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“He’s not a weasel. Timothy’s the weasel, remember?” Pops joked. Grams and I laughed.
“Okay, he’s slightly less awful thanthatweasel.”
“Well, then,” she contemplated, looking at Pops. “I guess you won’t mind helping me plate some leftovers for him.”
“Sure.”
There was a mischievous twinkle in Grams’s eyes. Pops winked at her. “And then you can go with me to take them over.”
“No. Absolutely not!” I told her. “And what was that?” I chastised Pops, pointing at him.
“What?” He faked absolute innocence, rubbing his eyes. “Must be some dirt in my eyes or something.”
“Yeah, orsomething.”
“Now, Siena. That man is over there all by himself. The least we can do is be neighborly and bring him some home cooking,” Grams insisted.
“You can. I don’t have to.”
“You most certainly do. You are a representative of this business.”
I rolled my eyes.
“And this family,” Grams added. Her words got to me.
“Fine. But I’m doing this out of sheer obligation and guilt. Not because I agree or care what he thinks.”
“That’s my girl,” she said, then whispered something to Pops that earned a chuckle.
“Whatever you two are up to, stop it now,” I warned. My thinly veiled and empty threat made them laugh harder.
* * *
Pops didthe dishes while we plated the leftovers and took them to Michael. Even though I could see the Grayson’s, or should I sayBlaire’sproperty from the top of our hill, we took my car. The tree-lined, winding lane took us to the base of our vineyard, the path set on both sides by long-matured Mediterranean olive trees. Something about driving under a canopy of trees calmed me.
And then we were at the threshold of the enemy. And I felt nervous. I didn’t know why I was. Or why I even cared. So what if I made a complete fool of myself earlier? It’s not like I had to interact with him daily. And, if need be, I could very well steer clear of him for the next few weeks or months. Or however long it took me to put my life back together.
His trailer sat in the dark, only a faint light coming from the windows. I could barely make out the ruins of what used to be Grayson’s Inn in the darkness. Knowing it was gone, even though it was dated and a bit worn, made me sad. It reminded me of how much I’d lost recently.
Grams handed me the packed dinner while she fluffed her hair. I smiled at her vanity. She knocked on the door while I held the bag, irritated at a nervousness I didn’t want to feel.
When the door opened, I almost dropped the bag.What in the actual hell?My breath caught in my chest, and I swear I felt my heart stop.Oh, holy hell.
Illuminated by the dim light behind him, Michael Blaire looked like absolute sin. He’d had a beard earlier. Now, he had a cleanly shaven face. And he was absolutely gorgeous. Chiseled jaw, angular cheekbones, tanned skin, black coiffed hair. He looked like someone I’d want to see endorsing Moretti wines: mouthwateringly delicious. I immediately wondered if he smelled as good as he looked—a mixture of hot sex and unadulterated manliness. I halted my thoughts. A man? Now? After what Tim did to me?Fuck no!
Grams broke the silence. “Mr. Blaire, I’m Sophia Moretti. Siena and I just wanted to bring you some food. Since you couldn’t make it for dinner at our place, we figured you might enjoy some leftovers. Grilled salmon, asparagus, broccolini, potatoes, and a side salad. All fresh and homemade with love.” She smiled up at him.
“Thank you. That’s truly kind of you, Mrs. Moretti.”
“Oh please, call me Sophia.” She patted her hair. Was my grandma blushing? I swear I could see the pink in her cheeks, even in the darkness. “Siena made everything.” She hip-bumped me, urging me to say something.
I snapped out of my shock and awe. “I just assisted.”
“Oh, now. You did almost all the work.”
“It was a team effort.” I held the bag out for him, hoping it would bring an abrupt end to this.
“Ms. Moretti,” he said, finally acknowledging me, “how delectable this all sounds.” He looked at me, down to the bag, then back up to my face.
