12. Ellie

ellie

. . .

When I woke up, I was disoriented. The surroundings were unfamiliar—the room didn’t smell like home, the bed didn’t feel like mine, and the total silence was strange.

I sat up and blinked. The room was gloomy and cold and unfamiliar, but as my eyes wandered left to right—the kitchenette, the knotty pine walls, the buffalo plaid drapes pulled across the window—the memories filled in.

I wasn’t home—I was at the Pineview Motel with Gianni. We’d spent the night together. But where was he now? Shivering, I made my way over to the window and peeked out.

His SUV was still buried in the snow, which blanketed everything in sight and continued to fall. The wind whistled at the windowpanes, and the neon motel sign cast an eerie glow through the white.

“Gianni?” I called, walking toward the bathroom. But the door was open, and he wasn’t in there. I checked the closet and saw that his coat was gone, as were his boots from the rug by the door. He must have walked somewhere.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I perched on the edge of the bed and listened to the howling wind, hoping Gianni was okay. Why would he leave without letting me know where he was going?

I grabbed my phone to see if he’d texted, but he hadn’t. My mother had called again, and Winnie had sent a message saying lunch had gone great, Mr. Lupo had arrived and was working with Felicity on dinner, and if anything else happened with Gianni I had to text her right away.

I plugged my phone back in and sat there biting my thumbnail. What if it got dark and he wasn’t back? What if he got lost? What would I do if he didn’t return?

I was still huddled there, my heart drumming with concern, when the door opened and Gianni came in on an icy gust of wind, several white plastic bags in his hands. He slammed the door behind him, but a bunch of snow drifted in anyway.

I jumped to my feet, taking in his red, ruddy face. “Where were you?”

“Hunting and gathering. Acquiring provisions.”

“Where?”

“First, I went to the gas station.” He traipsed over to the kitchenette and set the bags on the counter, getting snow all over the floor. “Plenty of canned and dry goods, although woefully lacking in fresh organic produce and artisanal cheeses. But I managed to find enough things for dinner.”

“Why do we need dinner? What happened to the tow truck?”

He shrugged. “Can’t get to us until tomorrow.”

“Shit!” I put my hands in my hair. “You mean we’re stranded here another night?”

“Looks like it. But the snow is going to slow down after midnight, and the towing guy said he’ll get to us first thing in the morning. And don’t worry, we have groceries and good wine, and I will prepare and serve a delicious emergency feast for you.” He pulled out a box of pasta and a couple cans of tomato sauce from the bags. “When I stopped in the office to book another night, I even asked Rose if I could borrow a few things from her pantry, and she graciously provided them free of charge. You might not dine like a queen tonight, but I’ll do my best to make you feel like one.”

I folded my arms, watching as he stuck a couple things in the mini-fridge. “Thanks.”

“And...” He opened another bag and pulled out a sweatshirt. Unfolding it, he held it up against his chest. “Tada. Clean clothes. I bought one for each of us.”

I laughed as I took in the logo on the front. “Merch from the Pineview Motel?”

“Exactly. Now we’ll have a souvenir of our romantic time here together.” He tossed the sweatshirt at me. “Sorry about the size, XL is all they had.”

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

“And.” He pulled out a pair of navy blue snow pants. “They’re from the motel lost and found, but Rose says they’re clean. She washed them.”

“Thanks.” I took them from him. “Am I supposed to sleep in them?”

“No. But I thought we could take a walk.” He balled up the empty plastic bags and stuck them in his duffel. “Unless you’d rather stay in, get naked, and let me do unspeakable things to your body.”

“Let’s take a walk,” I said, stepping into the snow pants. “I could use some fresh air.”

“Sounds good to me. Maybe we’ll find some truffles in the forest I can use for our dinner.”

“Sure,” I said, zipping the pants, which actually fit nicely. “Or some sort of wild game you can take down with your bare hands. Venison or pheasant.”

“I am good with my hands.” Gianni scooped up his gloves and tugged them on, his smile turning cocky. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“You are too.”

His comment surprised me and sent a warm rush through my body as our eyes locked and the memory of last night passed between us. I glanced at the bed, realizing we’d have to spend another night in it together. I cleared my throat. “Come on. Let’s go.”

