Almost Lover

by Steph Campbell

  “Is that so?” Enzo asks, pulling the words out slowly.

  “Yes!” I insist, already embarrassed at myself for finding the need to make up such a complicated, weird lie. I’m sure it’s obvious to Enzo that I’m just trying to make him upset.

  Tears of humiliation prick my eyes. I look up and shake my head. “So, you need to go,” I stammer. “The guy I’m interviewing will be here any second. And, you know, I’ll need to hire him. And maybe have a glass of wine with him to celebrate his getting the job. Just to help ease him in.”

  Enzo looks me up and down, his green eyes drinking in every single detail. I try not to let my blood heat up, but my body has a mind of its own when it comes to Enzo.

  “That’s a pretty amazing applicant,” he says. He’s walking away, to his car, and I tell myself I’m glad he’s leaving. It’s exactly what I wanted. He looks over his shoulder at me. “You’re drinking with this guy on the first day? That’s not very professional, Jordan.”

  He leans into his car and I yell, “Yeah, it’s also none of your damn business, Enzo.” I wish I could play off how interested I am in whatever he has in a brown paper bag.

  But I’m a crappy liar, as my Italian stallion applicant story clearly illustrates.

  “I think it is though,” he says, walking up to me. “Because I applied for a job here, and it sounds like Mr. Amazing might be stealing my spot before I even got a chance to explain why I’m the best candidate.”

  “You…applied for a job? Here?” I feel my skin turning scarlet.

  He nods slowly. “Behind the bar. I’m looking to start at the bottom, and I’ll hope to have the chance to work my way up.”

  “You’re the applicant?” He’s serious. He really applied. My humiliation is so complete, I wish an earthquake would come through and form a ravine to suck me into the bowels of the earth.

  “Why the hell are you doing this?” I hiss, not bothering to dam the tears up. Once I kick Enzo out, I have every intention of indulging in another hours long cry fest in my new, depressing apartment full of reminders of a time when Enzo and I meant something to each other.

  A time when he wouldn’t tease me with a cruel joke.

  His smile has finally faded. “Why am I doing this?” he echoes, then holds his hands up. “What exactly do you think I’m doing?”

  I shrug and sob. “I don’t know, Enzo! Throwing this all in my face! Teasing me! Making my life harder than it is! If you had any clue the hell I’ve gone through trying to get back to normal since you’ve been gone, you wouldn’t do this. You wouldn’t be this cruel!”

  “Jordan,” he says, my name coming out like a plea. “You couldn’t be more wrong. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t revenge. I want to work here. With you. No lies, no hiding out. I want to show you that I’ll work my fingers to the bone to prove how much you mean to me.”

  For one single instant, hope slices through me. “You mean you’re serious?” I shake my head. “But Mom told you that you could’ve stayed on—”

  “I don’t want a job handed to me this time, Jordan. I want to earn it.”

  “The pay is terrible.”

  The grin comes back. “I was hoping I could rent a room on the grounds.” He nods to the apartment. “There’s room for two up there, right? Maybe you could use a jack of all trades to fix faucets and kill spiders.”

  “I can fix my own faucets. I’m not afraid of spiders.” I stare at him. “I’m using one of those rooms for a home office.”

  “You’re putting a home office in the place you’re going to live in on the vineyard where you work? You have an office off the tasting room.” He looks a little crestfallen.

  “Well, we’ve had a good time finding capable workers,” I say quietly. “I had this partner, this amazing guy who helped me with everything. But he left. It’s been hard, picking up the slack all on my own.”

  “Sounds like you had a real entitled asshole on your hands.” He walks over to me, puts a hand out. Before I realize what I’m doing, I lift my hand to his. “You should’ve fired that guy.”

  “But it’s been so hard since he left,” I say, my voice cracking.

  He pulls me into his arms, and the fight seeps out of me. I wrap my arms around him because I missed him so much. I want this to work. I do.

  “You know what you should do?” Enzo says, running a hand over my hair.

  “What?” I whisper, burying my face in his chest.

  I promise myself I’ll pull away and stand on my own two feet in a few seconds. I will. Any second now.

  I just need a little more time to lean on him, then I’ll step away. Rely on myself.

