Page 57 of Blush Crush

I turn off the main road onto the private drive that winds through the vineyard. Even in December, the stripped-bare vines are beautiful. I grew up on land like this, but there’s still beauty in the familiar. A reminder that we’re not all that different—similar families, similar upbringings. Cole has alwaysbeen there, somewhere in the background of my life, even if we’ve only connected recently.

His house comes into view as I round the last bend, and I actually take my foot off the gas for a second.

It’s enormous.

I was expecting a bachelor pad. Sleek and minimal in that modern, cold design it seems most men prefer. This is not that.

There’s a Christmas wreath on the door. It’s so domestic, so unlike the image my brain conjured up. My lips can’t help but curve up in a smile. I would’ve thought he couldn’t be bothered to decorate for the holidays.

There’s a split-rail fence along the drive with a horse paddock just visible around the side of the house, which I did not see coming.

How did I not know he has horses?

I park and sit in my car for a moment longer than necessary, gripping the wheel.

Okay. I can do this. I’m a grown woman. This is not a date. There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s Cole. I know Cole. I feel safe with Cole. I have nothing to be worried about. I’m calm. I’m so calm.

The front door swings open while I’m still caught in an internal debate about whether to go in.

Cole leans against the frame, arms crossed, dressed in a gray long-sleeve T-shirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms and dark jeans, wearing a smirk that tells me he likely saw me sit in my car for a full minute while I was working up the nerve to get out.

“You planning on coming in?” he calls out. “Or just going to keep freaking out in your car?”

Rolling my eyes, I grab my bag and get out of the car with as much dignity as I can muster, which isn’t a lot.

“I was just”—I point at the fence—”got distracted by the horses.”

“The horses?” He grins.

“You have horses. I didn’t know that.”

“I guess technically I do have horses.” He doesn’t move from the doorway, just watches me cross the distance between us. “They’re Nora’s, but shithead—her husband—is allergic to them.”

“Is that his full name? Shithead?”

“No.” He laughs. “But it should be.” He steps back to let me through. “Get in here before you freeze your ass off.”

The inside of the house hits me the same way the outside did—not at all what I was imagining. It’s warm and inviting and decorated with actual effort. There are books on the shelves, real ones, worn in and read with broken spines. Not the kind people buy to appear intelligent and then never touch. There’s a stone fireplace in the living room with a fire going, and a vintage leather couch angled toward it with a Christmas tree beside it—a massive, beautifully decorated Christmas tree. The kitchen is open and huge, and there are things on the counter—olive oil, a cutting board, a wooden bowl of onions—that suggest someone actually cooks in here.

It’s a real home. I don’t know why that unsettles me as much as it does.

“You can sit,” Cole says, moving toward the kitchen. “You want anything? Water, juice, wine?”

“Water’s fine.” I perch on the edge of the couch, back straight, bag in my lap, and immediately feel like I’m waiting for an interrogation.

He comes back with two glasses and sets one in front of me before dropping into the armchair across from the couch. He props one ankle on his opposite knee, wraps a hand around his glass, and looks at me.

“You look fucking terrified, doll,” he says.

“I’m not terrified,” I lie.

His mouth curves. “You’re gripping that bag like you just robbed a bank and it’s full of cash.”

I look down. I am, in fact, gripping my purse tightly with both hands. I make myself set it down beside me.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Sure you are.” He winks.