Chapter Sixteen Vivian
Chapter Sixteen
Vivian
When the water is nice and hot and the bubbles are bubbling and the candles are lit, I strip off the rest of my clothes and crawl into the bath. Then I call out to Memphis.
I’m a little nervous, knowing that he’s going to come in here and see how I’ve set everything up. It’s a little more romantic than the let’s just fuck vibes we’ve had in the past. And maybe that was a mistake.
But part of me couldn’t help myself. A slow, steamy, candlelit night in this dreamy tub was too much of a magical idea to pass up. And sharing it with Memphis, a man who is somehow slowly stripping me of all my defenses, makes it all the better.
He opens the door, and when he spots me already in the water, his tongue peeks out and strokes against his top lip.
“This might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he tells me, slipping off his boxers and stepping into the soaking tub on the opposite end, his legs stretching out on either side of my hips.
“I’ve been here for two weeks and haven’t used this thing, can you believe it?” I shake my head. “It was the entire reason I booked this room, too.”
“Well, you’re using it now, right?” he offers.
I crawl up on my knees and inch toward him. “Barely fitting it in, though. I’ll need to use it again tomorrow before I leave to make sure I get good use out of it.”
Memphis’s body freezes. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “Sunday morning. I have to be in the studio on Monday.”
I’m not ready to go.
Not ready to leave Rosewood.
Not ready to leave this bit of fun with Memphis behind.
It feels like more than fun, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind.
But I push that thought aside.
Instead of allowing my mind to dip into the well of sadness that my time in Rosewood is ending, I wrap my arms around him. My breasts, covered in bubbles, press deliciously against his chest.
His hands grip my hips, his fingers stroking my skin under the water, his eyes never leaving mine.
When I lean down to kiss him, something begins to well up in my chest. Something I’m not expecting. Something that makes me think that last weekend in the tasting room wasn’t just a one-off night where I was too emotional.
Maybe it’s truly Memphis who makes me feel this way.
Like everything is so big and so important and so meaningful, even though I don’t know that we have the history to warrant those emotions.
I try to push those thoughts away and instead focus on what I know to be true.
What I can taste: Memphis’s tongue as it strokes against mine.
What I can hear: the sweet sound of his groans as I settle myself over him.
What I can feel: his cock as it presses inside me, one delicious inch at a time.
“Fuck, I’m not wearing a condom,” he says, once he’s fully sheathed within my walls.
I shake my head. “I’m on the pill. I’ve been tested, and everything was negative.”
His eyes lock with mine. “Me, too.”
“Good, because I’m not sure anything could make me stop right now.”
Memphis grips the back of my neck and he pulls my face closer to his. “Me neither.” Then his mouth collides with mine.
I begin to move, up and down, melting into that delicious, amazing bliss. He hits that spot inside me, forcing me to continue moving even though my muscles are already beginning to tire. He grabs my ass under the water, and then he begins to thrust as well, each of us doing our part to slam our bodies together.
It’s amazing, and the water in the tub sloshes around us, splashing up and over the edge of the porcelain in a way that I’m sure I’ll regret later when I have to clean it up.
But for now, it’s everything.
It’s a visual representation of the way I feel inside right now.
Of the turmoil in my soul as he continues to fuck into me.
God, I’ve never felt like this.
Never known a pleasure like this.
Haven’t ever felt so whole and so broken at the same time.
Something about the way he watches me tells me that things aren’t as simple as they were that first time.
Or even the second.
Somewhere along the way, between the playful barbs and the sassy comebacks and the intimacy of the best sex of my life, this thing with Memphis became ... more.
And as we tumble into ecstasy together, staring into each other’s eyes, I can’t help but wonder what comes next.
After we finish in the tub and catch our breath, I stand to get out. But Memphis grabs my hand and pulls me back down, turning my body so I’m tucked into his chest, snuggled against him between his legs.
We talk about my singing career, about how I got started and what I did while I was trying to find a manager and a label. I tell him about moving out of my parents’ house in Brentwood Park when I was nineteen and getting a condo in Santa Monica. About the various waitressing and nightclub jobs that stretched over nearly a decade as I did open mic nights and took any singing gig I could.
I tell him about Todd and Humble Roads and the music I’m working on.
And I’ve never felt so heard.
The way Memphis asks questions, how he manages to zero in on the small things that matter about what I have to say.
I don’t want to do him the disservice of comparing him to Theo, because literally anyone listens better than my ex.
But just this conversation, right here, this casual nothing-burger conversation about the shitty jobs I took before I finally made it ... It’s proof that men like Memphis are in a completely different league than men like Theo.
Men like Theo are interested in listening to themselves talk. They focus on their own interests and expect everyone around them to cater to that. It was a constant point of frustration between us, and one of the most frequent reasons we fought. Because he never fucking listened to anything I had to say. I never understood why he could remember so much about so much, yet so little about the things that mattered to me.
It’s because he literally didn’t care about those things, so he didn’t want to hear about it.
But men like Memphis . . .
There is nothing sexier than a man who listens when you have something to say. Who asks questions that show he’s paying attention.
