Not So Charming: A Hate to Lovers Romance (Carlisle Cellars Book 1)

by Fabiola Francisco

  I’m glad she does have knowledge because I’m going to need it. It was thanks to her that I knew the car had too many miles for its age. She also asked about the carburetor when she noticed black smoke from the exhaust. I would’ve knocked it to having been unused for some time. Needless to say, I’m still carless but grateful I didn’t waste money on something that could’ve left me stranded on the side of the road.

  I swipe my lips with nude lipstick and smack them together to even it out as I prepare for tonight. My mom lent me a dress I had forgotten she owned. Once I saw it, I remembered her wearing it when I was younger. Though it’s an older dress, it’s a style that never fades.

  The floral slip dress lands below my knee and is form-fitting without being a second skin. I remember my mom used to wear it with a white t-shirt underneath, but we both vetoed that option. I straightened my hair, a rare occasion for me since the frizzy curls are annoying and time-consuming to tame. Checking the time on my phone, I hurry to finish getting ready before Miles arrives. My heart’s been banging against my ribs all day, and the closer it gets to the time for our date, the faster it beats.

  I’ve been in la-la-land all day, stuck somewhere between Care Bears cloud paradise and the possibilities of a romance novel. Those possibilities include the negative ones as well since they’re all part of it. Those are the ones that ground me and make me hyperaware of the consequences that come with the town seeing me out with Miles. One thing that’s guaranteed, we won’t go unnoticed in Willow Creek.

  I stare at myself in the mirror, close my eyes for a beat, and then reopen them. I smile at my reflection, nodding once. If Miles was just interested in some stupid game, then he wouldn’t pursue me so much. He would’ve dropped it by now. Those damn butterflies take flight again in my belly, and I attempt to squash them to no avail. They’re roaming freely, sharing the excitement I’m not giving myself the opportunity to fully feel.

  When a knock sounds at the door, my stomach drops, and my heart speeds up.

  “Here goes nothing,” I whisper to myself as I take a deep breath and grab my purse. My feet push me toward the door, ignoring the simmering nausea due to nerves.

  I run a hand down my dress then open the door, my eyebrows slowly lifting when I see Miles. I can’t help but smile, noticing what he’s holding in his hand.

  “Hey,” he smirks. “This is for you. I got some intel that you don’t care for flowers, so I knew that a bookmark bouquet would be a great replacement.”

  My smile grows wider as I take the faux bouquet and stare at it, reading each bookmark carefully.

  “Thank you.” I look back up at him.

  “You’re welcome.” His eyes skim down my body and back up until they settle on mine. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I press my lips together. He looks handsome in a baby blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans. His hair is mussed, as usual, and his green eyes shine under the porch light.

  I place the bouquet on the side table by the entrance and lock up, walking beside Miles toward his car. The woman in me swoons when he opens the car door for me. I’m very capable of opening my own door, but I love those small gestures of tradition and chivalry that still exist in our society. Life in Los Angeles is different than small-town Texas, and the few guys I dated were hipsters with little to no sense of tradition.

  Once we’re in the car and driving away, he asks, “Have you been to Indigo Cellar?” He glances my way quickly.

  “Nope, never heard of it.” I shake my head, listening to the low beats of a country song through the radio.

  “Their food is great. They’re on the outskirts of town. It’s my favorite place to eat.”

  “That’s cool. I didn’t even know it existed. I guess there are things in town I still have to discover since it’s been years since I’ve lived here. My mom and I usually eat tacos from La Flauta.”

  “That’s a close second for me after this place. I could probably live off of Mexican,” Miles basically drools. I giggle and nod.

  “Same. There are so many options, you’d never get bored.”

  “Yes, what’s your favorite?”

  “The fish tacos with their cabbage mix and their queso dip is the best.” Now I’m hungry talking about all this food.

  “It is good. I’ve tried different queso dips, but none compare to this one.”

