Page 18 of The Sweetness of Life

“Oh, yes they do. Their ringleader has made his opinion of me clear to everyone within a ten-mile radius.”

She laughs again. She thinks I’m exaggerating, but yesterday ranks as one of my most awkward days ever.

“It can’t be that bad. You haven’t done anything.”

“It is! And no, I haven’t done anything that I can think of, which makes all this so much worse. I can’t believe Lexi is friends with someone like him. I can’t believe I have to stay here for two weeks!”

“Why is that? Can’t you be done with the tasting by tomorrow?”

“I probably could be done with it today, especially if they gave me a few bottles, but the magazine rented this place for two weeks and has a photographer here onsite. They want to build this article for their online magazine and the special issue, make it more than just a few photos by adding in video clips, one-on-one interviews, Zach and the staff trying the food I make, things like that. There’s an exit interview at the end and then I’ll be home.”

“I think it sounds like fun.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you were the one he had pushed up against the wall. Oh, and then he almost kissed me!” I flop down on the couch and cover my face with my arm. I’m not sure who I’m hiding from, maybe myself. I exacerbated the situation yesterday by letting him carry on as long as I did, and I’m thoroughly embarrassed.

“What? Oh, this story keeps getting better and better. I thought he hated you.” She giggles.

“He does! And he’s so angry all the time.” Moving my arm, I stare at the white ceiling and picture his face. I shouldn’t have so many details memorized, but it seems I do.

“You’re not making any sense. People don’t almost kiss people they hate. Maybe he has childhood playground syndrome.”

“What?”

“You know, maybe his behavior is like that of a boy on the playground, one who pushes the girl down and calls her names but secretly likes her.”

“Meg, trust me when I say nothing about him is like a boy on the playground. He’s all man, and he doesn’t like me.”

“Did you look him up online? Maybe you can find out something about him that y’all have in common. If you can play nice for two weeks, I’m sure he can, too.”

“I did look him up right after I got here, and I didn’t find out anything new. There are a ton of pictures of him with different girls, playing football, and a few here at the winery with his parents. As for the articles, I scrolled through them, but all that was there were old TMZ articles about who he was and wasn’t dating, the drama of his last girlfriend, a ton of articles about his football career and the injury that ended it, and a few from when he took over the winery. When I searched by most recent, the four wilted grapes review popped up as the most prominent, but nothing about any hobbies, foundations, et cetera.”

“What about social media?”

“His Facebook page is set to private, there isn’t a fan page, Twitter is mostly wine and sports tweets, and Instagram is all pictures from around here—nothing of any use to me. He—” The doorbell rings, and my eyes dart toward it. “Hey, Meg, someone’s here, I have to go.” I’m already off the couch and halfway to the door before she answers.

“All right, but remember, you’ve got this. This is your assignment and it’s going to make you shine. Forget the guy, forget the people, remember your rule, come up with some badass food, and call me later.”

“I will.” A pang of longing for my friend hits my heart. I miss her, and I miss our restaurant. “And thanks. I needed that.”

“Of course! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do . . . well, unless Mr. Hottie Ex-Football Player decides to push you again—”

“Stop! Stop right there.”

She laughs and that longing evaporates, so I do what any best friend would do: I hang up on her.

Zach is standing on the other side of the door. My entire body seizes with an unwanted attraction as I watch him through the crack in the curtain. He runs his hand over his face and around to the back of his neck. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him do this, and it isn’t the first time I’ve thought it was hot. He’s hot—unfairly so. People shouldn’t look as pretty as he does.

While I debate whether I should open the door or pretend I’m not here, he takes a step forward and knocks again. Not expecting it to be so loud, I jump.

“What do you want?” I call through the door. I’m not in the mood to deal with this guy today. We saw each other yesterday—can’t we be done for a while?

“I thought I’d take you around and show you the property.” He pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket, looks at something, and then shoves it back in. He’s fidgeting.

“Why?” I ask, taking the opportunity to look him over. He didn’t shave today and there’s a scruff across his face that takes him from being just a hot guy to a hot guy with an edge. He’s wearing a baseball hat low on his forehead and a light blue T-shirt that hugs his chest and arms perfectly. I have a thing for guy’s arms, and his are well defined and rock solid. If he were anyone else, I’d be trying to touch them.

“Because you’re going to be here for two weeks and should probably know your way around,” he answers.

“Can’t Michelle show me?”