Chapter Fifteen Memphis
Chapter Fifteen
Memphis
I frown as the text pops up on my phone.
Vivian: Busy tonight. Sorry!
Setting my phone aside, I get back to work, reviewing the report from yesterday’s harvest and comparing it to the same day from the past few years. The first week of the harvest’s yield has always been a strong indicator of what we can expect from our crop. Typically, it’s about comparing the percentage of grapes that have been cut from the vine to the weight of how many grapes are considered underripe, diseased, or damaged.
Things are looking promising as I compile the handwritten notes from the staff and enter them into my database.
But instead of reveling in those good numbers and what they might mean for this batch of wine, I’m still focused on Vivian’s text.
Obviously, she doesn’t need to be available just because I’ve asked her to be. She made it clear that she’s working on this trip, and I’m definitely a person who understands prioritizing work.
But I can’t hide the disappointment of learning she has other plans.
I was lying in bed last night, my fist between my legs, stroking to the memory of that night at the Firehouse. When I’d gotten to taste the sweetness between her thighs. And as I’d come into my palm, I thought ... What the hell am I doing?
Vivian and I were pretty clear that we were both open to sporadic fun, and while I hadn’t wanted to push it with the drama from her ex coming to town, I also had a feeling that she’d be down if I reached out.
Which is why her response is so surprising.
Sighing, I scrub my hand over the hair that’s been growing thicker on my face for the past few days. Then I get back to reviewing my reports, putting Vivian and hooking up tonight completely out of my head.
Eventually, I call it for the day on administrative work and head over to the restaurant to do the winery tour. It wasn’t my intention to continue handling these for Naomi, but when I talked to her about it last weekend, it was clear that her schedule was overflowing.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” Murphy says as she collects a handful of menus.
My brow furrows. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I figured you might ... I don’t know ... be at The Standard or something.”
When I still look confused, because I rarely ever have time to go out for drinks anymore, my sister rolls her eyes.
“I know you and Vivian are hooking up, okay? You don’t have to play stupid.”
Then she tucks her menus into her hip and opens the door, calling out for Charlotte, party of four .
I couldn’t be more surprised than if she whacked me over the head with a bat. When did Murphy and Vivian have this conversation? And why am I only now finding out about it?
She takes her sweet time, walking the group of twentysomething women to their table and chatting with them for a few minutes before returning to the host stand.
“I’m not playing stupid. I didn’t ... realize you knew.”
“Next time you want to sneak around, maybe make sure you’re actually being sneaky,” she says, laughing as she pulls out another handful of menus.
“What does that have to do with The Standard, though?” I ask, glancing at my watch, confirming I still have a few minutes before I need to head outside.
Murphy tilts her head and assesses me. “Vivian’s playing the open mic night tonight. Did she not tell you?”
I shake my head.
My sister doesn’t wait around for me to say anything else. Instead, she walks past me and opens the door, calling out the next group. Williams, party of three.
I shouldn’t be surprised that Vivian didn’t tell me she’s performing. We were both clear that our intention was to have fun with each other. For it to be all about sexy time, nothing personal.
So then why am I bothered that she didn’t tell me?
It’s not like we’ve ever really talked about her music before, apart from when she briefly shared that she was inspired by being here in Rosewood. Inspired by me.
Maybe that’s what it is.
Maybe it’s that a part of me thinks I should be invited to observe the creative genius that’s been even somewhat influenced by me, as selfish or self-centered as that might sound. Though I can’t imagine that I’ve really made much of a difference.
Or maybe it’s that Vivian and I share a connection, and I’m surprised she didn’t think to tell me.
“You should go.”
I turn to Murphy, who has returned from seating the Williams party.
“I can’t go. I’m working.”
She rolls her eyes. “Do the tour and then go. This place is a well-oiled machine.” Then she pats me on the shoulder. “I’ve got this. Don’t stress.”
Murphy leaves the host stand behind and heads off to collect a tray of food from the pass, making it clear that I’m not needed.
I glance around, taking in the serving staff moving through the room with smiles on their faces, then the bartenders at the wine bar interacting with customers. And if I go push the kitchen door open, I’ll see Wes and his crew in there, in complete control, creating the exceptional dishes from our seasonal menu.
Once outside, I step over to the sign in the corner that lets guests know where to gather for the winery tour and greet the people who signed up for this evening. I introduce myself and give everyone an overview of what they should expect, then lead them off the patio and down the path.
What Murphy said doesn’t get tucked away somewhere in the recesses of my mind, though. It’s at the forefront all throughout the tour. From the vines, to the warehouse, to the wine cellar and the tasting room, I’m thinking about the implications of what my sister said.
