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Apparently, we’re having wine for dinner.
Her bright blue eyes sparkle, and a few loose tendrils of her gold waves fall from the topknot where she’s piled her hair. She looks angelic and fierce at the same time, and it takes everything I have not to pull her onto my lap.
Stop.
She just barely seems to find me tolerable, and I’m grateful for the company. The last thing I need is to jeopardize that by making a pass at her. Reining in my inappropriate thoughts, I do exactly as I’ve been told. I stay on the couch and don’t move, except to sip my wine.
Eventually, we both move, albeit more slowly after the first glass of wine, and begin building the bookshelves again. It goes much faster now that we’ve gotten the hang of following the ridiculous drawings that don’t look like the parts and pieces that came in the box.
A half hour later, both bookshelves are finished and we stand side by side, gazing at them like proud parents. “They’re so beautiful,” she says, dramatically placing a hand on her chest and pretending to tear up.
“All grown up.” I give her a playful bump with my shoulder. “Don’t forget, you promised me a look at your smutty books if I helped.”
She grins. “Later. Come in here first.”
I follow PJ into the kitchen when she beckons me with our empty glasses and the half-full bottle. She puts them on the table and fills two water glasses for us.
“You know, I thought about what you said, how I should apologize and move on with things. It makes sense.”
She perks up at that. “Yeah? You told your publicist to jump in a lake?”
“Not exactly. I’m still going to take the time off because of something else you said, which is when you pointed out that I…possibly…work too much. But when I get back, I plan to do the contrite apologizing.”
Shaking her head like she’s not sure she heard me correctly, PJ stares at me. “You really listened to what I said.”
“Um, yeah. It was good advice.”
She stands there, blinking at me like she’s stunned. “I just…people around here don’t always see it that way.”
I assume she means her family. I pour more wine into her glass. “Maybe you should also be sweating wine by the time my two weeks here are up.”
She laughs. “Maybe.”
Holding her glass up to the light, she examines the way the overhead kitchen lamp filters through the burgundy wine. “I rarely take time off either, if I’m being honest. I’m always too worried my siblings will think I’m a flake if I have too much fun. It used to be kind of a thing.”
“I don’t even understand those words, ‘having too much fun.’ How does a person have too much fun?”
Her eyebrows bounce. “Oh, there are all kinds of ways,” she says with a smirk. Is she flirting? It’s not that I don’t know what flirting looks like—there are always women at my business lunches making it clear I can have whatever I want from them, but I don’t want anything.
Since my marriage flamed out, it’s always felt safest to keep my head down and work. I had no use for women flirting with me. But now…if that’s what’s happening, I’m interested.
“Maybe you can show me while I’m here.”
She takes the last sip of her wine, draining the glass. I pour each of us a refill and realize we’re almost done with the bottle. PJ goes to her refrigerator and takes out a glass container with a green lid. Opening it, she offers me some sliced cheese, prosciutto, and tiny pickles.
When I take a slice of cheese, she holds up a finger and puts the glass container on the kitchen table. She goes to a tall cupboard and grabs a box of water crackers and a plate. By the time she’s back at the table, we have the makings of a charcuterie tray.
She grabs one more bottle of wine and two more glasses. “This one’s a cabernet blend from a few different growing areas. In case we want to try something else,” she says, sitting at the table.
“I like it. I also like our dinner.” I spill the crackers onto the plate and pile one with prosciutto and cheese. I offer it to her and make a second one for myself.
“Ha. This is my single girl dinner about half the time.”
“I’ll take it over a pretentious omakase sushi dinner any day.”
She smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not gonna get me to feel sorry for you, Billionaire Boy. At least, not because of that.”
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
