Chapter 12
Dash
“You want a taste of the eggplant?” I stab a noodle from my Penne alla Norma. “Or are you not into eggplant?”
“Eggplant?” Mallory coughs, and her face turns pink. “Um, I’m into it.”
Swallowing hard, I realize the double entendre. Her blush deepens, and I know I should steer the conversation back to G-rated territory, but I wouldn’t dare. Not when it makes her skin look like that.
I put some penne onto my fork and heap on a chunk of eggplant and smoked mozzarella before extending it toward Mallory. “Bite?”
Her eyes go wide at the suggestion of eating from my fork, but her hesitance lasts only a second. She nods and opens her mouth. Sliding the fork between her lips feels intensely personal, and I try to convince myself it’s not because I’m imagining my cock there instead. I’m a shitty convincer.
I’m also a shitty spoon-feeder because I manage to leave a drip of sauce at the corner of her mouth, so I lift my napkin to dab it away. She follows my motion with her own, dabbing the now-clean spot and looking almost self-conscious as she chews. This isn’t the brash, snooty woman I’m used to seeing at industry events. This one is softer, more real.
Much, much more interesting.
She’s similar to the woman I encountered in the grocery store who was flustered and surrendered to the inevitability of pickle juice. I like this version.
“Good, right?” I’m talking about the pasta, but my question could be generalized to this whole evening. I came here with an agenda, prodded by my siblings, but I’m finding it hard to focus.
“Mmm-hmm.” She swallows the bite and looks down at her plate of spaghetti Bolognese. “Want to try mine?”
“Yes, please.” Again, my words feel like they have multiple meanings.
Mallory twirls some strands of pasta onto her fork and holds it out with the handle facing me. As I take it, our fingers brush, and it feels like we both pause. I know what I feel—stirring ripples of electricity pulsing across my skin where it grazes hers. Her eyes dilate slightly, and I notice tiny flecks of gold in the gray.
Taking the fork from her, I keep my eyes fixed on hers. Somehow, this is even hotter than when she ate off my fork.
“Good,” I confirm, my voice a rasp. She nods. I pour the last of the wine into our glasses and swirl mine around before taking a generous sip. I need something to cool down the flames I feel licking the back of my neck.
“You like the wine?” she asks. I realize then that she’s been watching me each time I take a sip and gauging my reaction.
“I do.”
She turns the bottle so the label faces me, and I can’t resist running a finger along the inside of her wrist before she pulls it away. Her jaw goes slack, but only for a moment. She regains composure and clears her throat. I tell myself to knock it off—I don’t want to be a handsy jerk like her ex, but I can’t resist touching her.
Instead, I study the bottle. “I don’t know this wine. Is it a favorite of yours?”
It’s not unusual for me to come across a winery I’ve never heard of. Even living in Napa and surrounded by wine, there are too many upstarts in California alone to keep track of them all. Besides, that’s more Archer’s domain since he’s the one in charge of the wine making.
“It’s one I’ve been studying.” She picks up her glass and swirls the dark red liquid before taking a sip. From the way she blinks and smiles, I get the feeling she tastes more than grapes with a hint of oak barrel, which is all my unseasoned palate recognizes.
“Why’s that?”
She presses her lips together and looks around the restaurant, where other diners sit at similar tables for two and four, sipping their wine and eating Italian food from white ceramic dishes. No one seems the least bit interested in us or our conversation.
Once Mallory seems reassured, she continues. “I have a business idea for Autumn Lake.”
“Ah, are you thinking of expanding your wine production?” It wouldn’t surprise me since they have acres and acres of fertile land and a tiny winery. From the time I was a kid, people have talked about what a “crime” it was that the Rutherfords didn’t make better use of their land.
After a while, I stopped listening because broken-record conversations aren’t my thing. What’s the point?
“That’s one part of it. The other part is even simpler. I’m sure you know our property sits on prime acreage in an appellation lots of people want. With the demand from other wineries as high as it is, I could run a thriving business just…growing fruit.” She says the last part like it’s a dark secret. Like it’s blasphemy, and she might get hauled off to prison for it.
I laugh. “Kind of what people around here do with their land. I assume the fruit you’re talking about is grapes, not oranges. But no judgment if you want to water a hundred acres of strawberries every day.”
“That would be silly in this region, don’t you think?”
“I think we’re particularly well suited to grow grapes, so yeah.”
“Okay, then.”
If I was looking for divine signals from the universe, they’re falling at my feet left and right. I should use this opening in the conversation to suggest she lease us some land so we can grow the vines we need. All part of the conversational flow. Like I just thought of it this minute, rather than chewing a hole in the side of my cheek all night waiting for the right opportunity.
I hate this. If I just enjoy myself and forget about turning tonight into a power play, I’m the weak, pretty boy everyone thinks I am, and my family will be disappointed I couldn’t close the deal.
