AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Hi,” I say as I push my door closed and step closer to him on the gravel drive. I’ll just pretend he didn’t try to flick me away.
Stretching to my full height, I’m still easily a foot shorter than the man in front of me, who keeps several feet between us like a showdown. He’s creating his own shade, shielding me from what spare sunlight creeps around the house.
“Morning,” he lobs back, his voice harsh and low.
“Hi,” I repeat. “I’m Ruby.” I want to roll my eyes at myself for stating the obvious. Of course he knows who I am. Who else would be standing out here to greet me other than the man who emailed me for an early morning interview?
He nods, eyes stony with resignation, as though he’s not happy to see me. Well, that squares with an interviewer who’s a half hour late and unapologetic about it.Nice to meet you too.
“Okay.” He seems impatient, annoyed, like he’s seen a few too many women of my type for his liking. Problem is I don’t know what type that is, but I suspect he thinks I’m not serious about the job, and I’m desperate to set him straight. Yes, I’m still in the clothes I slept in, but that’s a whole other story—I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t notice. And I’m here because he asked me to come at six in the morning—early for some people, but I appreciated that he took into account the Bay Area traffic and my hour-plus commute. So why isn’t he friendlier?
“Someone short-sheet your bed or something?”
He shrugs, hands deep in his pockets. “I don’t even know what that means.”
Suddenly, his beautiful exterior fades slightly in the sunlight. It irritates me when I can’t stop my eyes from wandering south to where I can count every one of his abs through his black tee.
Straightening my top so it covers both shoulders, I try to present him with my most confident smile, while fearing that I look more like a predatory loon. The wide neck of my shirt immediately betrays me and slips, now exposing the other shoulder.
Clenching my hands into fists, I tell myself to leave it alone and keep smiling through the uncomfortable moment, which I’m making more uncomfortable by grinning at his grim face for no discernable reason. I see a flicker of amusement pass over his features, but mostly he’s just staring at me.
It’s fine. People are weird. I’ve long since accepted that.
“It was nice of you to come out, but I don’t need a nanny. Sorry to waste your time.” He takes a step backward.
“What?”
“Did you not hear me?” He cups a hand around one ear.
“I did. And thanks, but I have no interest in being your nanny.”
His mouth tugs down. Sure. He’s one of those guys who’s fine telling me to take a hike, but when I turn around and reject his non-offer, he’s suddenly offended. Well, too damn bad.
“Well, good. Then we’re in agreement.” His quieter tone lacks conviction.
I take a look around the place as my heart sinks. Because I’m clearly not getting the job I came for, and I really like what I’ve seen so far here.
Driving along the quiet wine roads earlier, something felt different. When I approached Buttercup Hill Vineyards, the very air around the property was different, lighter, more fragrant. I could barely see a thing in the dim early morning light, but as the sun rose, I felt an unfamiliar joy of anticipation. Like my senses knew this place could change my life.
As soon as I turned off the main road and onto the lane with the hammered tin archway spelling out Buttercup Hill Vineyards in gleaning letters, I felt like I wanted to stay here forever.
But that was before I stood before with what appears to be a surly lumberjack winemaker.
If this job prospect is a bust, I’ll be zero for three this week. The first one looked promising. The ad made the job sound like I’d be helping the wine buyer at a restaurant, but it turned out to be a bartending job. Where I’d wear a revealing sailor’s uniform and a hat.
The second job was more like online dating gone very, very wrong. The manager at a large wine company spent a week sending me flirty texts before agreeing to meet. When we did, he asked questions about how I liked to spend my time outside of work. Because it was a wine-related job, I reasoned, maybe he needed to know that I had an active social life.
But when he asked me about my simple pleasures and my self-care routine, alarm bells began sounding. When he asked me to play “would you rather,” I got the heck out of there.
So this job needs to come through. Third time’s the charm and all that.
Plus…I can’t stop fangirling over every inch of my surroundings. Even though I’ve only seen a gravel road and the front gates of the place, there’s something magical about the way it feels. It’s why I cracked my windows open even though my car has perfectly good air conditioning. I wanted to see and smell and feel everything as I drove along.
The grand oak trees soar up on both sides of the gravel drive, their leaves providing shade no matter where the sun is. That must be what I’m smelling, a syrupy, sweet, woodsy smell I remember from going to camp as a kid.
The air in Napa is just different. Dry, fragrant, earthy. If happiness had a smell, it would be this place. If charm had a definition, it would be the white-painted clapboard farmhouse, which only bears resemblance to an actual farmhouse in its style because normal farmhouses aren’t this large. Even from the small glimpse I have, I can tell the place is massive, two stories with green shuttered windows and a front porch big enough to hold an eleven-piece band.
To say nothing of the vineyards, which I know stretch for acres in all directions. I saw row upon row of grapevines dotted with perfect hanging bunches of grapes before turning into the driveway. The leaves fluttered in a light breeze that blew through my open window, bringing with it a new kaleidoscope of smells—freshly watered, mineral-rich soil, a faint scent of ripening grapes, the warring floral notes from lavender and star jasmine along with other varieties of heat-tolerant blooms.
