Authors: Tawna Fenske
“Look, sweetie,” her mom said, smiling up at her from the couch. “It’s our wedding video. Have you seen this since we had the old film reels digitized?”
Reese leaned against the doorframe and smiled back. “Only about two hundred times, but I think it’s been a few months.”
“Smart aleck,” her mom replied, tossing a piece of popcorn at her. “Want some of this?”
“I’m good, thanks.” Reese held out the folder she’d brought with her, and her mom reached out to take it. “We’ve got a printout of the e-newsletter, a direct-mail postcard, and a second press release about the Memorial Day event.”
June flipped open the cover of the folder and whistled low between her teeth. “Wow, this looks nice. I like the font you used here.”
“That’s all Larissa. She’s got a real eye for the branding stuff.”
“Hmm, I see that. Gimme a sec to read this.”
“No problem.” Reese’s gaze drifted to her dad as he sat riveted to the television screen, so Reese turned her attention there, too. She watched as her youthful father lifted her mom’s veil and kissed her with an intensity that made Reese want to look away.
She didn’t, though. She might have seen this a million times, but she could never stop staring, or stop wondering about a union with such absolute certainty, such devotion, such love.
“My favorite part is coming up,” her father said.
Reese bit her lip, disgusted with herself for feeling envious of her own parents. “You mean the part where Axl uses the unity candle to light farts at the reception?”
Her dad laughed. “No, that’s not for a few more minutes. It’s the part where your mom sees the inscription on her wedding band for the first time.”
Reese nodded, picturing the words in her mind and remembering the way she used to trace her finger over them as a little girl.
I call dibs.
Her parents’ private joke. She’d heard it before, the way June had called dibs on the cherry on Jed’s banana split during their very first date. Jed had spooned up the cherry, offering it in exchange for dibs on June’s evening plans the next night. And the night after that.
They’d laid claim to each other again and again, drifting into the blissful ease of knowing they belonged to one another. With each shared breath, they radiated it.
I am yours and you are mine for as long as we both live.
Reese watched the screen as her mother’s gaze slid over the words, then filled with tears. As Reese looked on, newlywed June looked up at her new husband with an adoration that took Reese’s breath away.
They make it look so easy
,
she thought as she gripped the back of the sofa.
Then and now.
Her mom patted her hand, and Reese looked down to see June watching the screen, her finger resting on the newsletter to hold her place. “Aren’t you a handsome thing!” June exclaimed, moving her hand from the page to squeeze her husband’s knee. “Honey, isn’t your father a handsome thing?”
“My father is a handsome thing,” Reese parroted, earning herself a good-natured swat from her mom. She kept her gaze on the TV, watching as the scene shifted to the reception and to her father dropping to one knee and hitching up the hem of her mom’s wedding dress.
“I still have that garter in my cedar chest somewhere,” June mused. “The guy who caught it gave it back to me after the reception. Said he felt awkward about having it.”
Reese snorted. “What could possibly be awkward about pocketing the undergarments of another man’s new wife?”
“Oh, stop,” June said, laughing. “You never were very sentimental.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m divorced, huh?” Reese said, struggling to keep her tone light. “I never got schmoopy over garters.”
“Honey—”
“You always had the best legs,” Jed said, oblivious to the conversation going on around him. “Still do.”
June beamed at him and planted a kiss on his temple before returning her gaze to the paperwork. Reese kept her eyes on the screen, unable to look away. Her mom, barefoot in the grass, wore a ring of daisies in her hair and a white dress that barely concealed the fact that she was already three months pregnant with Reese.
God, they were young. So young, so in love.
On the sofa, her dad shifted the popcorn bowl so he could put his arm around her mom. Her mom snuggled into the embrace and kept reading.
“Hmm,” June said, still flipping through the folder of printouts. She tapped the edge of the newsletter and smiled up at Reese. “This looks great. Did you do this part?”
“Nope, that’s Larissa. She’s turning into a pretty serious copywriter.”
“That’s great,” June said. “Speaking of getting serious, we hear you have a date.”
