Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
E lla
It’s cool in the tasting room. I like it.
Exposed beams on the ceiling, wall sconces, brown leather armchairs with low tables topped in sheets of gray zinc. The lighting is intentionally low, giving the room the feel of an old western steakhouse with hanging plants and vineyard views.
And because it’s a beautiful day and most guests are tasting wine outside, we’re alone.
It makes me feel like I’ve entered another world, one where science and farming meld to create a really nice place to sit and sample wine. Magical. I don’t dare say as much to Archer because he’d probably laugh. So I tell him what he asked about.
“Somehow I fell into the role of America’s sweetheart, who makes men fall for her and women want to be her friend. I didn’t seek it out. In fact, but you know…people like to typecast. I look the part and those were the roles my agent sent me to audition for. And those were the roles I landed. ”
“Makes sense.”
“I thought so too until I realized I was getting further and further from my goal.”
“Which was?”
“I’m a theater nerd. Even with the rom-com roles I get, I do deep dives into characters and research everything I can. It’s like science to me. I studied drama because I fell in love with Shakespeare in college.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I know, I know. Everyone thinks Shakespeare is something you just have to get through in order to graduate, but if you read it closely, he’s actually?—”
“Hilarious,” he interrupts. For a second, I’m not sure if his conclusion is directed at me. The way he grouches around, I assume he thinks my love for Shakespeare is ridiculous, if not hilarious. But he doesn’t give me a chance to question him.
“Actually, yeah. Shakespeare is a fucking riot. Why don’t people realize that? He had the best possible insults in the world of literature. ‘I am pigeon-livered and lack gall.’”
“ Hamlet ,” I say, dumbfounded.
He nods. “‘Thou cream-faced loon.’”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember where that’s from.”
“Ah. Macbeth. It’s a good one.”
“Almost as good as ‘thou lump of foul deformity.’”
He holds up a hand. “Call me that and the science lesson is done, princess.”
I laugh, my eyes settling on his face and noticing for the first time that he’s not frowning. It makes me want to keep looking, and I take in his angular cheekbones and slanted nose. The stubble from a couple days without shaving. It softens the hard line of his jaw. Then there are his eyes, like blue lasers that miss nothing, leave nothing to chance. Lips that make me wonder…
I startle when I realize I’ve been staring longer than I should be. And he’s staring back, daring me not to look away. I don’t want to, but I should.
My lids drop closed for a moment, breaking the bond between us. It’s necessary. I don’t know what I’m doing, staring into the eyes of a man who isn’t Callum, the man I’ve committed to marry.
“Hold that thought.” Archer disappears into a back room and returns with a half dozen bottles of wine on a tray, along with glasses and what looks like a hunk of cheese. He pulls a box of crackers from his back pocket. “Full service,” he says, laying the tray on the table next to us and presenting me with a glass. The bottles are all open with corks in them, and he spins them around so I can see their labels.
“What looks good to you? Red, white? Or dealer’s choice?”
The only problem is that I can’t see. “I, um, think you should decide.” I fish around in my purse for my glasses, but I’m pretty sure I won’t find them. “I didn’t bring my glasses because of all the media hoopla with the magazine, and since I didn’t drive, I don’t need them. Which means I can’t read the labels too well.”
“What do you mean? What does the magazine have to do with you wearing glasses?”
“I prefer not to see all those people so clearly when they’re fussing and taking photos.”
“So, you can’t see? Right now?”
I shake my head. “Not well. It’s a thing I do when I go places with big crowds. Mostly it’s when there’s paparazzi around or people yelling my name. It completely overwhelms me to the point of feeling nauseous and actually starting to freak out a little. So I started going without my lenses and realized it helps. It forces me to focus only on whoever is directly in front of me. I can handle one conversation, one person.”
The one person I can see clearly is staring at me with his jaw open as though he’s learned something profound .
“So you never even saw me.” His gruff words are so quiet I barely hear them, and I’m confused even then.
“Never saw you where?”
He blinks a couple times and shakes his head. “In LA.”
“What?”
“I was at a party in LA, and I tried to meet you.”
“Wait, when?” Holding up both hands, I try to temper my shock with some sort of recall. My confused brain tries to rewind history because I have no recollection of Archer Corbett before I walked into the barn at Buttercup Hill.
“Maybe four years ago. It was a pool party in some fancy yard in the Hollywood Hills with huge views of all of LA, and I saw you and just…wanted to meet you. But your bodyguards told me to take a hike.”
My face goes hot at the thought that I came off like the kind of diva I swore I’d never be when I was offered my first movie role. I hate the idea that people I paid to work for me kept me away from someone like Archer Corbett.
I’m halfway through my second glass of wine, and I already feel buzzed. It’s not the right time to reveal the brewing feelings I have for Archer. I’m sober enough to realize that. But I can’t have him thinking I’m the kind of person who’d ignore someone I didn’t know if he tried to meet me.
“I vaguely remember a party. Or a dozen. There were a lot of pool parties, a lot of places I had to be when I’d have rather been home in sweats with a book. Most of the time, I stayed in my little bubble, talked to as few people as possible, took the photos my publicists wanted, and got out of there.”
He nods. “I should have known that.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking like a guilty child. “It wasn’t you. It was me feeling like a failure in LA, and trying to talk to you just convinced me I had no reason to be there. Maybe I was looking for proof I didn’t belong. Anyway, that’s maybe why I came off a little frosty at first when we met here. ”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. “A little frosty? That’s how you’d describe it?”
He hangs his head in mock shame. It’s adorable. When he looks up at me, there’s something different in his eyes. They’re clear, unencumbered by doubt. They’re also hooded and deep blue. It’s like he’s asking permission, but I’m not sure for what. And I’m not sure what I can give him permission to do.
I know what I want him to do. I want him to kiss me. But…I can’t.
I can absolve him of any doubt about what happened back in LA. “Archer, I can assure you that if I saw you at a party, I’d want to meet you. And now that I have, I’m very glad it was here in Napa and not in LA.”
His eyes drop closed for a moment, and I watch him suck air into his lungs. When he opens his eyes, he nods. “Let’s get some fresh air. We can taste the rest outside. I want to give you the whole wine-tasting experience.”
“Wow. A ‘wine-tasting experience,’” I say, mocking. “Sounds serious.”
He shakes his head and leans his forehead on his fingertips, blocking part of his face. But I can still see him clearly enough.
I love that I’ve just made Archer Corbett blush.