We bundled up, strapped into the snowshoes we’d borrowed, and traipsed into the woods behind the motel, following a path between the birches and maples and evergreens.

Snow fell around us, but we were sheltered from the worst of the storm, and it was quiet and peaceful along the trail. Soft gray light filtered through the leafless tree branches and needles of the pines. I took deep breaths of air that smelled like winter—woodsy and sharp with cold, a hint of smoke from a nearby fireplace. A few icy breezes occasionally whispered through the trees, but the loudest sound was from the snow crunching beneath our feet. My muscles grew warm.

Neither Gianni nor I spoke for a while, and I surprised myself when I broke the silence with, “I was worried about you.”

He glanced at me. “When?”

“When I woke up and you were gone.”

He laughed, his breath creating puffs of white. “Sorry. I guess I should have told you what I was doing. But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Yeah. I needed that nap.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Are you feeling better?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. Because it was only one thing that didn’t happen. Your ultimate goal is to grow awareness of your brand, and there are other ways to do that. You don’t need Fiona Duff.”

“You’re right.” I took another lungful of bracing air. “I’ll brainstorm some new ideas when we’re back.”

“I’d be glad to help you.”

“Thanks.” I snuck a glance at him, and his profile made my body feel hot beneath my clothing. “Look at us getting along. Maybe it is the end of the world.”

“Does that mean we can have sex again tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? Last night was fun, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” I agreed. “But it happened before we were friends. Now that we have a friendship, we’d better not ruin it.”

“I think I liked it better when you hated me. Is there a dunk tank around here? Or some sort of forest pond I can push you into?”

I laughed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He stopped walking and looked around. “God. It’s so fucking pretty here, isn’t it?”

“It is.” I’d gone a few steps ahead of him, but I stopped too, looking around. Then I tipped my head back to catch a few snowflakes on my tongue.

He watched me, then slowly caught up. “I know you’re going to think this is bullshit, but I have to say it.”

I looked at him warily. “What?”

“You’re really fucking beautiful.”

“Gianni, I already said no more sex.”

“I’m not saying it because I want to have sex. I mean—I do, but that’s not why I said it. I said it because it’s true.”

“Stop it. I’m a mess right now.” But I could feel my cold cheeks warming. “No makeup, I didn’t even brush my hair today let alone take a shower, and my nose is probably bright red.”

“It is.” He smiled, and for once it was genuine, not arrogant. “And yes, your hair is kinda messy, but you don’t need makeup, and I’m not close enough to smell you, so the lack of a shower isn’t really an issue. By the way, this isn’t anything new. I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but it really struck me just now.”

“Oh.” Self-conscious, I touched a mitten to my hair. “Well, thanks. Maybe it’s good light out here or something.”

“It’s not the light.”

I met his eyes, and my heart performed a few acrobatic tricks. He was close enough that he could have leaned over to kiss me, and I would have let him. God help me, I wanted him to. I imagined his tongue on mine, warm where the snowflakes had been cold. I looked at his mouth and let my lips fall open.

But he didn’t kiss me.

“Should we go back?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder the way we’d come. “It’s going to get dark soon. I don’t want to lose our way.”

“Sure. Yes. Let’s go back.” Flustered, I tried to pivot in place, but one of my snowshoes somehow caught the edge of the other, and my left ankle wrenched painfully. Crying out, I tipped over sideways in the snow.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Gianni tossed his poles aside and reached for me.

“I’m fine,” I said, although my ankle was throbbing. “I just twisted my ankle.”

“Can you stand up?” He took me by both arms and lifted me to my feet. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s not too bad.” Gingerly, I put some weight on that foot. It was bad, but not excruciating. “I think I’m okay.”

Gianni looked up the trail toward the motel. “It’s a ways back. Do you want me to go see if I can get a snowmobile or something?”

“No!” The prospect of being left alone out here as it got dark was terrifying. “Don’t leave me.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “I won’t. Here, give me that other pole, and lean on me.”

I handed him my left pole and looped my arm through his, grateful for the support. We took a few tentative steps.

“How’s that?” he asked. “Do you need to go slower? Put more weight on me?”

“No, I’m good.” The ankle still hurt, but something about leaning against his solid body and knowing he wouldn’t let me fall was taking some of the pain away. “Just don’t let go.”