  “I agree. LA had some good ones, but there’s nothing like food from La Flauta.” I lean back in the car seat, feeling more relaxed. I can talk about food for hours, so I’m glad we’re on a safe topic.

  “Did you ever meet any celebrities while in LA?” Miles pulls into a parking lot, and a stone building appears in front of me.

  This restaurant looks nice…and expensive. It’s not too far from the center of town, where it’s isolated, but it’s definitely away from the bustle.

  Focusing on the conversation, I say, “I once saw Ronan Connolly with his wife and daughters, but I didn’t go up to him. I didn’t want to disturb them.” I mention the super sexy Irish actor that has starred in many of my favorite films.

  “Really? I guess I can see why you wouldn’t. Celebrities just want to live their lives as privately as possible, which they know is almost impossible once they sign up to be in the spotlight.” Miles turns off the car and gives me one of his stunning smiles, dimple and all, before getting out. I’m sure he knows how it feels due to his father’s fame.

  I sit awkwardly, waiting to see if he opens for me then huff. As I open the door, he’s holding the handle, doing the same. I take his extended hand to step out of the car and straighten my dress. His hand lands on the small of my back, guiding me toward the door.

  “The lamb is great here if you like that. Their steak is also amazing. All of their dishes are made with a type of wine, usually a glaze. Honestly, you can’t go wrong with anything you order here,” he’s rambling a bit about their menu items as we reach the door, and I hold back a giggle.

  We walk into the dim restaurant to the quiet chatter of people holding conversations. The stone walls and arched ceiling give off the sensation that you’re inside a cellar, creating an intimate ambiance. The only wall free of stone has a huge glass display from ceiling to floor with all kinds of wine bottles. My eyes widen when I see an employee inside, swinging over to grab a bottle on a ladder similar to the one in the bookshop Belle uses in Beauty and the Beast. Miles must notice my reaction because he chuckles beside me.

  “That’s so cool,” I whisper as the hostess guides us toward our table.

  “I know. It’s such a neat way to display the wine bottles and to make customers a part of the wine selection process.”

  I nod, taking a seat when Miles pulls out my chair. Another demonstration of chivalry. Once I’m settled in, he sits across from me on the round table. White tablecloths and small tea candles make up each table, and they’re spaced enough where you can have some sort of privacy.

  “You like red wine, right?” Miles asks with the wine list open in front of him.

  “I do.” I nod, opening my menu and scanning the choices. Everything sounds delicious, and judging by the aromas wafting around the space, I’m sure I’m going to love the food.

  “Great, I’m going to order a red blend I think you’ll love.”

  Quiet settles over our table while we each look at the menu and wait for the bottle of wine Miles ordered. My mouth waters reading through each option, but I ultimately settle for the lemon chicken with a tangy white wine sauce, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. It’s no surprise when Miles orders the lamb chops with how much he talked them up.

  After the waiter leaves, Miles lifts his glass, and I mimic him. I’d normally find this stuffy and cheesy, but he does it with such calm normalcy.

  “Cheers. I hope you like the wine.”

  “Cheers,” I smile and take a small sip, savoring the pops of flavor. Since working at the winery, I’ve learned more about wine and the different fruits that go into it be
sides grapes, which is sometimes surprising.

  “Is that plum?” I ask over the rim. Then, I go for a fuller sip.

  “It is,” Miles smiles proudly. “It also has peach, which is more common in white wines.”

  I nod, taking the time to taste the layers of flavors. I place my glass back on the table, looking around the restaurant. “This place is beautiful.”

  “I love it,” Miles nods. “This is the kind of restaurant I’d love to own.”

  My gaze moves back to his as my eyebrows furrow. “Really?”

  He nods again. “It’d be a dream. I love cooking. I love discovering the possibilities that come about from experimenting in the kitchen. There are so many options.” His long fingers roll up and down the thin stem of the glass as he speaks, looking all around him.

  Surprised by this comment, I lean back and tilt my head. Pieces of conversations that Miles and I have had start to come together. His indifference about working at the winery, his comment about people loving his father.

