Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GRAYSON
A bby’s gone before I can finish apologizing to her. I can’t believe Mom barged in on us like that. Of all the times for her meddling to rear its ugly head.
Squinting into the sunlight as I exit the building, I hold a hand up to my eyes, searching for Abby, but it’s like she’s disappeared. Wait, everyone’s supposed to be in the tasting room. Thankfully, the winery has signage directing me there.
“Our Chardonnay has a bright acidity and citrus notes,” the tour guide is saying to the group as I sneak in. “But it’s our Pinot Noir we’re known for. You might taste hints of cherry or raspberry in it, possibly even earthy flavors, too. Let me know what you think.”
I slip in unobtrusively next to Harper. “Have you seen Abby?” At first glance, she’s not in here.
“She just texted,” she says, swirling her wine around in the glass. “Her hangover finally got the best of her so she headed home.”
Fuck.
Why the hell had she run like that after Mom came in? Was she that embarrassed?
“Thanks,” I mutter, and leave the tasting room, in no mood to pretend to detect notes of whatever is in the wine.
Pulling out my phone, I call Abby, but it goes straight to voicemail. Did she turn off her phone or screen my call?
I jab my finger on the end call icon and shove my phone in my pocket, then pull it back out almost immediately when it vibrates in my hand.
Did Abby—No, it’s a text from my buddy, Charlie, asking about the name of an Italian place he wants to take his girlfriend to. I’d taken a date there last year, and though I can’t even remember the girl, I can clearly recall the amazing ravioli I’d had.
I text him back the name of the restaurant and I’m about to call Abby again when another text from Charlie pops up.
Charlie : How’s life in Podunk City?
That’s how I’ve always referred to Crescent Pass to my friends in Seattle, but it rubs me the wrong way now. Yeah, it’s a small town with not a ton to do, but there’s a lot I’ve forgotten about it, too. Fresh air. Wide, open spaces. My family and all the time I’ve missed with them.
And now… Abby.
It’s weird, I’ve barely thought about my real life this week. My friends. My job. My condo. The life I was so desperate to get to at eighteen, wanting to be rid of small towns forever. But being back here for this long feels like I’m in a different life now, even if I’m only playing pretend. Like I’m two different people, one in Seattle and one in Crescent Pass.
But which one do I want to be the real Grayson?
I debate what to text back, my fingers fiddling over my phone. Telling him I’m actually enjoying my time here, that I’m seeing a girl I grew up with in a different way… I don’t know, it seems too out of left field. Usually after my trips I’m complaining about Mom prying into my life, about how there’s nothing to do in town.
Me : Going fine. Same old, same old.
Guilt swamps me almost immediately, as if I’m ashamed of liking Crescent Pass. Ashamed of not telling him about Abby. Truthfully, I don’t know what there is to tell. I kissed her and she ran away from me. It’s kind of a blow to the ego, now that I think about it.
She wanted me to kiss her, though. I know she did. The way she’d jumped at me as I’d kissed her, then yielded, letting me take control. I like taking charge in the bedroom, and she’d seemed fully on board with that.
Not that we were in a bedroom. We were in a winery’s barrel room. Where my mom walked in on us.
I cringe again. Not that she knew what she was walking into, but still. This won’t help my case, either. I’d worked hard to convince Mom this was a casual thing with Abby, not a sneaking around and making out during winery tours thing.
I call Abby one more time, but it’s straight to voicemail. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to me. Well, too bad. Didn’t she say the same to me earlier? I don’t like leaving things unresolved.
“Grayson.”
I spin around, finding Mom there.
She looks around in confusion. “Where’s Abby?”
“She went home. Headache.” I want to tell her it was because of her, but I can’t be fully sure of that. Not until I talk to her.
“Seems like things are going well between you two.”
“Mom…”
She holds up her hands in surrender before I can say anymore. “I know, you don’t want me to get involved. I think she’s good for you, is all.”
Normally, I’d leave it at that, but something compels me to ask, “Why?”
She gives me a soft smile. “She balances you out. Where you’re stubborn, she’s flexible.”
I’m not stubborn. If I say that, though, it’ll prove her point.
“She’ll soften your rough edges.”
“I don’t have rough edges,” I mutter, probably stubbornly, in her opinion. Seriously, what is she talking about?
“You’ve always been so driven,” she says. “Focused on getting out of Crescent Pass, promoting up in your career. You never let yourself breathe. I don’t think I’ve seen you actually relax on a trip until this one. Until you started spending time with Abby.”
