Read Online Tasting Notes by Cate Ashwood - Free Book Online

truth, but it was the closest he’d ever come.
    He surveyed his choices and realized the potatoes would be bland without butter or sour cream. Backtracking to the dairy case, he easily located the butter. The sour cream was on the top shelf, and when he reached up for it, he heard someone call his name.
    Surprised, he dropped the tub, and it crashed down at his feet, splitting open and spraying thick cream up the front of his pants.
    “Uh, never mind,” Rush said, staring blatantly at the spattering of white across West’s groin. “I can see you’re otherwise occupied.”
    “No, it’s… you startled me.”
    “I startled you?”
    “Caught me off guard. I didn’t think anyone else was in here.”
    “Maybe you’re not aware of how grocery stores work. I’m sure back home, you have people who shop for you, but here we all do our own shopping, so just so you know, often you’ll see more than one person in the store at a time.” His tone was snide and abrasive.
    West shouldn’t have been surprised by the snarky comments. After the way Rush reacted to him at his house, the sarcastic remark was downright neighborly in comparison. But this wasn’t something West was accustomed to. People didn’t speak to him that way. Ever. His anger began to build. He opened his mouth to say something when Rush reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
    “Here,” he said, offering the small square to him. “Get yourself cleaned up. Small towns are notorious for being rumor mills, and as sexy as I am, we don’t want Mrs. Blumenfeld thinking you came in your pants at the sight of me.”
    West accepted, successfully smearing the sour cream into a bigger mess than it had been. He could hear the throaty chuckles coming from the dickhead standing in front of him as it became clear there was no salvaging the situation without a dry cleaner’s help. He handed the handkerchief back, mumbled a “Thanks anyway,” and walked away.
     
     
    LATER THAT night, West sat in the living room, his feet propped up on the heavy wood coffee table, a glass of wine in his hand. It was one of the perks, him being a winery owner now, all the wine he could drink. And tonight he needed more than a glass or two.
    He still hadn’t figured out Rush’s problem with him, and he could admit it made him more than a little crazy thinking about it. It was probably for the best anyway. The man was infuriating, and West had only spent a little under ten whole minutes in his presence. If he had accepted West’s request for help, he might have drowned himself in one of the vats of wine by now. He’d dodged a bullet for sure.
    He hated the way Rush’s eyebrow inched up, just slightly, when he was talking to him, like he believed everything that came out of West’s mouth was bullshit. He was cocky and arrogant and so goddamn big . West wasn’t small, and Rush towered over him, making him feel downright dainty in comparison. West had never been easily intimidated, but Rush held some unknown power over him. Maybe it was the knowledge that if he wanted to, Rush could break him in half like one of those overly dry breadsticks at the Italian restaurant he ate at a few nights prior.
    Whatever it was, it put West on edge, and he didn’t like it. The carefully held control he always maintained slipped a little when Rush was nearby.
    He poured himself another glass of wine and settled back into the sofa. He let his eyes drift shut, and there in the darkness, all he could see was Rush’s face. West hated that his heart sped at the sight of him. He was affected by him; that much was true. He just wished it wasn’t.
    West’s thoughts turned to his grandfather. He wished his grandfather were still alive. He would have loved Canyon Creek. Although they lived in Chicago, his grandfather was from a small town originally. He used to tell West about it, stories from his youth, and how wonderful it was growing up in a place where everyone knew everyone else. West