“I won’t. And when we get back, I’ll find you some ice.”

“Thanks. Sorry I ruined our walk.”

“You didn’t ruin it. You made it more memorable. We’ll never forget it.”

I half-groaned, half-laughed. “No, we won’t.”

Slowly and carefully, we made our way back to the motel. It was dark by the time we reached our door, where Gianni helped me out of my snowshoes, then insisted on carrying me inside, taking off my boots and lowering me onto the bed. Then he pulled off my snow pants and hung up my coat.

“Gianni, I’m okay. This isn’t necessary.” But my heart rapped with pleasure at his sweet attention.

“Let me see that ankle.”

Sighing, I tugged off my sock and hitched up my pant leg, glad I’d shaved my legs yesterday. I also made a mental note to thank my mother for encouraging me to get nice pedicures even in the winter. “See? It’s barely swollen. And I can move it.” I pointed and flexed my foot gently, but I winced. “A little.”

“Stay there. I’m going to find some ice.”

“Okay, thank you. Hey, I have some ibuprofen in my purse, could you grab it for me?”

“Definitely.” He brought me my purse and a glass of water before heading out the door.

I watched him leave, wishing my pulse wasn’t galloping quite so fast. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed how badly I wanted him to put his mouth on mine out there in the woods.

It was better that he hadn’t.

Ten minutes later, Gianni returned with a plastic bag of ice. “Rose is the best,” he said, stomping the snow off his boots. “She even gave me an ACE bandage to wrap it.”

“Aw, that’s so nice.”

“But first, let’s get some ice on it.” Gianni grabbed a kitchen towel, wrapped the bag of ice in it, and placed it on the bed. Then he carefully lifted my leg below the calf and placed my ankle on the ice.

“I can still move my leg,” I said, laughing. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Fuck off and let me take care of you.”

“Okay, but your bedside manner could use some work.”

He sat on the bed, where he examined my ankle from all sides. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

“It isn’t. Honestly, it’s fine.”

He touched the top of my foot. “You have very small feet.”

“Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not, I’m just stating a fact. And your toes are cute.”

“Thank you.” I noticed the way his eyes were moving from my foot to my calf and up my leg and felt warm. “How about some wine?”

He jumped up. “Sure. I’ll pour you a glass and then start dinner. I’m getting hungry.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, I took a couple big, deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on my skin.

Twenty minutes, 400 milligrams of Motrin, and one glass of wine later, I was able to put some weight on my foot.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I said, limping over to my bag and taking out my clean underwear, socks, cosmetics case, and the sweatshirt Gianni had purchased for me.

“Okay,” Gianni said from the stove.

“I can help you with dinner when I get out.”

“I don’t want you on that foot. I’ve got this.” He glanced over his shoulder at me, a grin playing on his lips. “But let me know if you need help in the shower.”

Rolling my eyes, I hobbled toward the bathroom. “I’m fine, thanks.”

But I wasn’t.

As I shut the bathroom door, I leaned back against it and put a hand on my fluttering stomach. While I got undressed, all I could think about was the night ahead. Hour after hour alone in the dark with him, sharing that little bed with the memory of his body on mine fresh in my mind. The memory of his kiss. Of his tongue. Of those orgasms.

God, why couldn’t he have been shitty at sex? Clumsy and selfish, with no clue what to do with his hands or his mouth, let alone his dick? Why did he have to know just how to touch me? The right things to say? Exactly how to move? No one had ever made me feel that good—desirable, wanted, sexy.

And he was being so sweet today. I thought I’d seen all his sides, but maybe there was more to him than a big ego and a hot body.

I just wouldn’t think about it, that was all. I’d take a nice, long shower and think about other things—special events I could do at Abelard this summer, engaging social media posts, updates to our tasting room, maybe a series of tasting videos online or a podcast where I interviewed other small winemakers in the region about what they were doing.

Distracted by business, I began to feel better. The water at the Pineview Motel didn’t get very hot, of course, and I had to keep most of my weight on one leg, but I managed. In my cosmetics case, I’d discovered tiny travel bottles of my shampoo and conditioner, so I even managed to wash my hair.