On the other hand, if I make a sweet deal to snag some land, I’ll feel like I’m using her. And right now, I like the way this evening is going. Just two people getting to know each other and enjoying each other’s company. I guess that’s why I date women instead of doing business with them. Only lately, I haven’t done either one.
“Okay…” I wait for the second part of the story. I must be missing something because I can’t figure out why she’s being so secretive about doing the obvious. The only thing I can’t figure out is what took her so long to get started.
“I assume this idea didn’t just occur to you. Your family has had that land for years.”
She looks around the room again, and I can tell this conversation is making her uncomfortable. And yet she brought it up.
Tipping back in my chair, I hold my wineglass and watch her. Her long dark hair frames her heart-shaped face, and her cheeks glow a pale pink as though she’s just run around the block in brisk air. She’s excited, but from the thrumming of her pulse beneath the pale skin of her neck, she’s also nervous.
I’m dying to know why. Dying to understand why she’s guarding a basic assumption of most land owners in Napa Valley like it’s a national security secret.
“You want to get out of here and go for a walk?” I look down at both of our plates, where we’ve demolished all of our food, and tip my head toward the exit. “We can find a place for dessert or coffee and keep talking where it’s quieter.”
She nods, and I ask for the check. She fishes around in her purse for her wallet, but I’ve already put my credit card into the folio and handed it off to the server before she extracts hers. Looking from me to the server who’s retreating into the distance, she scowls like I’ve pulled a fast one.
The color rises in her cheeks, and she holds up her credit card. “Didn’t we agree that I owed you?”
“I never agreed to that. I asked you out.”
“I asked you out first.”
“You snooze, you lose.” The server brings back my card, and I add a fat tip and sign the check. “Shall we?” I stand and offer her my arm.
Still scowling, she shoves her credit card back into her purse. She doesn’t take my arm, so I rest a hand on the small of her back as she moves in front of me and heads for the door. “You should really put your credit card back in your wallet so it doesn’t get lost in your purse,” I say softly over her shoulder. I watch her eyes squeeze shut and her hands flex, and I know I’m cracking her attempt at an icy facade. And I plan to keep going.
If she only knew how much I like baiting her, she wouldn’t give me such a reaction. It only encourages me.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re the only ones sitting at the outdoor tables behind Lalaland, an ice cream shop in St. Helena. Mallory starts talking the moment we’re alone with our twin scoops of lemon cake ice cream. “I have big plans.”
It’s like someone loosened the cork on a bottle of champagne, and Mallory’s energy sent the thing sky high. Once she starts talking, she can’t seem to stop. “I want to develop our land and sell to some of the growers who need additional fruit for their wine making, plus I want to expand our own winery and make it commercially competitive. I’m also looking into leasing some land or…”
She stops and licks a drip from her ice cream cone before it can run down her hand. One second longer, and I’d have licked it from her skin.
I know I sort of coerced her into this date as payback for helping her with her ex, but my brain, my pulse, my skin…no part of me has gotten the memo. She mesmerizes me with every gesture and every thought.
I lean a little closer, testing her. The space between us feels intimate and electrically charged all at once. She doesn’t back away, so I lift a finger as though I plan to trace the outline of her cheek. Her gray eyes heat, and the soft skin of her throat quivers as she swallows.
But I don’t touch her. Instead, I back away. “Sorry. I thought you had a bug on your cheek.” I tap the apple of her cheek softly, and her lips press together before she swats me.
“I did not have a bug.” She frowns as though I’ve insulted her.
“Not anymore. But I had to get closer to be sure.” I lean in as though checking again. I’m flirting shamelessly, waiting for her to fight that fake frown. Eventually, a corner of her mouth betrays her, and she smiles.
“Okay, can you tell now? No bug.”
She leans closer, getting in my space, and I fucking love it. I inhale her jasmine scent before backing away.
“Sorry. My mistake.” I can’t help the grin from spreading across my face.
We reassume our positions, leaning back in our respective chairs, but I feel an invisible filament connecting us now that wasn’t there before. I don’t know exactly why I’m pushing her. Maybe I am just a flirt like everyone believes.
No, that’s not it. It’s her. I like her.
“So why now? Is there a reason your family has never developed the land for wine growing before now?” I ask the question calmly, but I can hear my siblings’ voices in my head telling me that we need any advantage we can get. If I’m the first one she’s telling about her plans, maybe I can get first dibs on the future harvests, which we desperately need.
“Yeah. The reason is my parents. They were never interested. But they made a deal with me about ten years ago that they’ll cede control to me on my thirty-third birthday, and that’s coming up in a few months.” The softness in her voice would feel like satin if I could touch it, yet I sense sadness there too.
