It's mortifying. But so far, nothing is more mortifying than standing here in front of an impossibly handsome man who despises me, trying my best to keep the faucet from turning on.
Hugo's dirty brown boots step into my line of sight. "Are you...ok?" Reluctance colors his tone. I'm sure he wishes he were anywhere but here in this moment.
"I'm fine," I whisper, and though I've managed to rein it in and not go on a real crying jag right here and now, my nose has begun running. A sniffle is all it takes for Hugo to ask with horror, "Are youcrying?"
"It's not you," I say, face flaming.
"I'm not sure how it could be me," he answers, perplexed.
Ugh. Of course. It couldn't be him, because he's done nothing wrong. I'm the one with the audacity to show up here. Though, to be fair, I wasn't expecting to run into him. It's not like I sought him out. It would be one thing if I'd booked a tour at Summerhill Olive Mill in hopes of seeing him there, but I didn't. I was in Sammich,minding my own business.
He stepped in, and the opportunity presented itself. I'd waited so long, hoped and hoped for him to respond to one of my emails, only for that hope to be dashed. I had to take the opportunity. I just had to.
What I did not have to do was allow him to flirt with me. Or, to flirt back.
But how do you stop an avalanche once it gets started? One look at his handsome face and mesmerizing eyes, and it was like all my nerve endings plucked up to the surface of my skin.
None of our banter was fake, but I won't be telling him that. Certainly not with this baby growing inside me, or the fact I'm a host of a podcast he wants nothing to do with.
Swiping at my eyes, I look up. Immediately, I recognize my mistake. He's too close. Too handsome. The physical pull, the desire to step closer, is irrelevant to who he is, or the possible connection between my sister and his father.
A flash cuts across his eyes. He feels it, too. Even angry with me, hurt and embarrassed, he knows something is there.
"Come on," he says, pushing off his truck. "I'll walk you to your car."
"Why?" I ask, staying rooted in place.
"Because it's the nice thing to do. And it'll allow me to make sure you get inside and drive west."
"What's west?"
"The road out of Olive Township."
I can't help the laugh that burbles out of me. "Jokes on you, buddy. I have a massage tomorrow morning at ten, followed by a facial at two." There's no chance I'll be skipping out on the pampering. I need it.
"You're here for the spa?" His eyes narrow. He doesn't believe me.
"Yep." I nod. Any trace of my near sob episode has gone away, and for that I'm extremely grateful. "The spa, and a taste of olive oil."
One side of his mouth quirks up, and a small part of me rejoices. I know that's the closest I'm going to get to a smile.
"Where are you staying?" Hugo asks. He finally uncrosses his arms for the first time sinceI exited Sammich. His voice isn't nice, exactly, but it's not as acerbic. I'll take what I can get for now.
"The Olive Inn."
Hugo makes a face. "I'm surprised you're not staying at the hotel connected to the spa."
I shrug. "Booked."
He nods. "Well, let's go." He turns, starting off down the street.
Despite how good he looks in those jeans, I won't be backing down. "There's no way I'm giving up a massage and a facial just because you want me to leave town."
Hugo stops, turning around to face me. "The Olive Inn is this way."
We stare at each other, a three-second standoff. It would be nice to know what he's thinking, but he has mastered an unbelievably good poker face.
"Fine," I answer, "but I need my bag from my car." Which, as luck would have it, is parked beside his truck.
