I shrug. “New in town. Looking for a place to stay.”
“Well that’s convenient. Because I’m in the market for a roommate.”
The girl’s smile is slow and maybe a little flirtatious. Belatedly I realize that she’s probably cute, borderline hot, and I haven’t noticed. I don’t really care, and that makes me all the more angry at Lucy and her careless words.
I keep seeing her handwriting over and over in my mind. Line after line intended to rip out my heart.
Falling for Reece the first time was the dumbest thing I could ever do. Doing it again would be certifiably insane.
What the hell am I supposed to do with a guy who doesn’t seem to have even an ounce of fight in him?
Reece is damn lucky he’s so good in bed, because he’s got exactly zero boyfriend potential.
No matter how many times I force myself to replay the words, the pain won’t lessen.
I need to move on. I need to clean the wound, no matter how painful.
I force a slow smile, leaning forward and matching the sandwich girl’s posture as I press against the counter. “Tell me about this roommate situation.”
Chapter 38
Lucy
“See you Monday, Helen,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder and pausing in the door of my new boss’s office.
The pretty blonde looks up from her laptop and smiles. “You too. Got anything fun planned?”
“Nah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just finishing settling in.”
“Ah. Moving’s the worst,” she says with an understanding nod. “You almost done?”
“Nearly!” I don’t tell her that I’ve been unpacked for days. That mostly I’ve been passing the time by rearranging things needlessly while trying not to think about Reece.
It’s been more than week since he discarded me without so much as a look back or a text goodbye.
I figure I’ll give him a couple more days before chasing him down at his new workplace, but I keep holding on to the hope that he’ll reach out to me.
That hope’s fading fast.
I wave goodbye to Helen, say goodbye to a couple of my other new colleagues as I step out into the summer sunshine. Napa’s everything I want it to be. So’s the new job. Mostly I’ve been training, shadowing everyone, learning everything there is to know about Chateau St. Magrit branding.
And then there are the fun parts: tasting, learning the nuances, learning which labels are selling well, and which need a little bit of repositioning in the marketplace.
It’s absolutely everything that I envisioned, right down to the sunny little office just off the main tasting room. I’ve already decorated it with the inspirational quotes that used to fuel me.
The damn quotes have been failing me lately.
Everything’s failing me. Because everything I thought I wanted isn’t what I want the most.
I drop into the driver’s seat, the familiar sight of Horny reminding me, as it always does, of those two weeks with Reece. I alternate between missing him like crazy and hating his guts for being an emotional moron. Look, I get that guys can be weird with their feelings sometimes, and that talking it out doesn’t come naturally.
But my guy? He’s set the bar really low on the communication front.
I pull out my phone to look up a decent pizza place, feeling very much like I’ve earned a slice of pepperoni and a glass of the nice zin I’m supposed to be developing a tasting note for.
Unsurprisingly, there’s no text from Reece. I’ve almost trained myself not to hope for it.
There are, however, two texts from Craig, and I frown in confusion.
The first text: Spock. You didn’t get it from me.
The second is an address in El Verano, California.
I wrinkle my nose. What? I don’t even know where that is.
A quick search on my Maps app shows me that it’s near Sonoma, but why my brother would be sending me there…
Unless…
A couple days ago, in desperation, I texted Craig, asking if he knew how I could get ahold of his idiot best friend who wasn’t answering my calls. If he doesn’t know what went down between me and Reece, my text has probably gotten him wondering, but I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything except the idiot who ran away from the best thing either of us has ever known.
Craig didn’t reply.
Until now.
“Brother, I love you,” I mutter to myself, as I quickly get driving directions to the address Craig provided.
Getting around the area on a Friday afternoon is no easy feat with the weekenders coming into town for a couple days of winery-hopping, and by the time the GPS gets me to my destination, I’m practically shaking with anticipation.
It’s a tiny blue house on a quiet street. A little run down, but a little charming too. There’s a white Honda and a beat-up blue truck taking up all the driveway space, so I park on the street, and, heart hammering, I make my way to the front door, which is…
Open.
Just a crack, but enough for me to hear masculine laughter.
Familiar laughter.
My heart seizes. Reece.
Before I can think better of it, I nudge the door open and step inside, my heart pounding in anticipation. In hindsight, I probably should have come up with a plan, but then I remember that I’m not the one who has some explaining to do.
I’m not the one who ran away.
I follow the sound of his voice, my heart quickening in a different, more dangerous way when I register that it’s not just his voice.