“This is a good thing, right?” I know I’m no financial wizard like my older brothers, but I’m smart enough. Yet I feel like I’m missing the point here, and I hate it.
My eyes snag as her tongue slips out to lick the melting yellow ice cream. Watching her, I feel my dick jump in my pants. Her eyes flit around, and she takes a few more swipes at the ice cream, seemingly lost in thought.
“I thought so, but now…ugh.”
Still not understanding, I get up and pace around the patio. My ice cream is nearly gone and I bite into the cone before chucking the remains in the trash.
“Did you just…?” Mallory has her hand on her chest as though she’s witnessed a car accident. “The cone is the best part.”
Laughing, I return to the bench next to her. “Sorry. I thought the ice cream was the best part.”
“Nah, the ice cream is just a warm-up before the waffle cone. I can’t believe you threw yours away.”
“Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
I expect her to say something about how it won’t happen because this is the first and last time we’ll ever eat ice cream together. I’m well aware of her assertion that this is a one-and-done situation, even if every fiber of my being resents that idea.
“Good. Better not.”
“So tell me about the ‘ugh.’ What was that about.”
“Oh, just that my ex convinced my parents to put us both in charge of the business. Like I need a babysitter. They’ve always liked him, and they want me to get married and have babies. They think I can do both if he’s here to share the burden of the business.”
“They’re your parents. Just convince them otherwise.”
“You don’t know my parents. They’re…unconventional. And Felix figured out how to work them. He’s an asshole, but he’s smarter than I realized.”
“There has to be a legal loophole that would keep him out. He’s not a blood relative, and you’re the rightful heir.”
“My mother said the only thing that would keep him out of my life and out of my business is if I have some other husband to help me run the place. Which isn’t going to happen because I’m done with marriage. Felix saw to that by being the delightful human he is. I’m done with a capital D.”
I don’t know why it disappoints me to hear her say it. It's not like I’m looking for a wife. But there’s something resigned and sad about the way she rules out love. Someone like her—feisty, gorgeous, smart—she should have everything.
“Families can be tough,” I agree.
She tilts her head. “Speaking from experience? I always thought you Corbetts were damn near perfect.”
“Hardly. What makes you think that?”
Mallory shrugs. “I remember back when I was friends with Beatrix, you all seemed so close—there was always commotion and friendly bickering at your house. I envied it, being an only child.”
“You got the bickering part right. We’re still like that today, only the barbs are more real. Mostly them telling me I fucked something up.”
I swallow hard, unsure why I’m admitting this to her, but I’ve watched her drop her facade tonight and it makes me want to show her who I am beneath the shell of what people see.
“Are they hard on you, or are you hard on yourself?” She asks the question quietly, innocently, like it doesn’t pierce through nearly thirty years of truth.
When I meet her gaze, I see a look of understanding that can only be based on experience.
“Both. I guess. I don’t know.” I inhale a full breath of air and let it out. “I just feel like the pretty face who isn’t smart enough to do anything but network and hire people, the job no one else wants.”
“That’s not how I see you, for what it’s worth.” She shrugs, but I want to tell her it’s worth a hell of a lot. Instead, I just nod.
The night sky is dark all around us—not just overhead. That’s the beauty of the vast area of open land where we’re lucky enough to live. It means I don’t even have to look up to see a shooting star drop right out of the night sky in front of us.
“Did you see that?” Mallory gasps. There’s no denying the magic of something bigger and brighter charting a path through the sky. I’m grateful for the change of subject.
“I did. It’s good luck.”
She lets out a long exhale. “I’m gonna take your word for it. I need a little luck right now if I’m going to get things straightened out so I can do what I know is right for Autumn Lake.”
She brings her fingers to her temples as though the conversation gives her a headache. Reaching for her, I grasp her fingers and lower them so I can see her face. I don’t let go of her hands. Looking down, Mallory studies our connected fingers, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the marriage idea.” I say it before I can talk myself out of it. And I should have talked myself out of it.
“What?”
I don’t explain my thoughts about her being deserving of love because we barely know each other. Instead, I offer brevity. “Don’t let Felix spoil the ideal of what marriage could be, is all.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah. Maybe.” Her expression is wary, and she withdraws her hands. “Anyhow, Mary—you met her at the pub—thinks I should play hardball and marry someone else so Felix will have no choice but to buzz off.”
She rolls her eyes. Maybe it’s petty jealousy, but the idea of her marrying someone else grates at me. And getting rid of her ex feels like the Holy Grail.
The situation is almost too perfect. She needs someone to get between her ex and his plans to butt in where he has no right to insert himself. I need to secure land to grow grapes or establish a preferential land agreement with someone willing to sell to us.
It’s a moonshot idea, but I feel emboldened to take it. “Fine. You concocted a fake engagement easily enough to get Felix off your case. Sounds like you should just get married. To me.”