  I risk asking a question that might make him uncomfortable. “Why do you work at the winery?”

  His eyebrows pull down. “What do you mean?” He takes a drink of wine.

  “Based on what you just told me, it seems like you rather run a restaurant.”

  “I do. The one at the winery.” His reply is light, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that contradicts his words and a tightness in his jaw.

  “Yes, but you just said a place like this would be your dream. Isn’t this similar to what you do at the winery? It’s wine and food.” I challenge, push more than I probably should, especially for a first date.

  Miles sighs, finally shaking off some of the tightness in his face. “I’d love something that’s mine. Brett will eventually take over the winery once my dad retires. I’m an employee.”

  I lift a brow, and he chuckles. “Okay, I’m more than an employee, but the winery isn’t mine. It’s my dad’s, and it’ll be Brett’s someday. It’s their dream. I just work it, make it a part of mine, but…” he shrugs.

  “Something’s missing?” I guess.

  He nods slowly, his eyes piercing into mine. “Exactly.”

  If there’s anything I understand, it’s feeling unfulfilled when it comes to your career. As smart as I was—am—I’ve never felt passionate enough about anything in particular to make a career out of it. That’s why I settled for a well-paying job instead of finishing college. It’s a waste to spend scholarship money when I have no idea what I’d want to study when another student could use that money.

  “You’re different than I thought.” I drink my wine to keep busy and not overthink my comment as I wait for him to reply.

  “Really? Good different or bad? I’m hoping for good since you already had a negative vision of me.” At that, I laugh. He got me here.

  “Good different. I always thought you were this obnoxious jock that had it all figured out, riding on the coattails of your dad’s success.”

  He laughs loudly, shaking his head. “Well, I guess I did ask for honesty. Ouch.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. I don’t miss the way his muscles flex in the process.

  “It’s a good thing I’m changing your mind.”

  “Yeah,” I nod.

  I don’t know how good it’ll be for my heart because regardless of this date and Miles showing me a different side of him, he’s still a Carlisle, and I’m a Sullivan—the family that’s always been the help in the Carlisle home. We come from two different worlds, and I’m not sure we can meet in the middle for something deeper than dinner and coffee dates.

  “What are you thinking?” He leans forward, searching my eyes. I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions.

  I shake my head, not wanting to bring it up.

  “Tell me,” he demands.

  We stare at each other, me willing him to drop it and him demanding I speak. Finally, I lose the battle.

  “I was just thinking… I’m probably getting ahead of myself, which I’m sure is the case… Um…” I stare at anywhere but him, stuttering.

  “Junebug.” His hand lands over mine in a featherlight caress, and his voice floats over me like the warm flames of a fire on a cold winter night. “Breathe.” I obey his command. “Now, what’s got you tongue-tied?”

  “I was just thinking that we come from two different worlds. Your family is well-known, loved, you’re wealthy. I’m… I’m the help’s daughter.” The words feel like acid in my mouth.

  Miles's jaw clenches as he glares at me. “First of all, you’re not the help’s daughter. Scarlett’s part of the family, but not in a weird, incest-y way.” I giggle at the way his face screws.

  “Definitely not,” I shake my head.

  “I don’t see division. That’s all in your head.” He taps his temple with his free hand. “Our world is the same. We’re both a part of Willow Creek, even if you’ve been gone for a few years. I’d hate for that train of thought to interfere in our date tonight.”

  “I would, too,” I admit.

  “So let it go.” His thumb rubs small circles over the top of my hand, causing me to shiver. “I’m Miles, and you’re Junebug. That’s all that matters.”

  As if on cue, the waiter brings our plates. I look at the food, perfectly placed on the plate, and my mouth waters. We eat over lighter conversation and more wine, the mood shifting to playful teasing. It’s surprising how much I’m enjoying my time with Miles. When I thought we’d run out of things to talk about, the conversation moves to another topic we have in common. The butterflies in my stomach flap in approval and my heart agrees with them as it skips a few beats.

