Page 11 of Corkscrew You
Besides, I figured the whole conversation was Chiara flirting, which she’d given me fair warning might happen. No need for me to listen in.
“Did Chiara inviteme as well?” I have to clarify.
“Iinvited you,” he says.
“Oh.”
“And you said ‘Sure.’”
“Isortof remember that.”
“What did you think you were saying ‘sure’ to?” He certainly has a knack for the pertinent question.
“No idea,” I admit. “I was … distracted.”
And now I’m confused.Heinvitedmeto go to drinks. He didn’t want to go alone with Chiara, my impossibly gorgeous best friend, who can make grown men drop to their knees with a single glance. If I was tech-savvy in any way, I’d say this does not compute.
But then there was that – look. Which I thought, for just a second, made the air between us go all fizzy and electric. It was probably the coffee. It’s been known to jump-start motors.
Nathan jangles his car keys in his hand. Ford pick-up. Silver. Not at all flashy.
“Do you want to come or not?”
He sounds impatient, which is less confusing. Small problem, though—
“I have nothing to wear to Bartons,” I confess.
He frowns for the eighty-fifth time today. “Who cares what you wear?”
“Ted does! He has a dress code!”
“InVerity?”
“No, only in the rarefied bubble of Bartons,” I say. “It’s a whole other world in there.”
Nathan looks me up and down.
“What are you – five three, five four?” he says.
“Five four.”
“I’ll bring you a dress,” he says. “I’ll come by here with it around seven.”
I’m too stunned to even say goodbye. This isnotwhat I had planned for the evening. OK, so my plan was the same as every other evening – feed the animals, make my own dinner with the least possible ingredients and effort, crash on the couch and pretend to watch some TV, drag myself upstairs to brush my teeth, squeeze into the three percent of bed space not occupied by cats, and sleep like the dead until the alarm defibrillates me back into consciousness.
Seems I’ll have to pass on all that excitement becausethisevening I’m going on a drinks date with ridiculously handsome Nathan Durant!
Oh, yup, that’s right. And Chiara.
So it can’t be a date, can it? Not adatedate.
And why would I even think that? He’s made it clear that he’s all about the business and he’s also made it crystal clear that he’s not thrilled about how I have run it thus far. No, this is a recce, that’s what it is. When I wasn’t listening, Chiara no doubt suggested Nathan check out Bartons and meet Ted, and I’m coming because I’m ‘officially’ part of the Flora Valley team. It makes sense. It’s a business date.
Typical Shelby. Head always in the pink fluffy clouds.
I can hear my mom: “You find it hard to keep your feet on the earth, don’t you?”
She wasn’t criticizing, just observing. She’s a cloud head herself. Creative types usually are. You need to be creative to make good wine.
