Page 13 of Love on the Vine
My stomach growled. It was after eight p.m. and I’d only eaten a croissant on the train that morning. Jake had said I should make myself at home, but I didn’t feel comfortable slinging pots around the kitchen yet. So I wandered back to the guest house to unpack.
On the bedside table I found a small handwritten message with the WiFi password and some local addresses. I touched my finger over his neat handwriting. Despite his cool exterior, Jake was proving to be very thoughtful. Except for the two-hour wait this afternoon. But I’d already forgiven him for that.
I sank down on the bed with my computer and groaned with pleasure. The bed was divine; the mattress not too firm, the crisp lavender-scented linens cool against my hot skin.
Resisting the urge to snuggle down into the mound of cushions and sleep, I shot off a quick email to my dad and then wrote to Callie, praying that she would check her email for once.
Hey Cal,
Just got in. You would not believe this place. It’s an honest-to-God villa! I have my own guest house. I’d send you a picture, but I lost my phone. I know. Surprise, surprise. Please tell me you have it!
Love ya!
My stomach growled again, and I rummaged through my purse to find the granola bar and apple I’d tucked away that morning. I ate them while staring at the sunset through the wide-open French doors.
As the sky went from coral pink to faded violet, I felt strangely like I was right where I was supposed to be.
* * *
I woke up the next morning tangled in my bathrobe, a long line of drool hanging out of my mouth. I didn’t know what time or even what day it was until the silvery branches of the olive tree came into focus and the constant hum of the cicadas reminded me this wasn’t a dream.
After a quick shower, I picked out a more modest outfit than the one I’d worn the day before, opting for a white thigh-length dress that just skimmed my body and brown leather sandals—casual but professional enough for a first day on the job.
Or whatever this was.
I got the impression yesterday that Jake wasn’t eager to have me start, but what else was I going to do while I was here? Hang out with the old men in the town square? I did want to learn more about wine. And, if I was going to make a career in the food world, I had to refine my palate. I just had to convince him that I would be a help and not a hindrance to them this summer.
It occurred to me then that Jake hadn’t finished showing me around the house yesterday, and I had no idea where he and Jin worked. Scooping up my laptop, I dashed over the stone pathway, past the pool that was calling my name, and into the empty kitchen. It was immaculate, not even a trace of coffee inthe French press to indicate that anyone was up and working. Maybe they were still sleeping?
I wandered through the dining area with its massive farmhouse table. Running my fingers over the knots and lines carved into its surface, I wondered what kinds of stories it could tell.
I passed through the living room, admiring once again the wooden beams and the pale overstuffed furniture, then continued down the hall, my sandals clicking on the sandstone floors. A soft breeze blew through the open windows making the thin, white curtains dance. It was already warm outside, but the thick stone walls kept the house cool.
As I neared the end of the hallway, I heard someone speaking a foreign language behind the farthest door. I hesitated, then knocked.
“Come in, Olivia,” Jin’s voice responded, and I pushed open the door to find him seated behind a small desk. I did a double take. This was not the same Jin I’d met last night. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit, hair slicked back, shiny black shoes, and a skinny tie. The only remnant of the night before were his pineapple yellow fingernails.
“How did you know it was me?” I asked as I slipped inside.
He lowered his chin and stared at me over the rim of his glasses. “Jake wouldn’t knock.”Right. Of course he wouldn’t.
The large room was lined with shelves full of archive boxes and wine bottles. Lots of wine bottles. It struck me that this room was the only one that looked lived in, disorganized even. We’re not talking my apartment in Ann Arbor with clothes on the floor and books strewn about every surface, but it was far from the pristine simplicity of the living room.
Jin had turned his attention back to this computer and was typing furiously. “You look so different this morning. I hardly recognized you,” I said.
“I contain multitudes, darling,” he answered. “This is my workweek wardrobe. I’m another person on weekends.” Then he looked me up and down. “You’ve changed as well,” he said, disappointment lacing his words.
“So where’s Jake?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager.
With a flick of his head, Jin gestured to the window framing a dark green, vintage convertible in the driveway. That definitely hadn’t been there the day before.
Just as I was admiring its fine lines and glossy exterior, the hood came down and my heart thrummed at the sight of Jake in faded jeans and a dark T-shirt like the day before, but now he had a towel and was wiping motor oil from his hand.
Damn, now I was going to have to add “sexy mechanic” to my list of Jake fantasies. He looked so incredibly hot that I was sure big cartoon hearts were popping out of my eyes.
“He’s taken the entire engine out. Again. He does that when he’s stressed or bothered about something,” Jin explained.
“Oh, what’s he bothered about?” I asked absently as I continued to admire the way his muscles flexed as he pushed the hood down.
