Chapter 10 #2
The corners of my mouth lifted at the memories, but my chest tightened, the ache slipping into my heart as the loss settled in.
Ben moved deeper into the room, his hand resting on the back of one of the chairs. “It’s got soul. Feels like he could walk in at any moment and ask us what the hell we’re doing in his space.”
A laugh broke through the aches. “He was territorial about this room. He said it was where real decisions were made.”
Ben turned to me, his eyes warm. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You’re the first person I’ve brought in here since he’s passed.” This wasn’t just a place. It was my grandfather’s heartbeat frozen in time, and I knew Ben would appreciate it in the way it deserved.
His expression gentled. “That means a lot.”
I glanced around the room, taking in the brick walls, the perfectly imperfect shelves, the bottles that had traveled farther than I ever had. “He built this all with a single vine. Did you know that?”
“I did. It’s kind of the town’s pride. Everyone talks about it.”
Joy at Grandpa’s legacy spread through me.
Ben closed the gap between us, his gaze locking on the bottles behind me. His eyebrows drew together, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his features. Curiosity poked at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
He took a sleek black bottle with a modern label stark against the old-world elegance of the rest of the collection. His fingers stilled on the name.
“That’s one of the few bottles that was never cataloged. I’ve always meant to ask Laurent about it.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. “It’s nothing,” he said too fast, but his eyes never left the label.
I stepped closer, looking at the modern script. “Redmark Reserve. Do you know it?”
He nodded, body stiff.
I took the bottle from his hands and admired the sharp, minimalist design. “If I remember correctly, it was a private label that was doing really well, and then it just disappeared.
“It tanked. Hard. A couple of distribution deals fell through, and everything else unraveled because of it. It was supposed to be… something. It ended before it ever really started.” His voice was tight, an undertone of bitterness sticking to his words.
“How do you know all that?”
His eyes closed, silence spreading between us. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “It was my label.”
“Yours?” My brows shot up. “How? Why? What are you doing working here as a warehouse manager?”
His shoulders stiffened, and for a second, I thought he would take off with a silent fuck you. I wouldn’t blame him. Pain tugged at the corner of his eyes, his face hardened, and he looked like a stone that was about to crumble.
“I didn’t have a choice. I have debts I need to repay.”
The bottle felt heavier in my hands as I placed it in its proper home. “My grandfather didn’t just put any bottle in this room. He only put bottles in here of wines he felt were the best of the best.”
His cheek puckered in as if he were chewing on the inside. “I sent it to him. He passed shortly after. It probably got put in here by accident.”
“There were no accidents when it came to my grandfather. If your bottle is in here, it’s because he thought it belonged here.” I turned to him, seeing cracks beneath his charm. “Wait… You sent it to him?” Confusion pulled at my eyebrows. “Why?”
“Your grandfather was very respected in the industry. I met him once when I was a kid. He left an impression.”
Shock reverberated through me. “You met my grandfather?”
“A long time ago. He talked about you.”
Tears pressed against my eyes. “No, he didn’t.”
“He told me all about his grandkids, but the one story that stuck out was the granddaughter who tried to crush grapes in her yellow dress and white tights because she wanted to be part of harvest day. He said your tights were stained purple, and then you slipped and fell face-first into the grapes. He said your mom was furious that you ruined your new dress. Your dad, amused. I told him you sounded fun.”
“How do you know it was me? It could have been Rose or Chardonnay.” Though, he was right.
I remembered the day clearly. Somehow, it felt as if it were a lifetime ago and also that it was just yesterday.
Mom was so mad, but Grandpa had told her, ‘Kids will be kids.’ He also had said, ‘My Sherry chose the vineyard over image, and he couldn’t have been happier or more proud. ’
“First off, Chardonnay would never,” Ben said. “I know her now, and I imagine as a kid she wasn’t much different. She would have needed a venn diagram before jumping in.”
“Good point.” Anyone who met Chardonnay for more than a second could determine this. “But Rose, she’s more of the fun one.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t necessarily agree.” His eyes took me in as if silently reminding me of all the fun we had on the other side of the door. “Regardless, I remember him distinctly saying, ‘My Sherry’.”
I covered my mouth, the memory so vivid it stole my breath. My Sherry . I was never just Sherry. It was always my Sherry. “I can’t believe he told you that story.” Heat filled my cheeks at my childhood rebellion, and my heart fluttered at the nickname I missed hearing.
“He loved you. I didn’t know you or your siblings, but I was jealous of all of you. To have someone who spoke with so much love in his tone and his eyes? You were lucky to have had him.”
“I know.” My throat ached, but I ignored it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Whenever we are together, our mouths seem to be occupied.”
My lips parted, half ready to argue, half ready to laugh, but all that came out was a flustered breath. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
He shrugged, a smirk toying with his lips. “Just trying to lighten the mood. You looked like you were going to cry, and I’m not good with tears.”
“You could’ve just offered me a tissue like a normal person.”
“That wouldn’t have cut the tension.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“For being inappropriate?” That damn smirk blossomed at the edges of his mouth. “Anytime.”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “For telling me all that. Not just about my grandfather, but about your label.”
“It’s just something I did. Trust me. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is. Having your own label is not an easy feat. But more than that… We’ve known each other since Halloween, known each other very intimately, but I feel like I don’t really know you at all. It was nice to get a little insight.”
“You’re the one who turned us into a one-night stand.
I wanted more. You know that. You shut me out.
” He stepped closer, his strong presence consuming me, making me question every decision I had made since I met this irritatingly sexy man.
His hand reached up, feathering lightly against my temple as he brushed my hair behind my ear, his finger lingering on my earlobe. “Go out with me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Go out with me.”
“Go out with you?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice low and steady. “On an actual date. No pretense. No late-night sneaking around. Just you and me, out in the open.”
I stared at him, my heart beating too fast against my chest as my brain scrambled for a reason to say no. “A date?”
He stepped even closer, our bodies barely a whisper apart. His gaze locked on mine like he was already skipping ahead and undressing me in his mind. “Dinner, drinks. And if you’re still looking at me like this.” His thumb brushed over my parted lips. “Then dessert. Preferably in a bed.”
“Sex on a first date. That’s very presumptuous of you.”
“What can I say? I’m an optimist. Now say yes.” His lips hovered close enough to tease.
“I—”
He pressed a kiss to just beneath my ear. “Say yes, or I’ll make you beg.”
“I might like that.”
“I know you would.” His tongue snaked out, swiping along my earlobe.
“One date.” The words were a breathless surrender, slipping from my lips before I could stop them.
He growled low as his mouth moved against my skin, trailing from my ear down the sensitive curve of my neck. “That’s all I need,” he murmured, his teeth grazing just enough to make my knees weak. “Wear a dress,” he said, pulling back.
I blinked out of my desire-induced haze. “You’re going to tell me how to dress?”
“Easy access,” he said. “I know once dinner is over, our need for dessert will be… urgent.”
My breath hitched, desire tightening my core as he dragged his finger down my jaw, eyes locked on mine as if he was already playing it out in his head.
“Or I could wear pants and make you work extra hard.”
“Then I am not responsible for any broken zippers, popped buttons, or torn material.”
“You’re a savage.”
“And you love it.” He nipped at my earlobe, then pulled back. “Dinner’s at seven. I’ll pick you up at your place.”
“You remember where I live?”
“I could never forget,” he said, and then he was gone, leaving me aching and desperate for his touch.