“Well that’s convenient. Because I’m in the market for a roommate.”
The girl’s smile is slow and maybe a little flirtatious. Belatedly I realize that she’s probably cute, borderline hot, and I haven’t noticed. I don’t really care, and that makes me all the more angry at Lucy and her careless words.
I keep seeing her handwriting over and over in my mind. Line after line intended to rip out my heart.
Falling for Reece the first time was the dumbest thing I could ever do. Doing it again would be certifiably insane.
What the hell am I supposed to do with a guy who doesn’t seem to have even an ounce of fight in him?
Reece is damn lucky he’s so good in bed, because he’s got exactly zero boyfriend potential.
No matter how many times I force myself to replay the words, the pain won’t lessen.
I need to move on. I need to clean the wound, no matter how painful.
I force a slow smile, leaning forward and matching the sandwich girl’s posture as I press against the counter. “Tell me about this roommate situation.”
Chapter 38
Lucy
“See you Monday, Helen,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder and pausing in the door of my new boss’s office.
The pretty blonde looks up from her laptop and smiles. “You too. Got anything fun planned?”
“Nah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just finishing settling in.”
“Ah. Moving’s the worst,” she says with an understanding nod. “You almost done?”
“Nearly!” I don’t tell her that I’ve been unpacked for days. That mostly I’ve been passing the time by rearranging things needlessly while trying not to think about Reece.
It’s been more than week since he discarded me without so much as a look back or a text goodbye.
I figure I’ll give him a couple more days before chasing him down at his new workplace, but I keep holding on to the hope that he’ll reach out to me.
That hope’s fading fast.
I wave goodbye to Helen, say goodbye to a couple of my other new colleagues as I step out into the summer sunshine. Napa’s everything I want it to be. So’s the new job. Mostly I’ve been training, shadowing everyone, learning everything there is to know about Chateau St. Magrit branding.
And then there are the fun parts: tasting, learning the nuances, learning which labels are selling well, and which need a little bit of repositioning in the marketplace.
It’s absolutely everything that I envisioned, right down to the sunny little office just off the main tasting room. I’ve already decorated it with the inspirational quotes that used to fuel me.
The damn quotes have been failing me lately.
Everything’s failing me. Because everything I thought I wanted isn’t what I want the most.
I drop into the driver’s seat, the familiar sight of Horny reminding me, as it always does, of those two weeks with Reece. I alternate between missing him like crazy and hating his guts for being an emotional moron. Look, I get that guys can be weird with their feelings sometimes, and that talking it out doesn’t come naturally.
But my guy? He’s set the bar really low on the communication front.
I pull out my phone to look up a decent pizza place, feeling very much like I’ve earned a slice of pepperoni and a glass of the nice zin I’m supposed to be developing a tasting note for.
Unsurprisingly, there’s no text from Reece. I’ve almost trained myself not to hope for it.
There are, however, two texts from Craig, and I frown in confusion.
The first text: Spock. You didn’t get it from me.
The second is an address in El Verano, California.
I wrinkle my nose. What? I don’t even know where that is.
A quick search on my Maps app shows me that it’s near Sonoma, but why my brother would be sending me there…
Unless…
A couple days ago, in desperation, I texted Craig, asking if he knew how I could get ahold of his idiot best friend who wasn’t answering my calls. If he doesn’t know what went down between me and Reece, my text has probably gotten him wondering, but I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything except the idiot who ran away from the best thing either of us has ever known.
Craig didn’t reply.
Until now.
“Brother, I love you,” I mutter to myself, as I quickly get driving directions to the address Craig provided.
Getting around the area on a Friday afternoon is no easy feat with the weekenders coming into town for a couple days of winery-hopping, and by the time the GPS gets me to my destination, I’m practically shaking with anticipation.
It’s a tiny blue house on a quiet street. A little run down, but a little charming too. There’s a white Honda and a beat-up blue truck taking up all the driveway space, so I park on the street, and, heart hammering, I make my way to the front door, which is…
Open.
Just a crack, but enough for me to hear masculine laughter.
Familiar laughter.
My heart seizes. Reece.
Before I can think better of it, I nudge the door open and step inside, my heart pounding in anticipation. In hindsight, I probably should have come up with a plan, but then I remember that I’m not the one who has some explaining to do.
I’m not the one who ran away.
I follow the sound of his voice, my heart quickening in a different, more dangerous way when I register that it’s not just his voice.
