Page 16 of Blush Crush

“Professor Hampton,” I blurt, dropping the nearly empty bottle in my hands. By some miracle, it doesn’t shatter against the marble tile.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He bends to pick up the bottle before I can get to it, and our heads knock together with a thunk.

“Oh my God—I am so, so sorry,” I rush out, clapping a hand over my forehead. “I wasn’t looking, I should’ve—I’m just, I cannot believe I just head-butted you?—”

He laughs, the sound low and warm, and lightly catches my wrist before I can spiral myself straight into the floor. “Hey, hey. I’m okay. Promise.”

I go completely still at the contact, my brain short-circuiting.

He’s dressed in a lightweight forest green cardigan, the sleeves pushed up his forearms, a simple white T-shirt peeking out beneath it. Black-framed glasses sit above kind brown eyes, and salt-and-pepper stubble shadows his defined jaw.

He looks perfect.

I feel very much not.

“And call me Wes,” he adds, his smile doing something wildly unnecessary to my stomach. “Professor Hampton makes me sound like a gray-haired, potbelly old man.”

Only then does he drop my wrist, like he just remembered he’s holding it.

“Right. Wes.” My voice comes out slightly breathless. “Sorry.”

“Do you work here too?” His eyes rake over me, taking in the uniform—an ill-fitting burgundy polo with the Ledger logostitched over the left breast and wrinkled black slacks hanging on by a thread.

“Oh,” I breathe a laugh. “No. I mean yes. I mean sort of.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“This is my family’s winery,” I explain. “Sometimes I help out.”

His eyes widen, and I can’t tell if that’s a bad thing or a good thing.

“Impressive,” he says slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. “One of the best wineries in the country and the best coffee I’ve ever had. You’re full of surprises, Ariana.”

My heart flutters like a butterfly discovering its wings for the first time.

Before he can say anything else, a woman steps up beside him, and I instantly realize he isn’t alone.

She’s beautiful in a polished, effortless way—sleek blonde hair, a simple white cotton dress that would look like a crumpled bag on me but on her hangs just right, skimming her waist like it was tailored. Even the way she stands feels intentional, shoulders relaxed, chin tipped with easy confidence, like she belongs anywhere she goes. Like she’s never once wondered where to put her hands or what to do with herself.

“Ariana,” Wes says, turning slightly toward her, “this is Savannah. She was one of my students a few years ago.”

“Nice to meet you,” Savannah says warmly, extending a hand. Her smile is kind, not the least bit condescending, which somehow makes it worse. She meets my eyes without hesitation, without that quick flicker people get when they’re sizing someone up. She doesn’t need to size anyone up. She already knows where she stands.

“We’re celebrating,” Wes says as he squeezes her shoulder. “Savannah recently signed her first publishing deal.”

The fluttering in my heart slows to a stop, sending me soaring down.

“That’s amazing.” I try not to stare as his thumb brushes along her arm, a small gesture that tells me this relationship is more than teacher and student. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” She glances at Wes, and the way he looks back at her causes something inside me to break.

Of course he looks at her like that.

She’s the kind of woman people notice when she walks into a room. The kind who probably wakes up looking put together, who knows what to say without rehearsing it first.

This is the kind of woman a man like him would be with. Someone gorgeous and accomplished and confident. Someone not like me at all.

She’s the kind of woman most men want. Meanwhile, I’m the girl on the sidelines, watching life pass me by, because I’ll never be a Savannah. I’m never going to be the woman men trip over themselves for. I’m not sure why I even bothered thinking I had a chance.