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Siena
Icould have sworn mygrandma was smirking on the quick ride back home. But each time I turned to look at her, her face was deadpan serious.
“Michael seems nice,” she finally said when we walked into the kitchen.
“Nice?” I scoffed. “There’s nothing nice about him.”
She crossed her arms and beamed.
“He should have told me who he was right from the get-go. Instead, he just let me ramble on and on, making a complete fool of myself.”
“Well, it’s not his fault you acted like a fool, is it?”
“No, but . . .” I looked out the window. I could barely make out the lights of his trailer. It was hard not seeing the familiar glow of the inn. “He could have said something.”
“You could’ve too,” she said simply. “Night, honey.” She kissed my cheek and left silently.
I continued to stare out the window, nothing on my mind except a pair of rich, dark-chocolatey eyes. I huffed in frustration. Sleep was not going to come easy for me tonight. I had the feeling I would dream about Michael’s handsome face.
I decided I needed to work out my frustration in the form of baking. Something yummy and comforting.Something warm and gooey,I thought as I rummaged through the pantry. Something deliciously sweet.Brownies!I finally decided, grabbing the ingredients I needed.
I also decided I needed to try to make amends with Michael Aiden Blaire. If he was going to buy part of our land, that meant having business dealings with my grandparents. But the fact that he was interested in purchasing the business raised my hackles. I was irritated, pissed off, and worried all at the same time. I couldn’t believe they wanted to buy our winery. I couldn’t imagine why they’d have any interest in anything in Monarch.
Sure, Monarch was beautiful. Stunning. Peaceful, serene, natural. But it was also just wineries, orange groves, and family farms surrounded by the Cleveland National Forest to the north, and the Cuyamaca Mountains to the south. In no way at all was this area even remotely suited for a Blaire hotel. Something as flashy as that would change everything the families in this area loved about calling Monarch home. Not to mention the tourists who came for the relaxed and easy-going feel our town was known for. Of course, I admitted to myself, those folkswouldneed a place to stay. But a fucking Blaire hotel? No way.
I couldn’t afford to have my grandparents get played by Michael or his dickhead of a father. In fact, I had to be extra cunning and win him over so I could make sure he didn’t screw them over himself. He needed to understand who he was dealing with. I wasn’t just some bimbo with big boobs and no brain like he was probably used to manipulating.
I was determined to charm him.Kill ’em with kindness. And in this case, my kindness was going to be chocolatey decadence. If my big mouth couldn’t make peace, my brownies could. There’d be no way he’d be able to deny me now.
* * *
The next morning,with my fresh-out-of-the-oven brownies wrapped on a plate and a mason jar of iced cold milk, I made my way back over to him. I had to steel myself, pump myself up, give myself a pep talk like I would for an interview. “Okay, Siena Moretti. You can do this. All you gotta do is be nice and smile. Let your baking do the talking.”Let your baking do the apologizing is more like it,my subconscious said back to me.Shut up!I told it.
I retraced the same steps I had taken the night before. Fifteen feet from my car to his door. Three knocks. I waited, checked my watch. It was nine in the morning. Surely, he was awake by now. I knocked twice more, waiting for the door to open.
“Come in.”
I hesitated a moment before doing as instructed. On a round wooden table where he sat, papers were laid out in some kind of order. What order, I couldn’t tell. I lifted the plate of brownies and jar of milk in advertisement. “I brought a peace offering.” Silence. “Homemade brownies.” Nothing. “Chocolate? They’re delicious.” Still nothing.Fucker!
“Sure,” he said, nodding toward the plate. “Set them wherever.” He jerked his head back toward the ridiculously small kitchenette.
Not even a politeThank you.
What a DICK!
Inside, I wanted to scream, but for my grandparents’ sake, I plastered a smile into place and walked behind him to the counter. Attempting a cheerful tone, I asked, “Don’t you want one? They’re still warm.” I hoped the enticing, rich smell would waft to his nostrils and make him peek up. Still nothing. Trying again, I placed one of my decadent squares onto a napkin and took it and the cold milk to him. “Here. Take a break. Indulge a little.”
“I don’t have time to take a break. But thanks.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” I huffed.
“About what?” he said without looking up.
“About what I said.”
“What you said?”
“Yes, what I said,” I repeated, my irritation already starting to get the best of me. Was he playing stupid on purpose?