  “You should hire some desperate idiot and make him work like an indentured servant. Heap all kinds of crap on his shoulders. See how much he can handle.”

  I tilt my head back and stare at him. “Why would any guy who could work that hard put up with all that shit?” I ask.

  “Because he loves you,” he says, his voice tighter than his arms around my waist. “God, he loves you. And he’d grovel, beg, do hard labor for free to prove just how much he loves you.”

  “Enzo,” I say, because I’m not sure I can believe what I’m hearing.

  “I love you, Jordan. I’ve loved you for a long time. And I don’t regret leaving this place, this job. That was the right thing to do. You were right to send me away. I needed to go. I needed to come back and earn you the way that you deserve. And, if you agree to take me back, I swear to never leave your side again.”

  I shake my head, not because I want to say ‘no’ to his love, but because I don’t know what to say.

  “Say something, Jordan.” He puts his hands on either side of my face and looks at me like he’ll crack if I don’t say something.

  “What…what’s in the bag?” I finally say.

  He gives me a funny look, then walks over, sticks his hand in and pulls out a bottle of wine. I’d know the label anywhere. I helped design it after all.

  “The Grape Stomp wine.” I reach out and touch the smooth green glass. “We sold out of it that weekend. There were no extra bottles.”

  “I ordered one that day. After you told me you were going to drink a bottle alone or with me.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Though I now realize I’m going to have to drink this foot wine, even though you never got a bottle to drink alone, did you?”

  I roll my eyes. “If I started drinking because you left, I wouldn’t have been able to stop. I don’t like to drink when I’m sad. I like to drink when I’m happy.”

  “Are you happy now?” he asks, taking my hand in his.

  And I don’t have to think before I answer.

  “I am,” I say.

  He waits. “Happy with things the way they stand? Happy without me here?” he asks when I don’t offer anything more.

  “No,” I say, my voice rough. “Not happy without you. Because I love you, too, Enzo. I love you so much.”

  He yanks me into his arms and crushes my body close to his. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for taking my stupid ass back. I swear, you won’t regret this, Jordan.”

  I nod to the apartment. “I’m not getting rid of my office.”

  “Okay,” he says, smiling so wide, it’s got to hurt his face. “So I’ll see if I can crash on Jack’s couch.”

  “I’m not afraid of spiders. I can fix faucets. But I hate doing dishes. What’s your position on dishes?” I ask, my heart thumping loudly in my throat.

  “I’m pretty good at dishwashing. Worked as a dishwasher in a diner once,” he says, his eyes glowing.

  “And I hate folding clothes,” I admit.

  “I’ve worked in three different clothing stores. I can fold a sweater so perfectly, you’ll cry.” He bends his head down and kisses my neck.

  “I don’t like cleaning the fridge either.”

  “I was a janitor for a year,” he says, biting my neck gently. “I promise, I’ll pull my weight.” He looks over at the boxes Jack left on the porch. “S
tarting now. How about I help you unpack?”

  “No,” I say, watching his shoulders buckle as he puts the box down.

  “Right. Okay. Well, it’s cool. We can go slow—” Enzo stops talking and looks at me as I peek into the bag. “That was…you see, I was just…” This time, Enzo blushes.

  I pull out the jar of spreadable chocolate and feel butterflies in my stomach. I take the jar and the bottle and pop the door open with my hip. I walk up three steps, then look over my shoulder. “Are you going to stand on the porch all day, or are you coming in?”

  “Am I invited?” he asks.

  I nod. “For a drink,” I say, holding up the bottle. “And a snack,” I continue, holding up the jar. “And then maybe you can help me get the bed set up?”

  He nods, walking through the door and pulling it shut behind him. “And once the bed is set up?” he asks.

  “Did you ever have a job where you took off all your clothes and made a woman scream your name?” I ask with a laugh.

  A laugh that dries up when I see how he ducks his head. I cock an eyebrow his way and he coughs into his hand.

  “The job market was really tight. A little strip joint opened across town. Don’t judge. I made a couple hundred bucks a night. I only did it for a few months. And don’t ever tell my mother, she’s accepting, but I don’t know if she’d be able to handle that one.”

