Page 29 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

"I've been working in here all day. What the hell am I supposed to know?" I ask, fighting to keep my tone light.

"Uhh…" Isabella wrinkles her nose. "I thought Brennen would have told you by now. But he was pretty distracted this morning."

"Isabella, what was Brennen supposed to tell me? You're freaking me out." I hop off the table, my anxiety spiking. "Has something bad happened?"

"Sophie, I just said you werelucky." Isabella's tone was exasperated. "How would that constitute something bad?" She bites her lip and shifts her weight, hands fidgeting—a sure sign she’s uncomfortable and regrets saying anything. "But if you haven't heard yet, I don't want to be the one to spoil the surprise. Just know that I'm totally jealous of you right now. Bye!" She waves and disappears, the door slamming shut behind her.

Shit!

As usual, my mind starts circling every possible negative scenario as my heart rate skyrockets. I swear I can feel my blood pressure rising by the second.

What the ever-loving hell is going on? If Brennen is firing me, I'll never hear the end of it from my father.

Wait a minute. Isabella said I was lucky, right? She wouldn't have chosen that specific word if they were walking me out the door. Drawing in a deep breath, I count to ten again and try to stabilize my pulse, I’m getting good at this deep breathing thing. This surprise is probably nothing.

I step toward the door, determined to track Isabella down, just as it swings open again. Brennen strides in, and from his harried expression, I can tell that the man has way too much on his mind. His hair is spiked out in haphazard directions, looking like he’s been running his hands through it. Dark circles ring his eyes, suggesting he's not sleeping well, either. From the looks of it, this guy seriously needs to de-stress or take a long vacation.

"Oh good. You're in here," he remarks, his tone brusque.

"I'm always in here, Brennen. Working. What's going on?" I ask, bracing myself for whatever news he’s about to deliver by crossing my arms over my chest and planting my feet hips-width apart.

"Your new apprentice just arrived. One of the tasting room employees is giving him a tour right now. But he should be back here soon."

My head jerks back as if he'd slapped me, and my jaw sags heavily toward the floor.

An apprentice? What the fuck?

"What are you talking about? I never asked for an apprentice, Brennen. I told you when I started here that I work alone."

"Well, you've got one. Apparently we had some scholarship competition going on that I wasn't aware of. Emma brought him by an hour ago. He starts with you today."

"Brennen, Ido notwantan apprentice," I repeat, clearly enunciating my words so he understands. "I hate having people back here when I'm working, and that’s for competent people, let alone some newbie I’ll have to babysit every day. He'll get in the damn way and make my work that much harder."

Brennen shifts to the side as his hands brace on his hips and he exhales sharply. The man looks like he'll drop from a stroke any minute. Yep, he definitely needs a vacation. "Look, Sophia, he's free fucking labor. I don't give a damn if you have him dusting all the bottles in the tasting room, scrubbing the floors in here, or cleaning the guest toilets. Find something for him to do and keep him out of my hair. Just deal with it, okay? I don't need any more problems at this point."

With that, he swivels on the ball of his foot and disappears through the office doorway.

Well, damn it all to hell!

Babysitting a wannabe winemaker ranks right up there with getting a root canal or colonoscopy in my book. Maybe worse because the moron will be asking me damn stupid questions all the time.

Suddenly a dull ache forms behind my eyes, and my head feels like it’s caught in a vise. The pinch between my shoulderblades finally registers, and I realize how tense I am. I focus on deep breaths and relax my muscles as I remember my mantra: an uptight winemaker only makes an uptight wine, and that’s not good for anyone.

Just breathe… I can handle this. If he gets on my nerves, toilet duty sounds like a great option.

My mental pep talk brings a smile to my face, and I inhale the rest of my lunch as I return my focus to the task at hand, hurling another glare at the offending fermentation tank. I’ll get that safety valve replaced today if I have to dismantle the damn tank piece by piece.

Thirty minutes later, I've only managed to move the bolt four millimeters. I thought I finally had it on that third turn, but now it's really frozen. Even the penetrating oil I've used has failed to work.

Utilizing every colorful curse word I know, I give it one more try, pulling so hard it will be a wonder if my shoulders don’t pop out of their sockets.

Startled by a deep chuckle directly behind me, I jerk upright, smacking my head on a pipe, and curse like a sailor.

"Goddammit!" I yell, throwing the wrench to the floor. I rub the sore spot on my scalp as I pivot to lambaste the idiot who has foolishly decided to invade my workroom and scare the bejesus out of me. But the sight that greets me renders me speechless, and my brain is filled with an appreciative humming sound.

I can only stare at the gorgeous man beaming back at me. Thick brown hair lies in soft, lazy curls around his head; his ridiculously well-lashed, dark eyes twinkle with amusement. His full lips are framed by the most perfectly chiseled jawline I think I've ever seen. To top it off, he is tall—easily over six feet—with long legs and a V-shaped torso that most models would kill for. Judging by the way his T-shirt molds to his muscular chest andarms, he is intimately familiar with exercise or some form of manual labor.

Gah! Focus, Sophie!

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