Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I decided not to waste any time beating around the bush. Mia was a businesswoman with a family and would appreciate my getting straight to the point.
“I’m in love with Emme, but I blew it. I need your help to win her back.”
“All right, Nate Pearson, you’ve got my attention. Speak.”
Twenty-One
Emme
Traffic was awful on I-75, and the drive to Abelard Vineyards was taking longer than usual.
I was cranky and tired. I’d been that way pretty much since Nate and I had split up. I couldn’t relax enough at night to fall asleep, and even though I tried to grab the occasional nap before nighttime events, I wasn’t always successful. Coco had suggested I take a few days off, maybe head up north and visit with Mia, get some rest. She was confident Amy could handle the events we had scheduled, and even volunteered to be on call if Amy needed help. I’d visited her earlier this week and she said she was desperate to get out of her house.
But she was happy, too. Who wouldn’t be in her shoes? Her new baby girl was healthy and beautiful, her husband was over the moon to dote on her, and her mother-in-law was on hand to help with her boys. When I left their house, I recited my affirmation all the way home in an effort not to let envy eat away at my happiness for her. It wasn’t Coco’s fault I was still hopelessly in love with Nate.
He was never far from my mind. Over and over again, I went over our final encounter, wondering if I’d handled it wrong. Should I have kicked him out? Demanded more answers? Treated him civilly? Told him the truth—that I wasn’t over him and had only taken the job up north to put some distance between us?
But I had no answers. I didn’t even tell my sisters about the post-breakup fuck—I was too embarrassed. Somehow I knew neither one of them would have given in. They’d have been stronger, able to resist his kiss and his touch and his cheap shots at my conscience. It was obvious he was miserable, and I was glad. He deserved it.
“I am deserving of a supportive, loving, awesome relationship,” I said. I believed my affirmation. I really did.
But I was weak for him, and I feared I always would be. Distance would help.
Just after nine, I pulled around the circular gravel drive in front of a beautiful French-style farmhouse. Mia and Lucas came out the front door and greeted me warmly. Lucas kissed both of my cheeks and grabbed the little suitcase from my trunk, and Mia hugged me extra hard.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said, taking my hand. “I have you staying in one of the best little guest cottages on the property. Lucas turned up the heat earlier, so it should be nice and cozy for you.”
“Sounds good.” It was definitely chillier up here than it had been in Detroit. A cozy little cottage sounded perfect. It would be even better with someone to share it with.
I shoved that thought from my mind.
“I’ll take your bag over now,” Lucas offered.
I smiled at the handsome man, who spoke with a slight French accent. His scruffy jaw and lean good looks reminded me of Nate. “Thanks.”
“Are you hungry?” Mia asked, leading me inside the house.
“Actually, yes.”
“Perfect. I’ll get you some supper and we’ll have some wine. Come sit down in the kitchen. The kids are already in bed, so we’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”
I followed her to the big airy kitchen off the back of the house, which was modeled after the kitchen at Lucas’s family’s chateau in the south of France, where they’d gotten married. It was beautiful, of course, lots of natural stone in neutral shades, dark timber beams across the ceiling, walls soft slate gray, white-painted cupboards with open shelves, and Mia’s signature pop of color in vibrant pink flowers in a glass vase on the counter. I chose a stool at the marble counter and watched as Mia bustled around the kitchen, warming up something in a big pot on the stove that smelled absolutely delicious. She looked adorable—jeans cuffed a little higher than her ankle, maroon velvet flats, black long-sleeved shirt with a gray infinity scarf around her neck, hair twisted up into a messy bun. And she looked happy.
“So we haven’t had much of a chance to talk since you texted me,” Mia said, handing me a folded linen napkin. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“You mean why I accepted the job?”
“Sure, you can start there.”
“I’m looking to make a change.” I unfolded the napkin and placed it on my lap.
She nodded, pulling down three wine glasses. “Okay.”
“And I really like what I do, but a new scene will be a good creative challenge, I think.”