After I got out, I dried off, wrapped the towel around me, and combed through my wet hair. Since there was no blow dryer, I’d have to let it air dry. I hung up the towel on a hook, and pulled on my clean underwear, socks, and the XL sweatshirt. It was huge, even bigger than Gianni’s sweater from last night, so I didn’t feel too self-conscious coming out of the bathroom in it.

When I opened the door, I was greeted with an aroma that made my mouth water—tomatoes and garlic and herbs and fresh bread. But how was that even possible?

“What are you making?” I asked, limping up behind Gianni. A pot of pasta was boiling on one burner, and he was stirring sauce on the other. On the counter was olive oil, a few dried herbs and spices, the bottle of white wine, and something wrapped in foil. “Why does it smell so good?”

“Rose gave me a loaf of bread she baked today and I sliced it open, brushed it with melted butter and garlic powder, and warmed it up on the stove. It’s wrapped up there.” He nodded toward the counter. “And this is going to be our spaghetti pomodoro.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Good.” He tasted the sauce and added a little more salt. “Rose also offered me a frozen bag of spinach—she said her husband won’t touch the stuff—and as soon as the sauce is done, I’ll use the pan to sauté it with some white wine.”

“Speaking of wine.” I poured us each another glass, hoping the buzz would deaden the feelings building for him inside me. “What else can I do?”

“Nothing. I told you, I’ve got this.” He glanced at me and smiled. “You look cute. How’s the ankle?”

“Thanks. It’s okay.” Hating the way my heart beat a little faster at the compliment, I took my wine over to the bed and sat down. “I think I might try to get ahold of Winnie.”

“I just talked to my dad.” Gianni drained the spaghetti in the sink.

“You did? Is he at Abelard?” Leaning back against the headboard, I extended my legs in front of me.

“Yes. All good. Apparently, he’s got Winnie’s sister in the kitchen, and he likes her so much he’s about ready to offer her a job at Trattoria Lupo. Says she’s quick on her feet and a fast learner.”

I smiled. “That’s Felicity. She’s crazy smart. She just moved back from Chicago to start her own catering company.”

“Oh yeah? Now which sister is she?” He returned the pasta to the pot. “Aren’t there like twenty MacAllister girls running around?”

“No, but there are five,” I said, laughing. “Millie is the oldest—she’s the event planner at Cloverleigh Farms. Then Felicity—she went to culinary school, and she worked in restaurants for a while but for the last few years she’s been a food scientist.”

“Really? Like test kitchen stuff?”

“Yes,” I said, enjoying the view of Gianni moving capably and confidently at the stove. He still wore his jeans and white shirt from last night. It was a wrinkled mess, but the sleeves were rolled up, exposing his solid forearms, and he looked so good, perfectly at ease in the small kitchenette as he made dinner for us without one word of complaint about the lack of gourmet ingredients or luxury appliances. I recalled undressing him last night, and what his body had looked like beneath his clothes. The wind continued to whistle at the windows and the snow still fell, but inside me a warm, comforting feeling spread from the center of my belly to the tips of my fingers and toes. Realizing I’d stopped speaking, I refocused on what I was saying. “And then after their dad married Frannie Sawyer, they had twin girls, Audrey and Emmeline. They’re in high school now.”

“Jesus.” Gianni shook his head. “That’s a lot of girls in one house. I feel bad for their dad. No way could I handle that.”

“I take it you don’t want kids?”

He added the sauce to the pasta and stirred it. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it in any real way. I’m not ready to grow up myself yet, you know? How the fuck would I manage raising a kid?”

I laughed. “I can’t imagine.”

“Babies make me nervous.”

I set my wineglass on the table next to the bed. “ Babies make you nervous?”

“Yes! They’re so tiny and breakable, and they need so many things. You constantly have to feed them or change them or carry them around. And they’re always there. You have zero freedom once you have kids.” He picked up his wineglass and turned to face me. “My cousin Sam said after his wife had a baby, they pretty much never left the house again. And it’s not like they stayed in and had sex all the time—he said they never even did it anymore because they were always too tired or the baby interrupted them.”

“Yes, well, babies don’t really get the concept of waiting until it’s convenient to need things.”