Even back when we were just lobbing semifrustrated, semiflirtatious comments back and forth at each other at the restaurant or The Standard or anywhere else, it was still so apparent that he was listening to me. His callback is incredible.
I’ve never truly realized how much I love being the focus of his attention.
So when he asks me to come to the vineyard as he’s tugging his pants back on, it’s an easy yes. I might be leaving on Sunday, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the time I have left.
“Come to the vineyard tomorrow,” he says. “It’s harvest, so things are really busy, but that means there’s a lot for you to do. You can ride the ATV around and see the whole property—maybe even tag along with the staff and cut bunches.”
I tug an oversize sleep shirt on, then take a seat on the bed, something occurring to me.
“And what will you be doing all day?”
He laughs. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, so I’ll be in my office for most of the day, which is far less interesting.”
I’m surprisingly disappointed by that, but it makes sense. Memphis has made it clear from the very beginning that he’s under a lot of stress with work, so it would be silly for me to assume that he’d be able to play hooky.
“All right, well, thanks for the invite. I’ll try to come around maybe ... ten-ish?”
Memphis smirks. “Sounds good.”
Then he slips an arm around my waist and tugs me forward, his mouth dropping to mine in a delicious kiss that is equal parts sensual and surprising.
Sensual, because it’s Memphis, and the way his tongue tangles with mine makes my toes curl.
Surprising, because this is the same man who seemed concerned about the easiness of our kiss on the street after the first time we had sex. As if it was okay within the confines of active intercourse, but not when it’s a sweet moment with nothing but the kiss in mind.
I get it. Kissing while we’re fucking, that’s a battle. A competition for dominance, each of us desperate to squeeze every drop of pleasure out of each other that we can.
This right here, this gentle, tender kiss ... It’s intimate in a different way. Its purpose is affection. Warmth. It communicates a desire for closeness that is more than just getting in and getting off.
I can’t help but lean into it. Revel in it.
In him and the magic of his arms around me.
When he pulls back, his eyes search mine for a long moment before he releases me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And when he leaves, I crawl immediately into bed and turn out the light.
Because if it’s dark and I’m tucked away, I don’t have to face the truth.
Riding around on the ATV with Micah is a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I’ve never been a girl who likes roller coasters or thrill seeking of any kind, but as Micah comes to the top of a hill and then our speed accelerates as we go down, curving along the path around the vineyard, I think I finally understand the appeal.
I’m sure any true theme park lover would roll their eyes at me comparing an ATV going thirty miles an hour with a roller coaster, but hey, it’s the best I can do.
We started near the house, first doing a circle of the entire property. I don’t know why, but I never realized how large the vineyard is. Even though Memphis talked about it being eighty acres during our tour last week, I think conceptualizing how large that is in real life wasn’t something I was capable of without this drive around. And the vineyard tour only covers the northeastern part, which makes everything seem really close.
Once he’d given me a full lay of the land, Micah showed me the employee cabins—where Naomi, Edgar, and Wes live, and where the temporary hands’ bunks are set up—along with the equipment sheds and the areas of the property where some of the oldest vines are being dug up and the ground tilled and resoiled.
Now, we’re driving through the middle of the vines, returning to the warehouse after touring where the crew is hard at work de-netting the rows that are going to be harvested.
“So, what do you think?” Micah asks, glancing over at me with a sweet expression once we’ve come to a stop. “You impressed?”
I laugh. “Of course, I’m impressed. This place is amazing.”
He smiles. “Glad to hear that. When Memphis told me to give you the VIP tour, in the middle of the harvest no less, I figured it was pretty important that you be good and dazzled by the end.”
Something sentimental rolls through me.
I warm knowing that, even though Memphis isn’t driving me around the vineyard himself, he still made sure it was a special experience.
“I have to drop off some reports back at the house, so if you give me a few minutes to grab them from inside, I can walk with you over there if you want?”
“That would be great.”
Micah heads inside the warehouse, and I turn, looking out over the vines and the beauty of the scene before me.
Rosewood is a special place. I felt it when I first got here.
But this vineyard is its own brand of extraordinary.
And maybe that’s me being biased because it belongs to the family of one of my closest friends. Or because the man I’m sleeping with lives, sleeps, and breathes this land.
Both of those are true, but I think it’s more than that.
I think it’s just one of those places that resonates with a creative soul.
I know the hard work that goes into cultivating something, working it over until it becomes that perfect creation that you’ve envisioned. And I understand the sense of accomplishment once that creation becomes a reality.
I don’t doubt that the Hawthornes feel that way every season, once they’ve gotten through the harvest and are able to revel in the work they’ve accomplished.
“All right, ready?”
I turn, spotting Micah holding a manila folder and a notebook, and I nod.
“So, what’s the deal with Memphis?” I ask as we begin a moseying walk down the path that leads back to the main house.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific with your question,” he says, laughing. “There are many layers to my brother. I need to know which one you’re looking to reveal.”
“Okay ... What makes him happy?”
Micah stops, and I stop, too. He looks at me with a curious expression, but then he shakes his head and starts walking again.