Reese sighed. “For crying out loud, did Larissa call you?”
“No, Axl. He ran into Eric in the winery barn.”
She shook her head, not sure whether to feel irritated or loved. Funny how often the two sentiments intertwined when it came to her family. “Did you already call it in to the newspaper, or should I do that in the morning?”
“We think it’s great, honey,” June said. “We just want you to be happy. Love is such a wonderful human experience.”
“I
am
happy,” Reese said, trying not to notice the on-screen image of her father scooping her mother into his arms and twirling her around so her wedding dress fluttered in the breeze. She looked away, hating the rawness in her throat. “Mom, are you worried about our meeting with the bank?”
Two frown lines appeared between her mother’s eyebrows. “A little. I think we’ve got our ducks in a row, but—”
“It’s a lot of money,” Reese said softly. “And if they won’t lend it to us, I don’t know what we’ll do.”
Her father shook his head and looked away from the TV. “We could always delay the expansion. Maybe in a few years—”
“No!” Reese snapped, panic rising in her chest. “We’ve already been shouting about it for months on our website and in the press. We’ll look like idiots if we cancel now. Like idiots who don’t know how to run a business.”
“She’s right, hon,” June said. “Besides that, we’ve already got a ton of special events booked for the new space. Most of them have already put down deposits.”
Reese shook her head. “God, can you even imagine having to give all those back?”
“Or call couples to tell them their dream-wedding venue won’t be ready in time,” June said, her gaze drifting back to the TV screen.
“Okay, okay,” Jed said, holding up his hands. “It was just a suggestion. I’m sure things will go fine tomorrow.”
He turned back to the TV and squeezed June’s knee. “We should make that chicken dish tonight. The one we served at the wedding?”
“Oooh, with the mushrooms and that little hint of—”
“Rosemary, yes! You know, our ’14 Pinot Gris would be perfect with it. Do we have any—”
“—artichoke hearts? Yes, I just grabbed some the other day.” June leaned forward and kissed him on the temple while Reese took a step back, then another.
“So, guys—I need to head out to the field to check the nitrate levels before I get ready for my date. Everything look okay with the communication pieces?”
“They look great, sweetie,” her mom said, closing the folder and setting it on the coffee table. “You’re doing such a nice job with everything. Oh, look—I love this part!”
Reese watched as the video cut to a scene of her parents slow dancing to “Unchained Melody.” She stared for a few beats, wondering if she’d ever stop feeling like she forgot to get in line when the universe handed out soul mates. She turned away, letting the notes of the love song fade behind her as she crept down the hallway and out the front door.
It had started to drizzle, and she thought about heading back to the winery barn for rain gear but decided against it. Not like she wasn’t used to working in soggy conditions.
Out in the fields, she lost track of time as she gathered soil samples and snipped small pieces of the vines. She breathed in the heady smell of damp earth and crushed grass, aware that her hair and clothes were getting drenched but not minding much.
By the time she returned to the winery barn with the samples, her clothes were soaked through. The pale-pink T-shirt beneath her flannel overshirt had turned transparent.
Dripping as she went, she moved into the tiny kitchen where she kept her test kit. The barn was silent, except for the distant tinny sound of NPR on the radio Eric must’ve forgotten to switch off when he left.
Reese was straddling a puddle of muddy rainwater bent low over her test tubes when she heard a voice behind her.
“You’re still here.”
She whirled to see Clay in the doorway. For the briefest instant, his gaze fell to where the wet T-shirt hugged her breasts. It returned quickly to her face.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“I just came back to finish some testing,” she said, blaming her shortness of breath on the startle instead of the magnificent, muscular sight of him. “I thought you were gone already.”
“I left some paperwork on the counter there. Can I sneak by you and grab it?”
Reese nodded and stepped to one side. Clay seemed to hesitate. Then he edged past, his bare forearm brushing the damp front of her T-shirt. Reese felt her nipples contract.
The papers fluttered to the floor.
“Oh, shit,” Reese said, kneeling down. “The ground’s all wet. I hope these aren’t your only copies.”
