me.

  “What the hell, dude? If you have something else to say to me, just say it.” I’m breathing hard through my nose, honestly worried about my blood pressure. I have no idea what the hell’s going on with me today.

  Jack has this way of staring right at a person, silent and so intense, and it makes my skin crawl. He’s doing that to me now, but I’m afraid to look away because I feel like a stupid zebra being singled out by a lion.

  When I first got here, Jack invited me to his uncle’s gym, where they hold these underground martial arts bouts. As if unregulated cage fighting wasn’t crazy enough, Jack jumped in the ring and mopped the floor with some huge guy using what looked like some badass jiu-jitsu.

  That night taught me a lesson I should really remember: don’t fuck with Jack. Ever.

  There’s one thing I’m really shitty at, thought.

  And that would be learning my lesson.

  “Jack, I swear to god, if you don’t say something I’m gonna—”

  “You’re a total dickweed, Enzo,” Jack interrupts smoothly, then yanks the lantern from my hands. “Meredith picked the color for these stupid lanterns. I’m just trying to get my work done. Take it up with Jordan if you think it’s an issue. Just…” He flips the spray paint can in his hand over and over, letting the metal slap hard against his palm. When he finally stops, he stares at me again and I watch his free hand fist up. “Don’t mess with her.”

  “I don’t. I never would,” I stutter like the dickweed I am. “I need to check something.”

  I jump down off the gazebo and march away to the rhythmic hiss of Jack coating the lanterns in spray paint, probably glaring as I leave and ready to kick my ass Brazilian MMA style if he thinks I’m screwing with Jordan.

  Which I actually respect him for.

  Jack is someone whose opinion I take seriously. He reminds me a little of my older brother Cohen, who always seems pretty laid back and chill, unless you get him pissed. Then, watch the fuck out. My brother goes from the most easy-going surf bum to a blood-thirsty super alpha in a matter of seconds, especially over someone screwing with our sisters or his wife, Maren. Guy’s got a serious protective vibe under his button-down demeanor and it’s in everyone’s best interest if he doesn’t have to go all Hulk about things.

  Maybe it’s because Cohen’s always been that guy in our family, that I got away with being a little flirtier, a little looser. But I need to channel Cohen when it comes to Jordan.

  She’s not the kind of girl I ever want to toy with, and it’s easy to fall back on old habits when it comes to the way I feel about her.

  I should avoid the tasting room, but I’m her technical right-hand man—actually I’m supposed to be the one in charge of all this. At the very least, she needs to know the details so there’s no surprise upsets later. That’s what I tell myself anyway.

  I push through the huge glass and wood doors and see she’s managed to find Meredith on her own. They’re both looking over her clipboard, and Jordan is scribbling notes as Meredith points to things then talks a mile a minute, her hands flying in front of her as she explains what she envisions. Things are intense between them, and I figure the red lanterns probably came up by now, so I should leave.

  But I stay where I am and roll my eyes at my own thoughts, which are melodramatic as all hell. There’s grunt labor to pitch in with and I’m noticing how the sun falls over Jordan’s hair and makes it look the color of a wild bonfire on the beach. Jack is probably texting his uncle to offer me as a sacrifice in their MMA ring, and I’m getting painfully addicted to Jordan’s laugh. I can’t get over the way she tilts her head back like she needs to make enough room in her throat to let the whole huge sound of it out.

  God, her laugh is a turn-on.

  Ridiculous. I need to get back to work double-checking the paths, pronto.

  “Enzo!”

  But a stampede of wild horses couldn’t drag me away when I hear her call.

  “I was just going to check the paths,” I confess, but she’s not paying attention.

  Jordan Caletti is a woman on fire. Her eyes shine, her skin is all flushed, and she talks in this voice that sounds a little less professional than I know she wants. It’s kind of breathy and hella sexy.

  “Meredith made some fantastic tweaks to the set-up. She found a few bags of river rocks in the shed behind the barn and talked about putting them on the paths. I think that’s really good, but around the gazebo might be even better, since there were some deeper patches in the dirt when we moved it and we could also…”

  Meredith is nodding along, giving me a coy smile. She’s petite and curved just right, long jet-black hair, gorgeous brown eyes, and she has this funky, bohemian vibe that makes me ache for the beach bum girls I left behind in Silver Strand.

  I need to get my mind off Jordan, and the best way to do that would be with someone who’d actually make sense for me.

  Meredith is exactly the kind of girl I could happily rebound with.

  If her cousin wasn’t like a live action version of Scorpion from Mortal Kombat.

  “—and that’s why we should probably leave out randomly placed samples of the chocolates and cheeses that are going into the baskets.”

  Jordan finishes talking, and I look back at her just in time to catch the fact that she saw me checking out Meredith. Maybe I’m just imagining it, but she looks like she just got slapped across the face.

  I hate that. I have a visceral reaction to the look of pain on her face, and I want to fix it.

  I want to make things okay between us, but I’m not sure what ‘okay’ even means. I can’t exactly jump in and tell her that, while I think Meredith is hot and totally my type, I’ve never been as attracted to any girl as I am to her.