“To be honest? I’m not really sure. For a long time, I would have told you that working the vineyard makes him happy. He loves this place.” Micah pauses his description of Memphis for a beat, seeming to be looking for the right words. “But now, I’m not so sure.”
“Does he do anything other than work? Because he talks about this place like it’s the only thing he does with his time.”
“Not really. He tell you anything about what’s been going on?”
I shake my head.
“I won’t get too deep into it, but Memphis is basically fighting to keep our doors open right now.”
My head jerks back in surprise. “What?”
“I don’t think he realizes how much I know, but the truth is that my grandfather was a great owner, but my dad wasn’t really into it, so when things fell to him, he struggled. And now Memphis is dealing with the fallout.”
Sadness ripples through me.
No wonder he’s been so adamant about needing to be at work.
He’s desperate to keep this place running. And it’s more than just his own livelihood at stake. It’s the livelihood of his entire family.
The conversation we had about him being worried to take over the responsibilities and the weight of the vineyard ... now I understand it with a clarity that I didn’t have before.
“I’m sorry you guys are facing all of that,” I finally say.
Micah gives me a soft look. “We’ll make it through,” he tells me, a quiet confidence in his tone. “My brother has his faults just as much as the next guy, but when he cares about something, there’s no lengths he won’t go to. He’s the most hardworking person I know, and if there’s a way to sort things—which I don’t doubt there is—he’ll find a way.”
We’re silent for a few minutes, the only sounds the mulch crunching beneath our feet and the gentle hum of machines in the distance.
Then Micah speaks again.
“I’ll give you this much, though. You asked what makes him happy? I’ve seen him smile more in the past two weeks than I’ve seen in the past two years.” He shrugs. “Take from that what you will.”
A little part of me thrills at Micah’s words.
When we finally get to the house, Micah leads me inside and down a long hallway. Tucked away in a corner is a large office where Memphis is seated behind a big wooden desk, his eyes narrowed as he stares at something on his computer screen.
“Got the reports from yesterday,” Micah says, crossing the room and dropping the folder on the desk in front of Memphis. “I think you’ll be pleased.”
Memphis’s head turns, his eyes connecting with mine. He doesn’t smile, but I can tell he’s glad to see me all the same.
“Thanks. And thanks for taking the time to give Vivian the tour,” he says.
“Enjoyed our chat,” Micah tells me. “Hope the rest of your day is great.”
Then he gives me a wave and strides out of the room.
Memphis clicks around on his computer a few times. Then I see his screen go dark, and he shifts slightly in his chair so he’s facing me, his elbows on the desk.
“How was the tour?”
I beam, coming up behind one of the high-backed armchairs and folding my arms against the top. “Amazing. This place is so cool. Micah drove me all over the place on the ATV so I finally got, like, a really good picture of everything.”
“Good. I’m glad you had fun.”
Looking around the room, I take in the wall of shelves opposite where Memphis sits, filled with dozens of three-ring binders in a variety of colors, stacks of paperwork, equipment manuals, and plenty of books on vineyard management and wine chemistry.
“So this is where you spend your days, huh?” I ask. “I thought there was an office building by the warehouse. How come you don’t work over there?”
“This is where my grandfather worked, and my father as well,” he says, shrugging. “I personally like that I get a little distance from everyone here.”
I giggle. “Sounds like a you thing,” I say, taking a closer look at a few photos on the wall.
There is one of Memphis, his dad, and an older gentleman—his grandfather, maybe?—with rows of vines stretched out behind them, smiles on their faces. There’s another of an older couple standing in front of a warehouse that looks a lot smaller than the one on the property today. And then there’s a picture that looks like it’s from forever ago of a couple and a baby standing in the middle of a dirt field.
“That’s my great-great-grandfather and grandmother, holding my great-grandfather, on the day they bought the property,” Memphis offers when he catches me staring at the last photo. “I always used to ask my dad why they looked so unhappy on a day that was supposed to be so wonderful.”
I laugh. “They do look kind of irritated.”
“Apparently it was the thing back then. Photos took a long time to take, so people didn’t smile.”
“It’s wild to think about how long this land has been in your family. It doesn’t feel like we live in a world where people work in the family business anymore. Are you glad it’s being passed to you? Does it make you happy?”
He leans back in his chair, and it makes me think he’s really trying to decide how to answer that question honestly.
“Apart from all the stress, I am,” he finally says, his eyes focused on the corner as he continues to think it over. “It’s not always a happy job, but really, that’s any job, right? You’re not going to be happy one hundred percent of the time. But I am definitely glad it has been passed to me, and I’m hopeful for what’s to come.”
I grin. “You sound like you’re giving an inspirational speech to your staff.”
Memphis laughs. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t doubt that you’re serious,” I reply. “But does it make you happy? What you do, working here, every day. Do you love it?”
I’m prodding too much. I know it.
But Micah was pretty clear that he’s not sure if Memphis is happy. And for whatever reason, it’s important to me that he is. Really and truly, and not just for show.
“I hope I am again one day,” he replies, his expression filled with chagrin.
It’s stunningly honest, and I don’t press further.