“Exactly.” Gianni took a drink. “Plus, having a kid with someone is like a major commitment. You basically have to be willing to spend the rest of your life with that one person.”

“You don’t think you could be faithful to one person?” Okay, this was good. Something negative about him.

“I could be faithful ,” he said finally, staring into his glass. “I don’t ruin relationships by cheating. I just ruin them by leaving. But mostly I avoid them in the first place.”

“Why is that?”

His shoulders rose as he met my curious gaze. “I really don’t know.”

“Come on. There must be a reason.”

“When things start to get serious, I just get fidgety or something. I feel like it’s time to move on, so I do. I’ve never felt like this is it, this is the one I’ll want forever . It’s not just with relationships—it’s with jobs, apartments, cities. It’s like I’m never satisfied with where I am and always need the rush of a new thing.”

“But maybe you’re not giving the thing or the person you have a chance. Maybe the rush would be replaced by something even better.”

He thought about that for a minute. “But that’s a risk.”

I laughed. “Yeah. It is.”

“And what if I take it and feel nothing? Or what if I take it and I’m not good at it? Or what if I like the something better, but the other person doesn’t?” He shook his head. “My way is better for everyone involved.”

“In that case,” I said, “keep using those condoms. You should not get married or have kids.”

“Told you.” He lifted his glass to his lips. “By the way, I bought more at the gas station. Just putting that out there in case you felt like reconsidering the whole no-more-sex rule.”

“I won’t.” But my stomach jumped as I reached for my phone. “Give me a minute to call Winnie.”

“Wait, what about you? Do you want kids?”

“Sure. Someday.” I shrugged. “I loved growing up at Abelard and think it would be a great place to have a family. I want to teach my kids all the things I’ve learned about farming the land and family history. I want to take them on trips and cook with them...”

“You’d be good at that,” he said, nodding. “Teaching them things.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d be good at it too.”

“You do?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Sure. Look at the way you took care of me when I hurt my foot today.”

“Yeah, but you’re a grown adult. I mean, you’re small like a child, but you’re not a baby.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m trying to say something nice about you.”

He laughed. “Sorry. I just meant that taking care of you is not the same as being responsible for a baby. When I walked out of here, you were fine.”

“It is true that you cannot walk out on a baby.”

He cocked his head. “But I do sometimes think it would be fun to teach little kids to cook, like my dad taught me. I need some nieces or nephews or something.”

“You should do classes,” I suggested, “although they’d probably fill up with women hoping you’ll cook shirtless.”

He grinned. “Is that your way of requesting I get naked right now?”

“No.” I hit Winnie’s number. “Keep your clothes on, please.”

Gianni turned around again, whistling “Fever,” and I shook my head. It was actually good to hear him say all this stuff—it confirmed my opinion of him as the kind of guy who was never going to be right for me. I wanted commitment, he wanted freedom. I wanted a family, he wanted independence. I wanted deep roots, he wanted to be a tumbleweed.

When we left here tomorrow—and please, God, let it be tomorrow—he’d accept that TV show offer and tumble on back across the country to Hollywood...and from there, who knew? But I probably wouldn’t see him much once he was gone, and even if that tugged at my heart in a way I didn’t really like, I’d be fine. Better than fine. I bet my blood pressure would even get lower without him around to raise it every day.

When I got Winnie’s voicemail, I left her a message. “Hey, Win. We’re stuck here another night, but hopefully we’ll be on the road early tomorrow. The snow is supposed to slow down after midnight, and the towing company told Gianni they can get to us first thing in the morning. I hope everything is going okay there—call me if you can. Love you, and thanks for everything.”

After I set my phone down, I watched Gianni wipe out the sauce pan for a moment, but mere seconds had gone by when I started to feel that heat rising in me again. Suddenly I had the crazy urge to walk up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, press my cheek to his back.

What would his reaction be? Shock? Laughter? Confusion? Would he give me that cocky grin that said I knew it ? Or would he be so surprised he wouldn’t even have a smart-ass response?

And what if this was my last chance to feel the way I’d felt last night? To experience that rush? To share my body so freely? To be that close to someone so warm and solid and beautiful?

I rose to my feet and walked toward him, unsteady on my one bad ankle, my hands clenched at my stomach, my pulse racing, my breath caught in my lungs.