  My eyes pop wide. “I’m in love with a stripper,” I whisper around a giggle.

  “Hey, hey, ex-stripper,” he says. “It was a temporary gig, this right here, this feels permanent.”

  My heart flutters in my chest. It is this time. I can feel it, too.

  Then he takes the bottle and jar from my hands and kisses me, his tongue quick and perfect in my mouth. “I could maybe come out of retirement for the short term and offer you a private session, Ms. Caletti.”

  I feel the sweet slow burn of love flood through my veins. “I think I’d like that very much. Mmm. Enzo?”

  “Yeah?” He’s walking me up the steps, but we’re kissing too hard and fast. I finally sit on a stair, not protesting when he tears his shirt off and tosses it aside, then does the same to mine.

  “What was your stripper name?” I ask as he unhooks my bra and tugs my panties and jeans down my hips and off my legs.

  “You’ll laugh,” he says, his fingers and mouth doing wicked, wonderful things to my willing body.

  “Probably,” I whisper. “Tell me anyway.”

  He undoes his jeans and I help him tug them off. “Only if you promise not to tell anyone.”

  “Okay,” I promise.

  “Guapo Papito,” he whispers, spreading my legs and thrusting into me, hard and full and exactly what I needed.

  We laugh and moan, whisper and scream, press our bodies together until we shake with all the pleasure we’ve both been wanting for since we’ve spent apart. And when we’re done on the stairs, Enzo carries me to the bedroom. We flip the mattress on the floor and he assures me he had a job at a Laundromat and knows a trick for getting the chocolate off the sheets.

  After the most delicious sex of my life, Enzo and I take a rest, then christen the shower, and I could cry from happiness. And exhaustion.

  We head out to the patio, our hair damp, Enzo in just his jeans and me in a short nightgown, the same one I wore the night he told me about his niece. Enzo digs around for a corkscrew and gets us both a glass of foot wine.

  He sips and raises his eyebrows. “Not bad. Surprisingly.”

  “Of course it’s good. It was made with passion,” I say, drinking a sip.

  “To a life made with passion,” Enzo says, raising his glass.

  I tap mine to his and he kisses me, my crazy, unexpected, gorgeous lover who almost wasn’t, but is now mine forever.

  Want more Enzo, and the rest of the Silver Strand crew?

  Check out the complete Silver Strand series.

  All available now!

  Liz grew up on the East Coast, and Steph on the West Coast—and somehow they both ended up making their homes with their husbands and children in small, Southern towns. They’ve been co-writing since 2012 after they each read a book written by the other and contacted the each other to gush.

  Liz loves Raisinettes, even if they aren’t really candy, the Oxford comma, movies that are hilarious or feature zombies, any and all books, but especially romance (the smarter and hotter, the better), the sound of her daughter’s incessantly wise and entertaining chatter, and watching her husband work on cars in the driveway.

  Steph grew up in Southern California, moved to the Bayou State for a decade and most recently resides in the Northeast. She has one husband, four children and a serious nail polish obsession. When she’s not writing or taking care of her brood, she’s reading or scouring travel sites, always ready for life’s next adventure.

  More books by Steph & Liz:

  LENGTHS (Silver Strand series #1)

  DEPTHS (Silver Strand series #2)

  LIMITS (Silver Strand series #3)

  TIES (Silver Strand series #4)

  RIPTIDES (Silver Strand series novella)

  DRIFT (Silver Strand Series novel #5)

  GOLDEN HOUR (standalone)

  A TOAST TO THE GOOD TIMES (a holiday novel)

  Books by Steph:

  Delicate (Risk the Fall #1)

  Grounding Quinn (Risk the Fall #2)

  Friend is a Four Letter Word (Risk the Fall #3)

  Beautiful Things Never Last (Risk the Fall #4)

  My Fate for Yours (Crawford Series 0.5)

  My Heart for Yours (Crawford Series #1)

  Books by Liz:

  Double Clutch (Brenna Blixen series #1)

  Junk Miles (Brenna Blixen series #2)

  Slow Twitch (Brenna Blixen series #3)

  Fall Guy (Youngblood series #1)

  Perfectly Unmatched (Youngblood series #2)

  Inherit

  Forgiving Trinity