Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ABBY
“ O ne of the most important things in winemaking is what we call terroir —the combination of climate, soil, and landscape that makes our wine unique. Here in Oregon, the volcanic soil is rich in nutrients, and we get just the right amount of rain to help the vines develop deep roots.”
The chipper tour guide goes on to explain something about how the cool nights and warm days give the grapes a good balance between acidity and sweetness, but all I can do is wince. The sun is extra bright, piercing through my sunglasses straight to the throbbing pain behind my eyes.
Why the hell would Harper schedule a winery tour the morning after a planned night of drinking? Is she secretly a sadist?
I glance over at her, seemingly unaffected by last night’s activities as she leans in to Owen’s side, smiling and whispering something in his ear. Why is she smiling? What is there to even smile about?
Okay, pump your brakes, Miss Crabbypants. Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean everyone else is.
“Our winery has been family owned since the early 1990s, expanded from five to now fifty acres,” the tour guide continues. “April is an exciting time here because the vines are waking up after winter, with the first buds breaking that will eventually develop into grape clusters.”
Oh my God lady, no one cares. Actually, Kristen and Eli appear interested at the front of our group, nodding along at the appropriate parts. I guess I might normally find it interesting, too, even if I don’t drink wine.
But not today. Today I’m drowning in my complete humiliation, heightened by the headache from hell I’m currently experiencing.
I threw myself at Grayson last night. There’s no other way to describe it. Just threw caution to the wind and took my clothes off and kissed him. And what did I get? A big, fat no . A we shouldn’t be doing this .
What did I think would happen? That he’d take one look at me in my bra and be seduced? Get real. I cringe, remembering he’d even asked if I was trying to seduce him. Could I be any more pathetic?
I groan, the headache pounding harder, and massage my temples. This whole idea of breaking outside my comfort zone and getting his attention was a mistake. I’ve spent my life making safe choices, and for good reason.
You don’t get hurt that way.
Over on the other side of our group, Cheryl is talking in a low voice to Grayson. When they both glance at me, I avert my eyes and nestle in further between Elena and Kelly. I’ve stuck like glue to the two of them since the tour started, praying that Grayson won’t try to talk to me about last night if I’m around them. He doesn’t know that they know the truth about our arrangement.
I rub my temples again. Damn, this is getting confusing.
Grayson breaks away from his mom, circling around until he’s behind me.
“Can I talk to you?”
I stare straight ahead, ignoring him and listening to the tour guide’s explanation of the winery’s sustainable farming practices.
“Abby.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to hear the plea in his voice.
Next to me, Elena gently nudges me. “Go talk to him,” she urges.
She doesn’t know about the mortifying ordeal last night. All she remembers is me telling her I like Grayson.
I smile weakly and turn, heading toward the other side of the vineyard. If Grayson repeats anything that happened, I don’t want anyone within earshot.
He follows, then hands me two ibuprofen and his bottle of water. “For your headache.”
My resistance melts a little. That was nice of him.
I take it and down the medicine, figuring it’s time for another dose anyway.
“Mom’s asking about you,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets.
I stare down at the grass as tears sting my eyes. So he’s doing this to look good in front of his mom, not because he actually cares.
“Yeah?” I say noncommittally. I have no idea what to say to him today. How to explain away my behavior last night. Not when he doesn’t feel the same.
“You’ve avoided me all morning.”
“Have I?”
My response is stupid. I’ve obviously been avoiding him. Which, yes, is not a good look in front of his mom when we’re supposed to be cozying up to each other. It was one thing to do it when I didn’t know how he felt, but now that I know…
“Listen, we should talk about last ni—”
I cut him off before he finishes his sentence. “I don’t want to.”
He shifts, looking over at the group, and I take the opportunity to finally look at him. He’s in comfortable clothes—a faded green tee and jeans—and has his aviators on again. His shirt sleeves are tight around his upper arms and I recall seeing him shirtless the other night. How good he looked. How much I wanted him.
How delusional I was.
“I think we should.”
Oh, does he? “Well, too bad.” I’m too hungover today to be anything but blunt.
There’s a stubborn set to his jaw. “You think we’re not going to talk about how you—”
“Later,” I hiss, glancing around to make sure we’re still alone.
“If we don’t do it now, you’ll put it off forever.”
Damn it, he knows me better than I thought.
“We’re moving on to the barrel room,” the tour guide calls, waving her arm to catch our attention.
I wave a hand back to let her know we heard and slip away from Grayson to join the group.
Cheryl touches a hand to my arm. “You okay, honey?” She looks back toward where I left Grayson, then at me again.
“I have a bad headache,” I say, hoping that’s explanation enough for not hanging around her son. “I’m not great company today.”
She gives me a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Why don’t you have Grayson drive you home?”
I grit my teeth at her solution. “I’ll be fine.”
The barrel room is blessedly dim and cool, the pounding in my head receding. I’m not sure if it’s the change in light and temperature or the ibuprofen kicking in, but I send up a silent prayer of thanks.
