Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Cruz
I left the tasting room when I couldn’t handle drowning in humiliation. I didn’t leave the distillery, otherwise I would’ve looked really pathetic. Durban was already giving me a weird look for showing up to put in a few extra hours while the crochet club happened to be meeting.
I’ve sniffed myself at least five times.
Ew, Foster. Ever heard of laundry detergent?
I shake off the playground teasing. I had heard of laundry detergent. Whether my mom could afford it was another story.
I do not smell, and I showered this morning after chores, like always. I only put on aftershave. Lane taught me how to use that and cologne without overwhelming a room like a teen in the throes of puberty.
I’ve been as nice as possible to my little baker. Every time I try to reassure her about anything, she pulls away so fast and hard my head spins. All I’ve done is upset her. I just want to get to know her, but I’m the last guy she wants sniffing around.
When she looks at me, she has that knowing gaze.
Like she knows I came from the gutter and I’m just pretending to be a good ol’ country boy.
She looks at me like that grungy kid invited to the birthday party because the rules said everyone had to be invited.
All she needs is to give Clem a knowing hide your purse glance and I’ll be eleven again.
She can see me, and that’s why she wants nothing to do with me.
I’ve spent the last two hours unloading the production line deliveries from the morning, stocking boxes of bottles and labels on the shelving units.
When the last box is put away, I rub the back of my neck and eye my work.
I just have to haul out a couple of pallets and I’ll be done.
Maybe I’ll mop the floor first. Then I can go home and throw myself a nice pity party.
“Campbell and I are heading out,” Durban says from behind me. “The rest of the club is gone or on their way out.”
“ ’Kay. I’ll lock up.”
“I left Elodie’s baked goods on the counter, but I took one of each to bring home.”
“To share with Campbell?”
“I’d be in trouble if I didn’t.”
I chuckle, and the little bit of humor tamps down the acid in my stomach. We both know that he wants to share whatever he has with his girl. I’d be the same. My stomach clenches. Fucked that up, didn’t I?
Expecting him to mosey on his way, I keep working. He doesn’t leave.
I’m not going anywhere until everyone’s gone. I swore a long time ago I’d never be humiliated about myself again, and I don’t need witnesses to my failure. “Is there something else?”
I’ve gotten to know Durban well over the last five years.
He keeps things close to the chest, but he’s our distilling wizard.
He gets the science behind the product and he likes to experiment.
The flavor profiles Durban can extract are admirable, and he’s really carved a niche.
I like tried and true. I want to stay in my lane and not get kicked out of it.
Indecision plays over his face. “It’s not my business, but this thing with you and Elodie?”
I scoff. “There is no thing. Trust me. She’s not interested.”
“Then why did you come today?”
I wouldn’t have bought my flimsy excuse of unpacking the shipments either. That’s what Tuesday mornings are for. “I thought that, you know, outside of the bakery, maybe it’d be different.” I lift a shoulder. “I have my answer. She made it clear.”
“Sorry.”
I force a laugh and wave him off. “You win some, you lose some.”
He doesn’t break a smile. “We’ll see you, then.”
“Have a good night.” I stuff my thumb over my shoulder, proud that I can act like my heart didn’t get stomped on. “I’ll see what we’re dumping tomorrow and get the bottling supplies ready.”
“Thanks, Cruz.”
I complete what I said I would, if only to kill more time, so no one will witness my not-quite walk of shame. Durban might not have bought my excuse, but having done some work makes me feel better. Having followed through also boosts my ego after the dressing-down Elodie gave me.
Yeah, I’m gonna mop up. The dust the boxes left behind might as well be on my skin.
When the boxes for tomorrow are ready and the floor is gleaming, I head out. At the door, I frown at the only other car in the parking lot, sitting cockeyed by the turn that leads to the highway. The hood is up.
Elodie’s car.
I might look forward to talking with her again, but I’m going to be the last guy she wants to see. It won’t matter. I know my way around an engine thanks to Lane.
I lock up the distillery and trot toward her. The closer I get, the more the smell of burning oil crowds out the distillery’s warm grain smell.
She’s squinting at the engine. The always-present dismay plays across her expression. “Sorry, I’m blocking the way.”
“Ain’t a problem.” I shove my hands in my pockets and lean over. I don’t want to overstep. Besides, any news I give her probably won’t be good. The racket her car made driving into the parking lot was foreboding. “Mind if I take a look?”