That’s not entirely true. I often pretend like I have very important business matters when I’m here, just so I can escape from Mom hounding me about who I’m dating or what’s holding me back from getting serious with someone.
“You don’t have your nose buried in your phone this trip like you usually do,” she continues.
Damn it, how many times am I going to feel guilty today?
“Sorry, Mom. I’ll try to be more present from now on.”
She smiles and pats my arm. “It’s never too late to change. But I’m happy to see you happy. You’ve been all smiles with Abby.”
That’s part of the act, though.
Well, not entirely. She’s made me laugh more than I expected. And the way she’s gotten me to open up about things, see my family and relationship with them in new ways…
A wave of something like longing washes over me. For Abby.
“Come on,” Mom says, looping her hand around my upper arm. “Harper set up a catered lunch for us.”
I nod and she leads me away, but all I can think is when did I start to miss Abby?
Abby ignored my call again on the drive from the winery back to Crescent Pass, but like Mom said, I can be a stubborn son of a bitch.
I drive to her home, the afternoon sun warm on my back as I stand on her porch and ring the doorbell.
She answers, appearing startled for a moment, but I’m more focused on her faintly red-rimmed eyes.
“Have you been crying?” I ask, forgetting about greetings. “What happened?”
She looks at me helplessly, and everything else fades away but the urge to figure out what’s wrong and fix it.
I step inside, taking her in my arms. “Seriously, what is it?”
I’m relieved when she presses her forehead to my chest, but the contact is brief before she pulls away and shuts the door behind me.
She searches my face, then bluntly asks, “Did kissing me earlier have anything to do with your mom?”
“My mom?” I repeat, thrown for a loop. What’s she talking about?
“Did you…” She falters, then resolves herself. “Did you kiss me so Cheryl would see?”
My mouth drops open. “No. Why would you think that?”
She lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “You looked so guilty after she saw us. And said you were sorry. I thought…” She twists the hem of her shirt. “I thought you wanted to make up for how I wasn’t talking to you at the winery in front of her.”
It takes me a moment to connect the dots. She didn’t leave because she was embarrassed Mom saw us. She left because she thought I orchestrated…
My stomach sinks. Shit. I fucked this up, didn’t I?
How can I blame her for jumping to conclusions when I’ve been vocal this whole time about putting on an act in front of Mom?
Things aren’t all an act anymore, though. Everything got more complicated with that kiss.
“I would never use you like that,” I tell her, trying to convey to her my sincerity. “I know we have this fake dating thing going on, but I wouldn’t kiss you to keep up the lie. Like I told you earlier, I did it because I wanted to. And I only said I was sorry because Mom barged in on us. I thought you were embarrassed.”
She stares at me, then buries her face in her hands. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. This whole situation is… unprecedented,” I finish, not sure how else to put it.
I gently tug her hands away from her face. “Were you crying because you thought that kiss was fake?”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “Maybe.”
So it meant something to her.
“Are you ready to talk?”
She gives me a look of annoyance that has me laughing before she nods and leads me to the living room. She sits on one end of the couch, while I take the other. She crosses her legs, then uncrosses them, folding her hands in her lap, fingers clenched. She’s nervous.
“This is a first for me,” I admit, wanting to put her at ease. “I’ve never found myself in a situation like this.”
Her lips tug up at one corner. “Oh, this is like the fifth time this month I’ve been someone’s fake date to a wedding, then got drunk, made a pass at them, and kissed them the next day.”
At least her sense of humor is back. “So just another Wednesday for you?”
“Pretty much.” She sighs, rubbing her palms over her thighs. “It’s obviously a first for me, too.”
She’s blushing again, and I can’t help following the flush with my gaze down her neck to where it disappears under the collar of her shirt.
“As far as last night, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She looks away. “I don’t know how I’m going to show my face in town again.”
Right, the stuff at the bar. I was only thinking of what happened after. I grin, remembering how she was. “You flashed your underwear to nearly everyone at Harry’s.”
“Grayson,” she half-laughs, half-moans, then gives me a reluctant smile when she catches sight of my grin, just like I wanted.
“I meant with me, at your house afterward.” I reach for her hand, glad she lets me hold it. “To be honest, you taking off your dress was pretty hot. And if you hadn’t been drunk, I would have kissed you back.”
Her blush intensifies, her tongue darting out to wet her lip. “I… I don’t know what I’m doing. What we’re doing, I guess.”
“I don’t know either. But I really want to find out.”