  What I should do is keep it all business, so that’s exactly what I do.

  “You mentioned we were having a hard time unloading the dipping chocolate.” I train my eyes on hers. Maybe I was imagining the hurt feelings, because she’s looking back at me, completely calm.

  Though her eyes lost a little of their shine, and her smile wobbles at one corner.

  “Right. It was basically a problem of keeping enough fresh fruit. It’s expensive and spoils easily, but without it, who wants dipping chocolate?”

  “Couples.” I cross my arms and wait for the moment of realization to hit.

  But this is Jordan, so instead of the light bulb coming on, she presses her eyebrows together in this adorably confused expression, totally at a loss.

  Meredith lets out a throaty laugh. “Enzo is it? That is a brilliant idea. Actually, I think I might want to pick up one of those baskets for myself…I jus
t need to find someone willing to share it with me.” She raises her eyebrows at me, and I’d have to be a total moron to miss that come-on.

  Before my crazy brain can start thinking about me and Meredith lounging at some gorgeous spot in the vineyard with a pot of dipping chocolate and a bottle of wine, Jordan stammers, “I’m so rude. I apologize, Meredith. This is Enzo Rodriguez. He basically runs everything here.”

  Meredith raises her eyebrows high and holds out her hand. She’s got so many rings on her fingers, I barely feel skin when I shake. “You run everything here? I thought Jordan was the engine behind this operation. You guys have got to be the hardest working vineyard in Napa. Everyone is talking about it. A total transformation here, it’s incredible.”

  I think about Jack’s fury from earlier and feel the kind of shame I felt as a kid when I’d get caught lying to my mother. “Jordan doesn’t give herself nearly enough credit. She’s the brains and brawn behind this operation.”

  I watch as the palest pink starts low on Jordan’s neck and climbs up to her cheeks, drowning out the spattering of freckles. She opens her mouth, but snaps it shut before she manages to say a word. Her wide eyes are staring over my shoulder.

  “This all looks fantastic, Enzo,” she says in her smooth boss voice, passing me the clipboard she was holding with a death grip. Meredith and I exchange a confused look, but then I hear the cool, clipped voice that explains it all.

  “Jordan, are you sure this is all going to work out?” Mrs. Caletti glides into the tasting room in her typical ice queen fashion.

  It’s weird how two people can look so similar, but so different at the same time. Mrs. Caletti has Jordan’s incredible cheekbones and full lips, but her eyes are light and chilly where Jordan’s are like warm chocolate. And she’s constantly frowning, where Jordan seems to always have a smile on her face. Her mother radiates a kind of furious confidence, while Jordan walks around with more of a friendly sense of uncertainty.

  These are all completely valid reasons for a pretty experienced guy like me to leave someone as innocent as Jordan alone. But I don’t have that option anymore. Besides, a little of my brother Cohen’s alpha male protections bubbles up when I see Jordan getting underestimated by her mother.

  “I know this looks like chaos, Mrs. Caletti, but, please, trust me. Everything is well in hand,” I assure her.

  Or attempt to.

  She turns those frigid eyes from Jordan and ices me with them. “Really?” she drawls. “What’s going on with the cheeses that I just passed, wilting out in the sun?”

  Cheeses? I have no damn clue.

  Shit.

  Jordan clears her throat and bumps my elbow. I look down at the clipboard and read the first line. It sounds so damn good, I just keep going.

  “Half the pungent cheeses that did well on taste tests but never sold are going in the prearranged picnic baskets with complimentary sample bottles. The Double Gloucester that didn’t move as quickly as we hoped is being paired with our most popular Zinfandel, and the fresh goat cheese everyone knows and loves from Sherman’s Dairy is being paired with samples of Chenin Blanc, which is one of our undiscovered gems.”

  Okay, I wince a tiny bit over saying ‘undiscovered gems’ out loud, but Mrs. Caletti is nodding and maybe—just maybe—the worry line between her eyebrows is flattening out.

  I glance down again, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice as I keep reading.

  “We’ve also made an agreement with Sherman’s to display a rack of our Chenin Blanc at their counter. We’re close to a similar deal with a local chocolatier who we sent a case of our ice wine. She raved that she’s never tasted anything more perfect with her white chocolate, and she sent over several samples we’ll tuck into the baskets.”

  Mrs. Caletti shakes her head and gives me the tiniest grudging smile. “Well. I guess that answers that. Not the route I would have taken. I always thought that chocolate woman was a flighty nutcase. But if she likes our ice wine, she must have an exceptional palette.” She gives a delicate sniff and nods with approval. “Well, I had a checklist to go over with you, but I’m willing to bet our lists look very similar. Despite your reassurances everything will work out, it’s clear there’s still an overwhelming amount to get done. I’ll leave you to it. Job well done, Enzo.”

  She turns on her loafer and walks away. We watch the employees part like the Red Sea to avoid her.

  “Thank you, Enzo,” Jordan says, letting her eyes flutter shut for a few long seconds. “I don’t know what I would have done if she started nosing around more.”