Her laughter comes out like a shotgun. “I don’t think it’ll help.” She props a hand on her hip and pinches the bridge of her nose, bumping her glasses crooked. She squeezes her eyes shut. “There’s been a knocking noise for a while, and I should’ve taken it in.”
“Yeah,” I say sympathetically. “A knocking noise isn’t good.”
“Damn him,” she seethes.
Huh? I shake my head. She wasn’t damning me. So who’s him?
With an abrupt inhale, she blinks her eyes open and straightens her glasses. “You don’t need to mess with this. I can call my dad.”
“It’s no problem, really. I’m mechanically inclined, but I think you’re going to need a tow.”
“No. I can call my dad.”
I suck in a slow breath as disappointment sinks heavy into my bones.
She wants nothing to do with me. “Okay.” I take a step back so she knows I’m serious.
I’m not forcing myself on her in any way.
“I’ll just wait in my truck, and I know you won’t like it, but I’m going to stay here until you get this taken care of. ”
I pivot on a heel and stride to my pickup.
“Cruz.”
I come to a stop. As I look over my shoulder, my chest constricts. She wants me to leave her alone.
She’s still in the same spot, but her fraught expression is new. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You just seem . . . I don’t want . . . You offered to help and I . . .” She flops her hands against her thighs. “I should’ve taken it in.”
She’s really beating herself up about that. As for the rest, she has her baggage, and as much as I’d like to get to know her, I’ll back all the way off. “Will you be okay with me helping you if I promise to behave?”
Her gaze turns wary. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not interested. I’m not your type. I’ll just look at your car, tow it to wherever you want, and drop you off at your place. No flirting, no jokes, no . . . me.”
“Can you function without flirting?”
“Oof.” I cough out a harsh laugh. “I didn’t realize I was that bad.”
“God, I’m sorry. I was kidding.” Her mouth twists. “Sort of.”
It stings worse the longer I think about it, so I cross to the car.
She doesn’t go far while she paces. I didn’t notice her sandals earlier. In the bakery, everything’s covered but her face, and her hair is always secured. Today, her toenails, painted a vibrant shade of lime green, are visible.
My blood threatens to reroute after seeing some skin, so I keep my focus on the dipstick as I pull it out. It’s dry. “Shit.”
“I just checked it a week ago and added more.” She comes closer. Is that what it takes? A catastrophic engine failure for her to willingly approach me?
“Do you get it serviced regularly?” It was really hard to keep that from sounding like an innuendo.
She nods. “Whenever it tells me to, and I add oil in between.”
“Then I hate to say it, Elodie, but having to regularly add oil isn’t a good sign.” I shove the dipstick back into place. “I think the engine might’ve blown.”
She wrings her hands together. “That’s expensive, isn’t it?” I nod and her eyes get watery. “No. I can’t afford this. Not this month. Not next.” She lets out a frustrated huff and spins around. I’m still able to hear the “Damn him.”
Who is this fucking him who’s disrupting her life? “Let me call Lane, ’kay? He used to be a mechanic.”
“He did?” She sniffles.
“He’s still got the tools, and he’s got a nice shop. Let me just ask if he’ll take a look when he returns from Denver.”
Her hair bounces when she nods. “If you need to be somewhere, I can call my dad or my uncle.”
Not a chance. I want to help, and I’m able to. I might also be learning more about Elodie Palmer, but I have more questions too. “The girls I’ve got waiting at home will be irritated they have to wait an extra hour for their dinner.”
“The cattle?” she asks, almost hopefully.
“Kittens. Found them at the end of my driveway last month.”
Her eyes go soft. “What are their names?”
“Sage and Basil. They joined Rufus, my dog.”
“I always wanted a pet.” She pushes her glasses up, discreetly wiping away a tear that slips from the corner of her eye. “Thanks for this. Dad or Uncle Karl would be out here in a heartbeat, but I don’t like to worry them.”
Nodding, I’d chat more, but she might think I’m coming on to her. Time to get to work. “I’ll get my supplies and let Lane know I’m towing your car to his place.”
“You haven’t talked to him yet.”
“He loves getting his hands dirty. He won’t mind, but I’ll give him a call.” I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile and not some creepy come-on leer and head to my pickup.
Elodie
I don’t ever want to leave Cruz’s pickup. It’s immaculate. Does he dust the inside every day? He has a cooling option for the seats. I can practically swing my legs while sitting in the passenger side, and the smell—a delicious mix of warm grains and citrus.