That I should go watch Vivian perform—I’ve already decided I want to go.
But also the idea that the restaurant is a functioning machine.
That the people we’ve hired to manage things are doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing—managing things, keeping everything moving, and handling the business.
And that includes my sister.
When I finish the tour, I step back inside the restaurant off the back patio. Murphy moves through the room, a smile on her face as she chats with her tables and interacts with her host staff. She pokes her nose into the kitchen to check in on whatever it is that she’s staying on top of.
My chest puffs up, a sense of pride beginning to build. But not because of anything I’ve done. Just because of who my sister is.
I was worried about Murphy being involved with the restaurant when she first moved back to Rosewood, and that was foolish of me.
And now that I know better, it’s time to stop being such a fool.
“I’m gonna take off,” I say to Murphy where she’s standing at the kitchen pass, as I tuck my hands into my pockets. “Heading to The Standard.”
She smirks at me. “When I asked Vivian about you two, she was very ‘it’s not serious, don’t worry’ with me. But part of me thinks maybe she’s wrong.”
I lick my lips and shake my head, a protest forming on my lips.
“And I have to admit, you two didn’t make sense to me at first, you know? She’s such a big personality and so fun and vibrant all the time and you’re ... you.”
Pursing my lips, I level a glare at my sister.
She laughs. “I just mean that you’re more uptight and regulated. Structured. You are an Excel spreadsheet, and she is a watercolor painting.”
“Wow. I sound so fascinating.”
“Memphis, will you listen?” she says, exasperated. “I meant that it didn’t seem right at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it seems like maybe you guys could actually be perfect for each other.”
“Thank you for that raving endorsement. How so?”
I shouldn’t ask what she means, because truthfully it doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for a relationship and Vivian is leaving at some point—at least I’m assuming she is—probably soon. So again, it shouldn’t matter.
Yet, I want to hear what my sister’s opinion is more than anything.
“Think about it. You’re an Excel spreadsheet, and she’s a watercolor painting.”
I roll my eyes. “You already said that.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah. But if I explain it to you, where’s the fun in that?” Then she turns a tray on the pass and hoists it onto one shoulder. “Have fun tonight!”
When I get to The Standard, I’m not surprised by the size of the crowd. This place is busy on most weekends, but has always managed a packed house on the open mic nights. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to one, but at least that’s what I remember from back in the day during the few times I came to watch Murphy sing.
I don’t see Vivian, though. There’s a man playing the saxophone on the stage where I thought I might see her.
Maybe she changed her mind?
I make my way up to the bar and grab one of the few open stools.
“Hey, Memphis, what’ll you have tonight?”
“Hey, Gabe. Just a pale ale on tap would be great.”
He sets a coaster in front of me. “Coming right up.”
I didn’t think through what I’d say or do tonight when it comes to Vivian and her performance. Maybe she didn’t want to see me, and my presence will be unwelcome. Or maybe she’ll be surprised and thrilled that I’m here and want me to go back to her hotel room with her.
I can’t lie, I’m hoping for the latter. But I’d settle for her being happy that I’m here.
A surprising realization.
When Gabe brings my beer, I take a long sip before setting it on the coaster and looking around again.
“Thank you so much, Frank, for that beautiful performance of Kenny G’s ‘Forever in Love.’”
I look up to the stage, spotting Gabe’s wife, Gigi, holding a microphone and smiling at Frank as he packs up his saxophone.
“All right, everyone. We had a last-minute signup from a very talented singer and songwriter. I’ve been told by our favorite hotel manager, Errol, that she is going to take the world by storm, and we should expect to see her name in lights very soon.”
I spot Vivian emerging from the hallway that leads to the break room, her guitar already slung around her shoulder.
“Welcome to the stage, Vivian Walsh.”
Gigi puts the microphone in the stand and then exits the small stage, giving Vivian’s arm a squeeze as they pass each other by.
And then Vivian is there, up in front, a wide smile on her face as she greets the crowd giving her friendly applause.
“Hey, everyone, I’m Vivian.” She strums her guitar once. “I’m in town visiting. I’ve been here for the past couple weeks on a little working vacation, writing music and enjoying the very delicious wines from Hawthorne Vines.”
There are a few cheers, and then she strums the guitar a couple of times.
“Tonight, I’m hoping to play you all a new song I finished a few days ago. It’s called ‘Sweet Escape,’ and I hope you like it.”
Vivian clears her throat, and then she begins to play.
Almost instantly, I’m drawn in. Not only by the folky melody, which is catchy and bright, but also by Vivian.
It’s apparent almost immediately that she belongs on a stage.
