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Michael’s back was to me as he leaned against Pops’s truck, our name and company logo, a cluster of dark purple grapes, on it. His jaw was taut, covered in several day’s stubble as his finger scrolled over his phone. His jeans showed off the impeccable curve of his ass, and a flannel shirt with its sleeves rolled to right below the elbow accentuated the muscles in his forearms. His dark hair was windblown and unruly, his skin a golden tan, his beautiful eyes hidden behind a pair of sleek and sophisticated Ray-Bans.
My heart skipped a beat. His beauty took my breath away. I didn’t know how he knew I was there, but he did. His head lifted in acute awareness. When he didn’t turn around, I cleared my throat, announcing my presence. Why was he purposefully ignoring me?
He worked his fingers over his phone a few more seconds before finally lifting his head to acknowledge me. He removed his glasses, slipped them into his shirt pocket, and eyed me from head to toe and back again. “Ms. Moretti.” The simple utterance of my name made my skin heat. “I offered to help Sal and Sophia any way I could. Lucky me, I get to chauffeur you around for deliveries.”
My heart stopped and my breath hitched. What the fuck was wrong with me?Get ahold of yourself.“Yeah, hi.” I aimed for an amiable tone, hoping he couldn’t see the war raging inside me. I wanted to slap him across the face for being such a pompous ass. But I also wanted to grab him and hold him tightly against my body, never letting go.
“Shall we?” He tilted his head toward the crates of wine stacked next to the truck.
We bumped heads, both bending to grab a crate at the same time.
“Ow. What the fuck?” I shouted, grabbing the side of my head.
“Yeah, what the fuck is right. Be careful!”
“Me?” I hollered, almost dropping the entire case of bottles. I hefted it onto the bed.
“Yeah. Throwing that hard head of yours around. Not watching what you’re doing.” He grabbed another crate of wine. His brute strength was forceful as he shoved it in alongside mine. I could hear the bottles clinking together. “That it?” he asked as he rubbed his head where we had banged into each other.
“Careful,” I criticized. He sent me an exasperated look as I loaded the last crate and secured it into place. Something was off, and I didn’t know what it was, what I had done.
“Sal said I should drive”—he slammed the bed closed—“so you could work on the orders.”
“Fine,” I snapped. Despite my irritation, I realized he was doing us a favor and added, “Thanks.”
“Yep,” was all he muttered in return.
As I double-checked our packing, making sure nothing would slide around, he walked to the passenger side and opened my door. He could be a brute, but at least this brute had deep-rooted manners. I climbed in, and he promptly shut the door, sealing me inside. I pulled my seatbelt on while he rounded the hood to the driver’s side.
A loud rumble erupted as he started the truck. “Where to first?”
Still unsure why he was so distant, but not wanting to ask, I gave him the address. He typed it into his cell and started the route guidance. I didn’t have the heart to bicker with Michael. All my worry, all my concern and fear for Pops had taken the fight out of me. I should have known better that my grandparents wouldn’t be around forever. And now, it appeared, Michael was going to be next.
“I can tell you where to go,” I suggested, trying one last time to get him to open up.
“I’ll use the GPS.” He didn’t even look at me, just kept his eyes glued on the road.
I sighed in defeat. Why the distance, the coldness? Everything, including him, had done a complete one-eighty, and I felt like we were right back to where we first started. Enemies.
“I appreciate your help,” I said while simultaneously pretending to type on my phone. I couldn’t look at him. My insides were churned up between a mix of love and hate.Love? I silently questioned myself.Lust! It’s just lust . . . and infatuation, I corrected my subconscious.
Besides, nothing remotely like love was coming from Michael.
His silence gave me time to think. While Pops’s heart attack had kept me too busy to think about Tim, when the smoke finally cleared, so had my head. Watching Grams care so deeply for the man she loved, seeing the worry mixed with relief in her eyes, made me realize that I could never feel that way about Tim. Even if I could love him the way I thought I had before he betrayed me, I needed someone to love me, to need me. I also needed someone I could love and need. And, when things got tough, I needed someone who would stick by me no matter how hard our lives got. Tim’s infidelity proved without a shadow of a doubt that he was notthe one. He never could be because I deserved more.
Could Michael be the one?
“We’re here,” Michael’s voice shocked me out of my private thoughts.
Clearing my throat in order to clear my head, I read the order as he grabbed the crate, hefting it from the bed and carrying it like it weighed next to nothing. I walked beside him, hoping we’d get to talking with the presence of a buffer between us. The buffer being our customer. But, sure as shit, he didn’t make a peep. He simply made the delivery and headed out. As I finished getting the signatures and securing the next order, Michael had already gotten back into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He was checking messages on his phone when I climbed in.
“Where to next?” he asked, not looking up.
I read the address. He plugged it in and started the navigation guidance all over again. No words. No eye contact. All right, fucker. Two can play this game. I kept my eyes glued straight ahead too. I checked my phone for anything to take my mind off the silence. It was deafening.
Frustrated and disheartened, I looked at the darkening sky, the threat of rain imminent. As if hearing my thoughts, the sky opened, and I listened to the faint sounds of raindrops hitting the windshield. I watched the sprinkling of rain as it covered the glass. It wasn’t falling too hard right now, but it was coming. I could feel it. Tonight, there was going to be a huge storm.
He pulled up to our next delivery. I waited for him to turn off the engine. “Order?” he asked. One word. Two syllables. That was all he was going to give me. He took the dolly from the bed of the truck, loaded the crates, and wheeled them inside. This time, he exchanged greetings with the customers but had little more to say as he maneuvered the wine to the designated space. I swear I could hear him whistling something on his way out. Who would be whistling in the rain? Surely, I had to be mistaken. Probably the wind or something.