“It’s okay, really, you don’t have to—”
“No, let me get them.”
He crouched down beside her, scrambling to grab the mud-speckled sheets of paper. Reese’s hand trembled as she grabbed one piece, then another. They both reached for a page at the same time, and Clay’s hand closed over hers.
A surge of heat pulsed up her arm and her heart slammed hard against her rib cage. Reese stared at his hand, transfixed by the sight of those long fingers engulfing hers. Then she looked at his face. He was watching her, pupils dilated in those root-beer-brown depths. He didn’t blink.
Clay looked down at her hand. “God, you’re freezing.”
“My hands are always cold.”
“I remember.”
He didn’t let go of her hand. Reese swallowed as her stomach clenched in a tight, fizzy ball.
They stayed frozen like that for what seemed like minutes, Clay’s huge palm warm against the ridges of her knuckles. The smell of rainwater and wine and damp earth hung heavy in the air between them, along with something else Reese couldn’t name. His breath ruffled the damp hair pasted to her cheek. Outside, the rain drummed the roof in a slow, heavy beat.
“You’re getting wet,” he murmured.
Reese blinked. “What?”
“The floor. You’re kneeling in a puddle.”
She looked down, her face warming. “Right. I was already wet. I mean, I was out there in the rain and—”
She stopped talking, her cheeks flaming despite the chill in the room. She looked up in time to see Clay close his eyes for just an instant. When he reopened them, they locked on hers. He moved his hand and Reese felt a pang of disappointment at the loss of his warmth.
Then he reached up and grazed her cheek with his fingertips. He pushed a few strands of damp hair from her face, his gaze holding hers. Reese held her breath as her pulse pounded in her ears.
Before she could register what was happening, Clay leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers, tentative at first, testing.
Reese clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him to her. He kissed her harder then, his palms cupping her face as his mouth explored hers. He tasted cool, like he’d been nibbling the rain-soaked mint leaves beside the barn.
The heavy spatter of droplets on the roof and the soft rush of their breath filled Reese’s ears, fighting for space with the pounding of blood in her head.
Clay deepened the kiss, his lips warm and soft and so very, very good at what they were doing. Reese gasped at the delicious scrape of his stubbled cheek against her chilled one.
She wanted to devour him, to explore every inch of his mouth, of his body. Clay kissed her harder, responding to her need or maybe his own. His hand cupped her face, holding her against him while his other hand slid up her side. She felt his fingertips graze the side of her breast and she pressed into him, craving more. He slid his thumb over her nipple as the rest of the fingers cupped her breast, testing the weight. His lips moved from hers and down her jaw, planting a trail of kisses in the hollow of her throat. His thumb stroked her nipple again and Reese cried out, wanting all of him at once.
At the sound of her whimper, Clay drew back. His eyes flashed from desire to alarm, like she’d bitten him.
He dropped his hands to his sides and pulled away. “Reese, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
She blinked at him, her breath still coming fast. “It’s okay. Really—”
“No, it’s not okay. God, my best friend’s wife—”
“
Ex
-wife.”
“And my employer—”
“I haven’t actually paid you.”
“And right before you’re going out on a date—”
“Date?” Reese sat back on her heels, breathless, as reality slithered into her consciousness like a drizzle of rainwater down her neck. “Right. A date.”
She dropped her hands from Clay’s chest and looked down at her watch. It was almost five. She took a breath. “Dammit.”
He jumped to his feet and reached down to help her up. Reese took his hand, dizzy for reasons that had nothing to do with standing up too fast.
Clay wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Here, let me find you a towel or something. You must be freezing.”
“Clay, really—it’s fine.” She took another breath. “These things happen. Lord knows we’ve both learned that.”
He nodded and stepped back, still holding her hand. He took a breath and let go. “Have a good date, okay?”
He stood there for two more pulse beats. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with a puddle of rainwater at her feet and her heart lodged firmly in her throat.
CHAPTER NINE
Clay wasn’t surprised when his sponsor called that evening to check in. He was only surprised it had taken so long.