That she is the type of performer who has the ability to draw people in in a way that is almost supernatural.
A quick glance around the room, and I see that everyone has stopped talking. All eyes and ears seem focused on the beautiful starlet at the front of the room.
And then, she starts to sing.
It’s a song about belonging, with lyrics about long drives through the hills and rows of vines. About laughter late into the night. Sweet nothings and soft sighs.
The longer she sings, the more I’m drawn in. Drawn forward. Like I could literally be tugged off my stool and over to where she stands.
Her guitar strumming and her voice echoing in the bar bring me back to our night in the tasting room, to the sound of her voice bouncing off the stone walls, but in a way that strikes an emotional chord in my chest. Like the sound of her voice is a physical thing that has made its way through my center and wrapped itself around whatever it is that makes up my soul.
And when she’s finished, after she sings out the long, throaty last note, there’s a lull in the room for only a brief second before the entire place erupts in cheers.
I don’t, though. I sit there in stunned silence, knowing I just witnessed something incredible. Something beautiful. Something I wouldn’t be able to describe to anyone who wasn’t here.
Vivian smiles and waves at everyone and then says thank you into the microphone before Gigi hops up next to her, absolutely beaming.
“I’m sure I’m not the only person in this room who wants to offer a heartfelt thank you for that incredible performance,” she says, looking at Vivian. Then she turns to the crowd. “Let’s give Ms. Walsh one more round of applause, shall we?”
Her red hair bounces around her as she grins and takes the few steps down from the stage.
I watch as she embraces Errol Barker, the two of them enjoying a bit of conversation before he pats her on the shoulder and then heads for the door.
Her face brightens as she’s approached by Quinn Trager, her daughter, Willow, in one of those chest wrap things pressed to Quinn’s front. They talk for a few minutes, and I wait, giving her the space to greet her adoring fans.
When Quinn says goodbye, Vivian scans the crowd, her eyes briefly passing me before flying back to mine.
I raise my glass to her, and she holds up a hand with a single finger.
Eventually, after she’s talked with a handful of people, she slips in between me and the person on the stool next to mine, tucking her body into the space between my legs.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, lifting my half-drunk beer from the coaster and taking a sip.
I shrug. “Someone might have mentioned you were performing, and I figured it might be a good idea to hear what kind of slanderous things you’re spouting about your muse and his penis.”
“You should be grateful that I decided not to sing my other song, wholly inspired by you. It’s called ‘The Man with the Tiny Grapes.’”
Chuckling, I lean closer, speaking low in her ear.
“You know how big my grapes are. They fit perfectly in your hands.”
Vivian pulls back, her eyes flashing. “You dirty bird.” She pokes me in the stomach, then picks up my beer and takes another sip, smacking her lips together dramatically when she’s done.
“So when you said you were busy tonight, it was this?” I ask, tucking my fingers into the loops in her jeans.
“Yeah. It’s been forever since I’ve performed. I wanted to test out some of my new music.”
“I thought maybe you were officially tired of me.”
Vivian smiles. “You fishing for compliments?”
“Always.”
“Well, Mr. Bartender,” she says, before leaning in to me and bringing her lips to my ear. “I love the way your cock feels inside me, so if you don’t have plans tonight, consider this my official invitation back to the Firehouse.”
I swallow thickly, lust racing through my veins, my dick beginning to throb between my legs.
“For once, it would be great if you could compliment my outfit,” I reply as I slip off the stool and take her hand in mine. “Or my personality. You know? Some people think I have a great laugh.”
“They must not know you well.”
The smile on my face is fucking massive as we cut across the bar and she grabs her guitar case. Then we step out onto Main Street, into the cool night air.
We continue to tease each other as we walk down the road, and she makes me carry her guitar case up to the third floor, shaking her ass at me the entire way.
When we finally get to her room, she walks backward away from me, stripping off her jacket and her top. Teasing me. Drawing me forward like she’s still on that damn stage.
“I’m in the mood for a bath,” she tells me, her hands reaching behind her and unclipping her bra. “Wanna join me?”
Her bra falls to her feet, and I step forward to take her breasts in my hands, my thumbs stroking across her nipples. I revel in the way her head falls back and her mouth opens slightly.
“Do I get to fuck you in this bath?” I ask her, dipping down and sucking one nipple into my mouth.
She whimpers, and my cock grows harder.
“You can fuck me anywhere.”
I growl, releasing her and pushing myself back. “If you don’t go start that bath right this second, it’ll never happen.”
Vivian laughs and then turns, stepping into the bathroom. A second later I hear the water running. She pokes her head out. “I’ll call you in when it’s ready,” is all she says before she closes the door.