Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

“One,” Jen says.

“I’d guess three, actually,” Xavier replies.

Bianca narrows her eyes at Emma, pondering. She picks up her martini and sips. “You’re sharp as a tack and a great storyteller, so I don’t doubt you went to law school. You wear boring heels to work—”

“Hey! They’re sensible heels. And sensible doesn’t always equal boring.”

“I beg to differ,” Bianca says, and the entire table laughs, Emma laughing right along with them. “You know they’re boring and so do I.”

“Fine, fine, they’re boring. But when you’re on your feet eight hours a day, killer heels really will kill you. Unless you’re Bianca Jimenez, and then you’re just a freak of nature who makes walking in boots with four-inch heels look easy.”

Bianca uncrosses her legs and crosses them again, flashing said boots in the process. “You know I love my kick-ass boots.”

“I wouldn’t want you to kick my ass wearing those heels, that’s for damn sure,” I say, and the table laughs again.

I look around in wonder, a funny little feeling nudging underneath my breastbone.

Holy shit, I made my coworkers laugh.

I’m laughing with them.

It actually is kinda easy. Nice too.

“So?” Bianca asks. “Which one is the lie?”

Emma points at Xavier. “Three.”

“Stop it!” I put my hands on the table and gape at Emma. “That’s gotta be the lie. You said that Riesling was your favorite when we did your tasting.”

She curls her lips between her teeth, then lifts a shoulder in this adorable little shrug. “It was. Until I tried that Screaming Eagle.”

I nearly jump out of my chair. “What?”

Also: she has a killer pair of heels she’s hiding?

“I know.”

“But that’s one of my BSD wines. You know, the ones you said ‘didn’t tell a story’ and ‘weren’t that interesting.’”

She covers her face with her hand. “I know!”

“Does that mean I win?”

Emma glides her fingers apart so I can see her eyes. “Never. I’d settle for a tie, though.”

“A tie? Are you serious?”

She does that shrugging thing again. She’s smiling, and I’m smiling, and the entire room is watching us with laughter and curiosity in their eyes.

“Yes, sir. You introduced me to my favorite wine of the year, and I introduced you to yours. I’d say we’re even. Right, y’all?”

Xavier looks at me. Looks at Emma.

“Ugh.” I tug my hand across my stubble. “Be honest.”

He grins. “That’s a tie, yeah.”

“Totally agreed,” Fi, a sous chef, agrees.

I lift my hands to wave them off. “Y’all are biased.”

“Yup,” Jen says. “Sorry, Samuel.”

“I’m not,” Emma says.

“Of course you’re not.” I let out a sigh. “Fine. It’s a tie.”

Emma offers me a hand for a high five. “See? Now we’re all satisfied.”

“Satisfied,” I reply, “but not finished.”

“You want to make it last, huh?”

I smirk. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Jen peers at us. “Do y’all always talk in sexual innuendo, or…”

Oh, yeah, we should definitely stop this. Right the fuck now. Emma “I don’t do workplace romance” would definitely not approve of public flirtation.

But this Emma—the one sitting beside me with her legs crossed, giving me a maddening glimpse of her stockinged calf—she just smiles and shrugs.

“That’s exactly why I’d make a terrible lawyer,” she says, eyes on mine. “And why I’m a fucking great sommelier. Because really, is there anything sexier than a great glass of wine?”

I feel the table’s eyes turn to me as they wait on my response. I know they’ve picked up on the less-than-friendly vibes between Emma and me.

I know they know that I wanted her gone. I only said as much, out loud and in front of employees, about five dozen times.

I don’t want that anymore. But am I ready to admit that not only to my staff but to myself too? That’s some terrifying territory right there.

But I have to try.

“I’ll go next,” I say. “Two truths and a lie. One, I think Emma is the best damn sommelier I’ve had the pleasure of working with, and I think she’s insanely talented with both wine and sexual innuendos, and I hope she’ll be with us at the farm for a long time. Two, the word moist grosses me out. And three, I have a favorite sibling.”

Emma’s smiling so hard it lights up her whole face. The kind of excitement she was talking about when we traded ideas about truth and honesty and authenticity.

And I did that.

I lit her up because I’m touching things inside her that matter. Or maybe I’m helping her touch those things.

Speaking of sexual innuendo—I’d love to touch her things. All of them. Inside and out.

Only, I can’t. I understand now why she’s so adamant about not engaging in workplace relationships. She’s staked her entire life on this job.

It’s important she not only keeps her position but thrives in it too. Which means she shouldn’t be taking stupid risks like hooking up with me.

Because, really, what if it blows up in our faces? What if one of us falls in lust and the other in love? How horrific would that be, coming to work every day knowing you’ll be side by side with the person who doesn’t want you back? It’d make me hate the job, no matter how much I love food or Emma loves wine.