“Hey, Patrick,” Clay said when he grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand in his hotel room. “Thanks again for sending the vet out. I owe you for that.”
“No problem. Everything’s okay with the camel?”
“Alpaca. He’s doing great. Dr. Wally’s a great guy, really helpful.”
Clay bit back the urge to feel bitter about the kindly young vet and his date with Reese. It wasn’t his place to judge, and God knows he had no claim on Reese himself.
But that kiss—
Patrick cleared his throat. “Is everything okay, Clay? You seemed a little shaky when you called yesterday.”
“I’m doing great. Really, everything’s
fine
.”
Patrick seemed to hesitate. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but the situation you’re in seems risky. Spending every day working at a facility that produces alcohol—it just seems like a lot of temptation to face.”
“You could say that,” Clay muttered, then regretted his words. He hadn’t been thinking about alcohol at all. He’d been thinking about Reese in his arms, Reese with her damp clothes and warm lips, Reese with her body pressed against his—
He cleared his throat and tried again. “I really appreciate the concern, Patrick. I do. I’m glad to have a support system out here.”
“Good. That’s good. You know you can call if you need me, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Clay hesitated. He knew he should be more forthcoming with his sponsor, maybe sharing the history of his connection to Reese and the feelings he was having now. But something stopped him. Something made him bite off the words before they could form in his throat.
He’d never told Eric. He’d never told Reese. If he couldn’t be honest with his two best friends, how could he tell someone he’d known less than a week?
On the other end of the line, Patrick was quiet. Clay wondered if he was waiting for him to fill the silence, to share what was on his mind. Hell, maybe he
should
do that.
A phone call didn’t seem like the right way to handle it, so Clay cleared his throat. “Actually, what are you up to tonight?”
“Nothing much,” Patrick said. “Working on some bills, maybe reheating leftovers.”
“Maybe we could meet up at Finnigan’s for a couple Cokes and their halibut fish-n-chips.”
“That sounds great,” Patrick said. “Seven thirtyish?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Clay hung up the phone and set it back on the nightstand. He surveyed the room, taking in the bleak walls and neutral gray comforter on the bed. Was it just him or was the place looking smaller?
His HR contact at Dorrington Construction had called earlier that morning, apologizing for the delay in finding a temporary rental for Clay.
“It’s the damn college kids,” the guy had lamented. “They’ve rented up everything within thirty miles of Linfield and George Fox. Probably not a coincidence they’ve got a bunch of colleges right in the middle of wine country, huh?”
Clay was trying hard to remember why he didn’t want to rent Axl’s place out at the vineyard. There were plenty of reasons, good ones. Patrick was right—working at a vineyard was risky enough for a recovering drunk. Living at one? Bad idea. Very bad idea.
It’s not the wine you’re worried about
, said a voice in the back of his head.
He heard Eric’s words again.
Don’t shit where you eat.
“Shut up,” Clay said aloud, and went to take a shower.
But once he was naked and soapy, thoughts of Reese just intensified.
He drifted back to college, to the first time he’d met her their sophomore year. He’d been sitting there alone in the back row on the first day of class that fall, wondering if he should have bought pens instead of pencils to demonstrate his status as a mature, confident college student.
“Someone sitting here?”
He’d looked up to see her with the fluorescent lights of the classroom making a halo around her head. She wore her light-brown hair gathered in a low ponytail beneath her right ear, cinched with a red elastic that sent a cascade of sun-streaked waves over her shoulder and into the hollow between her breasts. She hadn’t been wearing anything memorable—not to anyone else, though Clay recalled she wore a flannel shirt over a yellow T-shirt that hugged her curves. But there was something in the way she carried herself that made him sit up and take notice. Her cheeks were flushed and lovely, and she wore a tatty canvas shoulder bag with a romance novel peeking over the top.
He tried to get a closer look at it, but she nudged the bag back over her shoulder, obscuring the book from his view. Then she extended her hand.
“I’m Reese. I’m studying viticulture. How about you?”
