Page 33 of Love You Always

She huffs a laugh. “Seems like you don’t wait for permission to do what you want.”

We walk in silence past the lake on the property where two swans are out today, puffing their feathers as though they know Ella is important. I want to tell them to relax. But I’m finding it a bit hard to relax myself as she strides next to me. The light floral scent of her perfume dances around us like a fairy cloud and the golden highlights of her hair keep catching the sun.

“It suits you,” I mutter to myself.

“Sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” Guess I need to watch my volume when I’m muttering near someone with perfect hearing.

“I heard you.” She says it like a warning, one I’ll ignore.

“So why’d you ask what I said?”

Another eye roll. “I’m not some diva who makes demands on other people and has to be waited on.”

I point out the swans, who are sailing along next to us as we round the last curve in the path next to the lake. They seem to be keeping pace, as though they’re in on the conversation.

“Didn’t say you were. You just look like a princess to me.”

She makes a disgusted noise that has the swans turning around and heading the other way.

“Problem?”

“Um, yeah. You don’t even know me and you’re forming opinions based on, what? A job I have that you know nothing about? Seems like you’re the princess.”

I huff a laugh at that. “First person who’s ever called me a princess.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’m the first one who’s been honest.”

I should have a retort, but the comment is so surprising that I’m left with thoughts instead of words. Namely that she’s not afraid of me, which puts her in a very small category of mostly family members, and even some of them steer clear.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Since you’re being honest, what do you hate about being called a rom-com princess? Isn’t that kind of your bread and butter?”

“At work, sure. But people assume I’m just like the characters I play—sweet but clueless, can’t keep a man, too naïve to understand the vagaries of the real world. America’s sweetheart. But it’s just a role, and frankly, I’m tired of it.” She looks at me, as if daring me to say I’ve made no such assumptions about her, but I can’t.

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s tour the tasting room. It’s the only thing you haven’t seen yet. You can tell me how you became America’s sweetheart, and I’ll pour you wine and make you forget about it for a while.”

I should have my head examined. If wine shops are scaling back, I need to put my head down and figure out how to make up the shortfall. But that’s been the story of my life for longer than I can remember, and I’m damn tired. Even if she is engaged, Ella is the first person in a long time who’s made me want to work less. Drinking wine with her instead of working will surely bite me in the ass, but I can’t make myself say no to this woman.

Can’t.

Won’t.

CHAPTER 15

Ella

It’scool in the tasting room. I like it.

Exposed beams on the ceiling, wall sconces, brown leather armchairs with low tables topped in sheets of gray zinc. The lighting is intentionally low, giving the room the feel of an old western steakhouse with hanging plants and vineyard views.

And because it’s a beautiful day and most guests are tasting wine outside, we’re alone.

It makes me feel like I’ve entered another world, one where science and farming meld to create a really nice place to sit and sample wine. Magical. I don’t dare say as much to Archer because he’d probably laugh. So I tell him what he asked about.

“Somehow I fell into the role of America’s sweetheart, who makes men fall for her and women want to be her friend. I didn’t seek it out. In fact, but you know…people like to typecast. I look the part and those were the roles my agent sent me to audition for. And those were the roles I landed.”

“Makes sense.”

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