  “You could have told her the tru—”

  Before I can finish, Jordan has my arm and stares at me with wide, pleading eyes. She nods sideways to Meredith, who’s narrowed her eyes at us. Jordan may be able to pull the wool over her mother’s eyes, but Meredith is frowning in a way that lets us know she’s not buying it for a second.

  “Right. Well, Mother has a good point. We’ve got a ton of work left to do. So, where did we leave off? Oh, I remember! The dipping chocolate. You’re sure we’ll have enough fruit? How much can we get for tomorrow?” She holds out her hand for the clipboard, which I give back, feeling like a thief.

  I know she flat-out asked me to steal her ideas as my own, but that doesn’t change the fact that it still makes me feel like shit—especially on the heels of stealing someone’s wife. Maybe this is who I am—what I am.

  I try to bury the thought and focus on work.

  “We can get a bushel, probably strawberries. I know a guy.”

  “A bushel. That’s not enough divided between the baskets. What will they do with all the extra—”

  “Sweetie, come with me,” Meredith says with a laugh, grabbing Jordan around the waist. She gives me a chilly look that lets me know she does not approve of the ruse we pulled for Mrs. Caletti’s benefit. It’s also clear she’s dumping all the blame for the whole terrible idea on me. “I’m sure Enzo knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  She levels one more withering glance my way before I overhear her saying, “So, you’ve never used chocolate body paint before? Girl, we need to hook you up with a nice guy you can try some of it out on. I have a friend who’s an underwear model and he has a thing for redheads. His abs will make your head spin…”

  Funny. I haven’t even seen the douchebag’s abs, but my fucking head is spinning. And I’m pissed as hell.

  I’m pissed that Meredith thinks I’m the kind of dirt bag who’d steal Jordan’s limelight out from under her. Though I am happy that she’s already showing Jordan the kind of loyalty everyone who meets her seems to shower her with, and I think it’s a really good thing that they’re clicking. Jordan needs more friends to let her know just how amazing and capable she is. Preferably so we can all drop this stupid deception immediately.

  Because no one is more uncomfortable with this whole ruse than I am.

  I’m pissed that Mrs. Caletti didn’t even notice Jordan when she was standing right in front of her. How can a woman so intelligent and observant be so blind when it comes to the accomplishments of her own flesh and blood?

  I’m pissed beyond reason at the thought of Jordan and Underwear Asshole alone with a jar of chocolate body paint. Technically it’s all my fault. I was the pervert who brought it up, then made it this big deal, so Meredith felt like Jordan needed to experience it. I palm a jar of the stuff, resisting the urge to smash it and all the rest of them on the marble tiles.

  How the hell could I know that Jordan was so innocent, she’d never thought of eating chocolate off anyone’s body?

  It made me start wondering just how innocent, exactly, Jordan is. Is she a virgin? Has she ever been kissed properly, touched, told how damn amazing she is—and if so, how long has it been? She mentioned ex-boyfriends. That’s a mystery in and of itself. Who the hell would be enough of an idiot to dump a girl like Jordan?

  If she was mine—

  I cut that thought down immediately.

  There is no ‘if.
’

  I’m not her boyfriend. I have no business wondering what her sex life is like, and I definitely have no business imagining myself a part of it. The girl throws up red flags that let me know she’s completely wrong for me every time we’re together. It’s time I got my head out of my ass and started paying attention to what I need to get done while I’m here.

  My thoughts are interrupted when I notice the workers in the shop running and diving out of the way. I wonder if Mrs. Caletti is back, but it’s not her.

  It’s way worse. For me, anyway.

  “So you leave me to slave in the sun while you read the ingredient label on some fucking chocolate?” Jack asks as he stalks over to me, his eyes wild. “Dude, that’s it.” He cracks his knuckles. “You pay me back in sweat equity, or I break your damn face. Your choice.”

  At least one decision in my life is gonna be easy. There will be no better way to keep my mind off Jordan than attempting to keep Jack from beating the shit out of me.

  My God, it was so much work and so much worry. There were a million times I thought I could see everything we worked for swirling down the drain, but all the people I love and trust were there to swoop in and make things right over and over. I’ve never been prouder of or happier with the Golden Leaf staff. The day was amazing.

  Now that the gates are closed and the sun is a pink disk sliding behind the golden, vine-filled hills, I feel like I’m actually walking a few inches above the ground of this gorgeous, profitable vineyard. I have to resist the urge to skip to my mother’s office with a list of emergency inventory items we need to rush order so we have enough on hand for our fully booked next weekend!

  “You double checked these for Enzo?” she asks as she looks at the neat papers over her wire reading glasses.

  I swallow the disappointment that burns in the back of my throat due to so many factors: that my mother fails to consider I could possibly be the one who worked this up, even though I’ve been taking care of inventory for years now; that she fails to express any enthusiasm about how swarmed the vineyard had been and how everything had gone off without a hitch; that she isn’t offering to come down and celebrate the beginning of Golden Leaf being back on its feet.