“Now this is where the magic really happens,” the tour guide announces, her chipper voice echoing off the walls. “After the grapes have been harvested, fermented, and pressed, the wine comes here to age in these beautiful oak barrels. The aging process is critical because it allows the wine to develop more complex flavors and textures over time.”
I hold in my snort of disbelief. Every time I’ve tried wine, it tastes like pure alcohol. How people detect all those different notes and essences, I have no idea.
Grayson sidles up next to me during the guide’s spiel about how the oak barrels impact the flavor, crossing his arms over his chest. He bends, whispering in my ear, “We’re talking about it today.”
I breathe in deeply, not only the scents of oak and earthiness coming from the room, but also of Grayson, something masculine and fresh. The urge strikes me to press my nose to his chest to discover precisely what that scent is, and I just as quickly push it away.
I don’t respond, dread pooling in my chest the longer the guide talks about barrel craftsmanship and humidity control and a million other things I don’t care about. I don’t want to talk to Grayson about this. Don’t want him to awkwardly explain how he doesn’t feel the same way. To remind me about how I basically sexually harassed him, taking off my clothes and pushing my breasts together in front of him, then kissing him.
Why in the hell did I let Elena convince me to do shots?
When the group files out to head to the tasting room, Grayson holds my elbow, not hard but firmly. I could tug it away, but that would cause a scene. I don’t want any more attention on me today.
“We’ll catch up in a bit,” Grayson says to Owen when he glances back at us questioningly.
The barrel room door shuts, silence permeating the air until Grayson turns to me. “Why are you avoiding me?”
I firm my mouth, internally debating. I guess I can’t avoid him forever, even if a part of me wants to head back out to the vineyard and bury myself in a hole so deep, I never have to face the consequences of my actions again.
“Are you embarrassed?” he asks.
I can’t help the snort of disbelief that escapes me this time. “That’s an understatement,” I mutter.
“Why?”
I stare at him, confused by his apparent confusion. Is he seriously asking me why I’m embarrassed? “Because I threw myself at you,” I sputter.
He waits quietly for me to finish.
“And…” I swallow hard, my throat suddenly thick with emotion. “And you don’t feel the same way.”
God, that sounded pathetic.
His brows furrow. “When did I ever say that?”
Doubt creeps its way in before I dismiss it. “You didn’t kiss me back. Said we shouldn’t be doing it.”
“You were drunk.”
He says it like it’s a complete explanation, even though it’s not.
“So?”
“So, I wasn’t going to take advantage of you like that.”
A laugh burbles up inside me. Take advantage of me? After I did all that stuff to him? “So if I wasn’t drunk, you would have kissed me back?”
“If you weren’t drunk, I don’t think you’d have tried to begin with.”
He’s right. I wouldn’t have. Which is the crux of the matter. This whole deal about stepping outside my comfort zone. And despite my earlier vow to play things safe from now on, that bluntness from my now-faint headache rears its head.
“And if I had?” I ask him, letting the cards fall where they may. What do I have to lose at this point?
Something shifts in the air, a tension present that wasn’t there before. “I didn’t know if you only did it because you were drunk, or because you actually wanted to.”
He’s giving me an out. I could say it was the alcohol, not me. But that would be a lie. And I’d be an even bigger coward if I took the easy way out.
“I wanted to,” I whisper, not looking at him. I don’t want to see the pity in his eyes.
There’s a gentle finger on my chin, tipping my face up to meet his gaze. There’s no pity there, only searching, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“I wanted to kiss you back,” he says. “I don’t understand it, but I wanted to.”
My breath hitches. “You don’t understand it?” I repeat dumbly.
One side of his mouth lifts in a smile. “It’s like you’re suddenly a different Abby than the one I’ve always known. Or maybe I never really knew you. Didn’t see you this whole time.”
Time seems to slow as he leans down and presses a kiss to my lips. I’m so stunned, I barely respond to the soft pressure, not until he’s pulling away.
“No,” I mumble, reaching for him and pressing my mouth to his determinedly. It’s clumsy and not my best work, but it gets the point across.
He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat that has my knees weakening, and I cling to him, half-surprised when he wraps his arms around my waist, bringing me flush against him. He deepens the kiss and my heart races, letting him take the lead, following the way he guides me, submitting to his exploration of me. Tingles race across my skin where one of his hands roams lower.
And then it’s abruptly gone, and it takes me a moment to register Cheryl’s surprised voice from behind me.
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” she says from the now-open doorway. “I thought you were right behind… Well, I’ll just let you two…”
She trails off, a sly grin breaking over her face before she leaves.
I look at Grayson, who’s looking back at me, guilt all over his face. Why does he look guilty?
Did he… He didn’t know his mom would come back in here to find us kissing, right?
Pain lances through my chest. Did he set that up? Knowing she’d come back here? Is he that desperate to make sure she believes we’re an item?
“Grayson…”
His brows pinch together. “I’m sorry.”
I hold back a sound of distress and make my escape. It was stupid to come here today. Even knowing it was important to Harper, I should have made my excuses.
How many times can I humiliate myself before I learn my lesson?