  Chapter 16

  Miles

  No matter how I imagined tonight to go, it’s turned out different than any idea that came to mind. June’s been blunt and honest, asking questions only people you confide in would dare ask. Even then, some of my closest friends haven’t asked me anything close to this. Guys don’t talk about feelings and shit. Madison is the only person I talk to about anything deeper than surface level. As I think about my sister, I realize I haven’t spoken to her since she called me a few weeks ago. I shelve that for later and focus on June again.

  “Thank you for dinner,” June smiles at me as we stand from our table. She’s gorgeous, her long hair draped over a shoulder. It’s not stick straight, which is the same as her body. The dress follows her curves, and the moment I saw her when she opened her door, I wanted to run my hands up and down her body until I memorized each dip and turn.

  “You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy you agreed to dinner.” I mean it. I can’t say why I’ve been hellbent on spending time with her since I saw her, but I crave to see her, more than glimpses at work when we have a clear difference in titles separating us.

  Her shy smile makes me damn proud. Tonight, June’s allowed me to see her without any past barriers keeping her impossible to reach. We spoke about wine, work, hobbies, and her life in Los Angeles. I still feel as if there’s more to learn about her. One date is not enough.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” I tilt my head toward the lantern-lined sidewalk.

  “Okay,” she nods, unsure.

  I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together and feeling her skin against mine. I look at her out of the corner of my eyes, watching for her reaction. June tenses slightly but walks alongside me and keeping her hand in mine. Her soft skin is warm against mine.

  After a few beats of silence, I shake our hands and look at her with a smile. “Relax.”

  She blows out a deep breath, slowly relaxing. We’re quiet for a few more moments, but it’s not the tense awkwardness that existed between us a couple minutes ago. June seems to be in her head, chewing on the side of her lower lip in a place far away from here. I want her back with me—physically and emotionally.

  “What’s your favorite song?” I break the silence and pull her whiskey eyes toward me.

  “That’s like asking me who my favorite child is. Gah,”
she rolls her head back.

  My laughter booms. I’d expect that about books, but she didn’t hesitate to tell me her favorite book when I asked at the coffee shop.

  “I’ll go first.” Her head is still tilted back, but she peeks at me out of the corner of her eye.

  I chuckle, walking away from her, so our arms are stretched out between us. Then, I tug her to me. Her steps falter in her heels at my sudden movement, but she quickly recovers. I lift our laced hands and wrap my free one around her waist, pulling her to me. As I sing the chorus to my favorite George Strait song, June places her hand on my shoulder and moves along with me.

  Her laughter is music to my ears as I spin her around. She falls back into my chest, her eyes staring into mine and her lips parted. I’m tempted to kiss her, just a quick brush to taste her. Instead, I lift my hand to her face, brushing away strands of hair before cupping her cheek. I close my eyes and touch my forehead to hers.

  The moment is perfect. Everything about tonight’s been perfect. I don’t understand why or what makes this feel different than other dates. It has to be June.

  A car drives by, breaking us out of this fog, and I clear my throat.

  “So…what’s yours?”

  “I can’t pick just one, so how about I tell you my favorite musician?” I nod. “Kenny Chesney. All of his songs are just…perfection. The emotions, the words, his voice. They transport me.”

  I smile. “Music does that.”

  “Yeah.” She steps back, taking a deep breath and straightening her dress.

  I grab hold of her hand again, swinging them back and forth, and continue walking. June glances my way often but remains quiet. I want to wrap her in my arms, inhale her sweet perfume, kiss her until she’s begging for more.

  I clear my throat and focus on something else if I don’t want this walk to become painful in my pants. To break up the tension rolling down my body, I tug her slightly again and spin her around. June laughs freely, shaking her head when I pull her close and hold her hip.

  “This is the best date I’ve been on,” I whisper. June rolls her eyes, most likely thinking I’m bullshitting her. “Honest to God. I’ve never danced with a girl on a sidewalk while I sang my favorite song.”