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I lean back against the seat and study him, appreciating him a little more with every interaction.
As to the mule thing…I guess it takes one to know one.
ChapterTwelve
Jax
It’s the right decision.
I’ll pay for it in the morning. Hell, I’m already paying for it because I’m looking at three hours of work I could have been doing if I didn’t feel a spontaneous urge to bolt off the property and drag Ruby with me.
“This makes more sense.” I’m telling myself more than I’m telling her because it makes no sense. I don’t do things like drive Buttercup Hill employees to their houses an hour away.
She has a hold on me, and it scares the fuck out of me.
“I’m still curious about the wine operation you’ve got in your closet, Ginger.”
I’m looking at the road, but I feel her gaze on me. “That your way of inviting yourself up to my place, Jax?”
“It wasn’t, but I ain’t saying no.” And…she’s my employee, so I add for clarity, “Just offering to walk you to your door. Want to make sure you get in alright. The closet wine is just a curiosity.” Although, if we were different people—if she wasn’t my employee, and I wasn’t such a jaded asshole, then maybe…
She laughs, tipping her head back against the headrest. “Maybe next time, when I don’t have to be up again in seven hours.” I can’t decide whether I think she’s actually entertaining the idea of inviting me up or giving me the brush-off.
“Is it going okay in the tasting room? You’re not bored?” I grudgingly change the subject.
She shrugs. “Not bored. It’s good. People are nice.”
“People?”
“You know. People who come for tastings, the other Buttercup employees. Jemma’s easy to work with. It’s all good, Jax. Don’t worry.”
I do worry, though. If the job isn’t stimulating, and if it doesn’t put her on a path to becoming a sommelier, she might leave, and the more I know her, the more I hate the idea of that.
The hour-long drive back to Berkeley passes like it’s five minutes instead of fifty. We talk and talk. It’s just easy with her.
“Take the next one.” She points to the green freeway sign ahead, so I signal and glance to the right before changing lanes. I take the opportunity to look at her before my eyes go back to the road. She seems uncertain, eyes darting around as we near the freeway offramp, and not nearly as calm as she seemed earlier when we stopped for food.
We exit at Ashby Avenue and drive toward campus. I don’t get down to the Bay Area as often as I’d like, but seeing the Indian and Korean food places lined up next to gastropubs makes me realize I don’t get to many places at all these days.
Ruby points me down Telegraph Avenue, which takes us from culinary diversity to funkier old-school Berkeley, where I’m surprised at how many storefronts are vacant.
“This is me,” she says, pointing vaguely at a street. I look at the weed store on one corner, a burned-out former record store across the street, and an old swath of crime scene tape blowing in the breeze. I shoot Ruby a side-eye.
“Whatis you?”
“This spot. You can drop me here.” She starts to open the door, but I hit a button, and the locks slam shut. Her look of annoyance would be comical if I wasn’t sitting here looking at a corner that’s clearly seen its share of crime.
“Not dropping you here.”
“So why’d you offer to drive me home?” The innocence of her question runs smack into the worldly, old-soul version of her that I’ve been getting to know. Granted, I’ve spent my life in the silver spoon world of a family wine dynasty, but it doesn’t take street smarts to see that she probably shouldn’t be walking around alone here at night. Does it not seem dangerous to her?
“I mean, this doesn’t seem particularly safe, Ginger. Where do you live, exactly? I’d like to get you as close to the front door as possible.”
I’m not expecting her to laugh, but the musical chime of her giggles warms my soul, even if she’s laughing at my expense. “I didn’t realize you were such a housecat.”
“What?” I turn off the ignition and turn in my seat to face her.
“It’s not that scary out here in the world, I promise.”
