“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.”