Page 33 of Rare Blend
Once we’re both inside, the cab of the truck seems to shrink. The close quarters amplify his citrusy laundry scent as it mingles with the leather interior. I roll down my window, preferring to not let myself get clouded by the intoxicating smell. I feel his eyes track me as my head leans out.
“You don’t get carsick, do you?”
“Nope,” I tell him, keeping my attention aimed on the endless rows of vines, realizing how far into the acreage I wandered.
Cool plastic taps against my shoulder.
“Here,” Ethan says, nudging a water bottle to me. “Drink this. You look like shit and you’re probably dehydrated.”
I whip my head toward him. “You’re full of charm, aren’t you?” I deadpan, grabbing the water bottle. I’m irritated, but not so much so that I’m going to refuse it. He’s right, I probably do look like shit, and I probably am dehydrated, not that I’ll admit it.
“So…you’re a runner?” Ethan asks after I finish chugging the entire water bottle.
“I thought I was,” I mumble. “It’s been a while.”
He nods, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s a little nervous.
I turn to look at him, and he regards me cautiously.
“Maybe next time, take a phone with you or run in town.”
He doesn’t say it in anI told you somanner, but I take it that way, regardless.
“Save the lecture. Lesson learned.”
“I’m not really a lecture kind of guy.”
Sinking deeper into my seat, I shift my face to him. “So, what kind of guy are you?”
The corner of his mouth curls ever so slightly. “The kind that doesn’t feel like dragging a dead body out of my vineyard. Can’t have you ruining two vineyards in one season.”
My jaw drops, and a giggle escapes. “Har, har. Very funny.” I sit up straighter, feeling more energized. “And for the record, I didn’t ruin anything and you know it.”
His lips pull into a wry grin. It’s not a full smile, but it’s enough to make me feel like I accomplished something very few do.
“I know. In my defense, I thought you were just some tourist.”
“Tourists are your bread and butter. You should be nicer.”
He sighs deeply, the picture of resignation. “I’m working on it.”
The remainder of the drive is quiet as we ride in comfortable silence.
When the cottages come into view, every muscle in my body releases a sigh of relief. I can practically feel the long shower I’ll be taking the second I get inside.
As the truck comes to a stop, something rolls across the floor mat, tapping against my shoe. I reach down to retrieve it, realizing it’s an empty prescription pill bottle. Before I can stop myself from invading Ethan’s privacy, I read the label and see it’s a prescription for the same medication Hillary used to take for her panic attacks in college. I close my palm around the bottle and turn to hand it to Ethan, hoping he didn’t catch me reading the label.
Based on the fuming look in his eyes, I’m going to bet he definitely caught me.
“Here you go,” I try to say cheerily.
He grabs it from me and swiftly exits the truck, slamming his door.
Uh oh.
I scramble out. “It’s not a big deal,” I shout to his back as he whistles for Goose to hop out, ignoring me in the process.
Continuing to ignore me, he walks past me.