Clay had just stared at her for a few beats, barely registering her words. He was mesmerized by those green, green eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the roundness beneath her T-shirt.
“Clay,” he finally stammered. “Clay Henderson. Horticulture.”
“Yeah? Do you like wine, Clay?”
He was startled by the question and started to stammer some inane reply, but she cut him off.
“My family owns Sunridge Vineyards over in Dundee. You should check it out sometime.”
He’d nodded, so enchanted by her that he almost forgot she’d asked him a question.
“I like beer,” he’d blurted lamely. “You, um—you asked if I like wine, but I’m really more of a beer man.”
It was a stupid thing to say, but she’d grinned at him as she dropped into the seat beside him. “It takes a lot of beer to make good wine.”
“What?”
“It’s an expression in the wine industry. Come harvest time, everyone’s putting in long hours and the last thing they want to drink is wine. It’s a pretty intense few weeks. There’s a lot of beer flowing then. Keeps everyone fueled.”
“Sounds like a good party.”
“It can be,” she’d told him, tucking her hair behind one ear. “We’re always looking for volunteers. Harvest is coming up in October if you want to join us. We could always use help running the de-stemmer or scrubbing mildew off pipes—stuff like that.”
Clay nodded, not sure if she was asking him out or just looking for free labor but not caring much either way. He would have walked on his knuckles through broken glass to scrub mildew off her pipes.
The professor had stepped to the front of the room then and launched into a monotone explanation of the syllabus. Clay didn’t hear a word of it. The only sounds he was aware of were the scratch of Reese’s pencil on her notepad, the soft rustle of her hair against the flannel of her shirt, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Even now, Reese was the only thing he really remembered from his college days.
His years as a stumbling drunk may have stolen a lot of his memories, but he’d never forget the curve of her cheek against her palm as she tapped her pencil on her teeth and looked toward the front of the lecture hall.
Idiot
, Clay told himself as he shut off the shower.
Why didn’t you make a move then? You’re the king of botched opportunities.
He shook off the memory as he shook the water out of his hair, then stepped out of the shower. He toweled off quickly and dressed in clean jeans and a T-shirt. Grabbing his jacket off the hook by the door, he stopped and inhaled.
It smelled like Reese.
He’d never known her to wear perfume, not even in college. It must be her shampoo, or maybe just Reese—something grassy and sweet, clinging to the wool of his jacket. He pulled it on, fighting the mental picture of Reese hugging it over her breasts after her bra malfunction the other night.
Then he thought about the kiss in the hallway, the kiss in the winery barn, the feel of Reese warm and damp in his arms—
“Knock it off,” he ordered himself out loud. “You made her life hell once before,
remember
?”
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He drove slowly to Finnigan’s, remembering how many times he’d gone there in his drinking days. Back then, he headed straight for the bar—no screwing around on the restaurant side ordering halibut and drinking Coke.
But now he sat in the parking lot looking at the side of the building. The paint looked the same, the neon sign flickering faintly as dusk drifted toward darkness. He could hear the blare of music inside, and he watched as a laughing couple came stumbling out, their fingers hooked in each other’s belt loops. He remembered the smell of spilled beer and the crush of bodies near the bar, but those things didn’t make him wistful. Not anymore.
He hadn’t been inside since that night. That awful, horrible night. He still couldn’t shake the memory of that guy’s fist smashing into Reese’s face, a punch meant for Clay. He remembered the look of betrayal on her face, the moment he knew for certain any chance he’d ever had with her was gone forever.
My fault,
he thought.
So win her back,
whispered the voice in his head.
Prove you’ve changed.
He shook his head, pretty sure that wasn’t an option.
He pushed open the door of his truck and made his way inside. He was five minutes early, which gave him a chance to check out the scene inside. Even for a Friday night, the place was packed. He sat down at one of the tables in the middle of the room where he could see both the front door and the bar. The taps rose above the edge of the bar—Bud, Bud Light, Laurelwood, Deschutes Brewery, and Boneyard all lined up in a colorful row.
