Page 68 of The Difference Between

“Already knew it all.”

He meets my scowl with a grin.

“Just so I’m clear—” I don’t hide my judgment. “You have a shed you dreamed of living in but never finished, went to school that you also didn’t finish because you knew it all, are turning down money because you have enough, and have no desire to ever have a better job?”

His brow furrows like he’s really thinking about this. “Sounds right.”

If geography, age, and community snacks didn’t seal the deal, that list confirms how wrong he is for me.

“Fine.” My tone is all business. “If you’re rejecting the back pay, the other option is to finish out this season. You maintain the grounds of the vineyard, and in exchange, you’ll get your shop and the three acres around it. Legally.”

“What?” Now he’s shocked. Ha! “Why?”

Great question.

I roll my shoulders, diverting my gaze to Mom and Addie. “Because the region is in peak season and trying to find someone new right now would be a pain in the ass.” That’s true. “You want the building I assume.” He nods. “My company has no use for it. We put a value of the building and lot at two hundred thousand.” I haven’t even seen the inside, that might be generous. “That’s more than you’re owed for the work, but we’re willing to eat the rest if you’re willing to waive your rights to suing over back pay. That work for you?”

His throat bobs with a swallow as he studies me. “Yeah.”

“Good.” That might be the worst deal I’ve ever made, but it’s better than my initial plan of having it written into the contract that he would get it outright—at least now I benefit. “You think you’ll ever finish it?”

“Haven’t thought about it for a while,” he says. “Life makes us shelve some things, you know?”

I have never known anything less.

“I don’t, actually,” I admit. “If I want something, I go get it. No shelving involved.”

His brows lift. “Who says I don’t have what I want?”

“The unfinished building, for one.”

“For someone who refuses to go out with me, you care a lot about where I live.”

“I don’t care,” I insist. “But I can tell a lot about someone by what they value and how they spend their time and money. You seem to start a lot of things you don’t finish—” I pause to let him explain the trend, but he doesn’t. “Meaning you either lack discipline or money—which you just turned down, might I remind you.”

“Because I have enough.”

Liar.

He tracks Mom and Addie across the yard. “Money the only reason you do anything?”

“That a proposition?” I bat my eyelashes.

He laughs through a breath. “Just a simple question.”

It might be simple, but every answer I think of sits wrong. From a numbers standpoint and if I managed and invested my money right, I’d never have to work another day in my life, just like teenage me dreamed. But teenage me had no idea how terrifying that would be. I’m good at my job, and since it’s all I’ve done for the last fifteen years, I don’t know what else I’m good at. I’ve been here a month and am nearly climbing the walls; I’d lose my mind if I didn’t work.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m good at what I do.”

“And you like it?”

“I’m good at it,” I repeat.

“Not the same.”

“And you?” Heat creeps into my voice. I’m so sick of everyone accusing me of not being happy. Not loving my job. Maybe I don’t love it, but everyone does things they don’t love. “If you had all the money you needed—which apparently you do—would you keep mowing the grass of Fontain?”

I sound like a bitch, but I don’t care. Sylvia, my mom, and now Gavin have formed some kind of happiness army and strategized their attack for today because the theme keeps smacking me in the face.