Page 52 of Rare Blend
The once comfortable flow we had going is long gone, replaced with palpable tension.
Way to go, Marisa.
“Is this part of the interview?” he asks, jaw tightened.
“Oh, um, no. Sorry about that.” I giggle and it sounds dolphin-y. Great. “Anyway,” I say, trying to recover. “I’ll just read off my handy notebook.”
Handy notebook? Ugh, kill me now.
I decide to start with an easy one. “What’s your education and background?”
Some of the tension in his jaw releases. “I studied finance in college. I had always planned to work my way up in the accounting department. That’s what I was doing before I started this position.”
I can see him in that role. Something behind the scenes, not quite so front and center.
I set down my pen and close my notebook. It doesn’t feel right to continue. He doesn’t like to be the center of attention, and I have the ability to make the article less about him and more about the winery.
His brows furrow, and his eyes dart between me and the closed notebook.
“I think I have enough information.”
“But you only asked one question?”
I shrug. “Yeah, and I think I have enough information about the winery that it’s not necessary to ask you a bunch of personal questions that you’ll hate answering.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
His shoulders visibly relax. “You have no idea how relieved I feel.”
“Do you mind if I walk around the property and take some photographs for the article?” I ask now that we’re through my question set.
“Go for it.”
I get up from my seat and feel him moving behind me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going with you. Like I’m going to let you walk around by yourself. We both know how prone you are to property damage, and getting lost.”
Oh, so now that the tension between us isn’t so awkward, he’s got jokes.
“That was so funny, I forgot to laugh.”
He smirks, looking pompous, and a little zing zips up my spine. Hillary was wrong about my type. It’s definitely not tech bros.
Heat radiates behind me as he follows me out of his office and down the stairs to the lobby.
“Let’s go this way.” His hand practically brands the middle of my back as he steers me in the opposite direction from where I was heading. It made contact for a second if that, but I continue to feel it long after it’s gone. Meanwhile, he’s fine. It’s not like he stopped my heart and gave me a third-degree burn or anything.
“Where are we going?”
Rather than answer, he steps in front of me, taking the lead. I have to half-jog to keep up with his long strides. He looks back at me and notices, so he slows his steps.
“The crew should be harvesting the cabernets. I figured you’d want some pictures of the action.”
“Good thinking.”
He signs a clipboard and grabs a jacket hanging on a hook and leads me out to the back parking lot.