He stared at them for a moment, waiting to see if temptation would grab him by the throat and squeeze. It didn’t. There was a familiar tang of nostalgia, but he didn’t think it was the beer calling to him.
He felt his limbs start to relax and he picked up a menu to study it. He recognized a few new dishes, but it was mostly the same. There was something comforting in that. He set down the menu and tried to catch the eye of a passing waitress. There were none to be seen, and he wished he’d thought to bring a water bottle the way a lot of guys did. It would give him something to do with his hands, something to sip so the temptation didn’t creep up on him unexpectedly.
But his hands stayed steady and the scent of beer didn’t send his heart racing the way it used to.
You’ve got this.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” said Patrick as he slid into the seat opposite Clay wearing a T-shirt that showed his ham-size biceps and misspelled tattoos. “Did you already order?”
“I’ve been trying to get someone’s attention, but no dice,” Clay said.
“Wow, they’re really packed. Guess it’s Friday night, huh?”
“That it is.”
Patrick grinned. “So, Clay, how have you been?”
“Good, really good. Things are really getting underway with the construction, so that feels positive.”
“You’re enjoying the job?”
“I am. There were some hiccups with the bid, but we’re working on it.”
“Good. Look, about the thing with the marijuana the other day. You know that if you need to talk about anything—”
“Thank you,” Clay interrupted. “I appreciate that. But things are okay, really.”
Patrick frowned. “Drugs and alcohol in the same place? I’m not sure how I’d handle that myself.”
Clay swallowed and looked at the menu. “I’m handling it pretty well.”
“Are you the only one there who doesn’t drink?”
Clay considered that. “Probably.”
“That must be hard.”
“Not as hard as you’d think,” he said, resisting the urge to make a hard-on joke.
“What’s with the shit-eating grin?”
Clay looked up. “Nothing.” He shrugged. “Just something dumb I used to say. Old joke. Ancient history.”
Patrick studied him, and Clay fought the urge to look away. “You know, not everything from your past life needs to be shoved under the carpet.”
Clay felt his jaw clench. “What do you mean?”
“Just that it’s okay to cut out the things that were unhealthy, but keep the ones that were harmless parts of your personality. Your identity.”
Clay nodded. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Patrick about Reese. It would feel good to confide in someone, to let him know how intensely the feelings were swirling around him since his return.
Maybe after he had a beer.
No
. Not a beer. A plate of nachos, and maybe a Coke.
“I think the waitress forgot us,” Patrick said.
“No doubt. Why don’t I just go up to the bar and see if I can place an order there?”
Patrick frowned and glanced around, clearly hoping a waitress would materialize so Clay wouldn’t have to venture into the danger zone.
Clay smiled and clapped his sponsor on the shoulder as he stood. “Tell you what,” he said. “If you see me guzzling straight from the beer taps, you can come rescue me.”
Patrick grinned. “Deal.”
Clay maneuvered through the maze of tables into the bar. The music was louder, and the smell of beer made the back of his tongue feel itchy. Clay ignored it. He leaned forward on the bar, trying to catch the eye of the guy slinging drinks.
“Stop touching me!” shrieked a female voice at the other end of the bar.
Clay squinted that direction. He couldn’t see through the maze of bodies and the curve in the bar, but the voice sounded familiar. Larissa?
“Stop it!” she yelled again. “I said no.”
A dark figure at the end of the bar blocked his view—broad shoulders draped in black leather, dark hair hanging forward to conceal any view Clay might’ve had of the woman who’d yelled. Clay glanced around, wondering why no one else was concerned. Most of the other patrons seemed numb with beer and loud noise. Clay looked back at the other end of the bar.
“C’mon, baby,” the guy growled. “I just want a piece of that sweet ass.”
“I mean it, Derek. Knock it off.”
This time, Clay was certain it was Larissa. The guy’s next words confirmed it.
“Aw, ’Rissy—you’ve been giving off vibes all night long. What’s a little—”
“Pardon me, is there a problem?”
Clay wasn’t sure how he wound up at the other end of the bar, but suddenly, there he was. Side by side with Larissa, nose to nose with her date.