Chapter 22 Walker
Walker
Ihave never envied a man before today.
The sound of Lia earlier, breathless and wrecked and undone, has followed me through every corridor of this building. Through every line of this vineyard.
I tried burying the memory of her sound in paperwork. I tried burying the sight of Knox’s hand disappearing beneath her skirt in harvest reports. I tried splashing my face with cold water at every sink I passed by, just so I could get through my day.
Not even rubbing one out worked to get the echo of her desire out of my head.
Even after stepping outside and forcing myself to breathe through it like a civilized Alpha, her cries of passion clung to me like her scent clings to that kitchen she works in every day.
What a show those two put on.
Mine.
The thought is instinctive, and territorial, and irritating. I have to focus on tonight. It has to be perfect.
It has to convince her to stay.
I unbutton the cuffs of my sleeves, rolling them up as the vineyard closes down for the day. I nod my farewells while I maneuver throughout the hallways with automatic precision. My shoes click against the stone floors of the main vineyard building.
Already, my brain plans out the menu I’m going to be whipping up tonight for Lia. I hope she likes fish.
“Hey there, Mr. Boone,” my head chef says.
I finish rolling up my sleeves and look over at her. “Go on home. I’ll close up tonight.”
Three of her kitchen hands stick their heads around various corners, looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
Which is fair. Whenever Lia’s on my mind, it is lost to her.
“You sure, sir?” the chef asks.
I just nod and head over to where the cleaned pans are. “Yep. Leave me a list of what has yet to be done, and I’ll make sure it gets done.”
Her sous chef speaks up. “Just sanitizing and drying before we head out.”
I bend down and open the cabinet that houses the pots. “I’ll get it done. Enjoy your evenings.”
I’m glad no one else argues or gives me anything else to talk through because I have a candlelit dinner to prepare. Lemon-and-herb-crusted salmon with a kale-amaranth mixture, a nice lemon-butter sauce, and mashed sweet potatoes.
“There we go,” I grunt as I reach for a massive pot in the back.
As the door swings shut behind the rest of them, I stick the stock pot into the sink to fill with water so I can get the potatoes boiling. While that’s filling, I take off my watch and check the time before setting it off to the side so it doesn’t get dirty or wet with my efforts.
Two hours.
I’ve got two hours to prep and clean myself up before I need to go pick up Lia.
Silence settles over the space as the janitor closes down the building.
He peeks his head in and gives me a wave, and I wave back.
Mike doesn’t speak much. He’s older, and hunchbacked, but refuses to retire and stop working.
He reminds me of my father in a lot of ways, stubborn to his core and doesn’t know what to do with himself if he’s not working or helping someone out.
“Have a good night, Mr. Mike.”
All he does is grunt out a response before he disappears into the evening.
My favorite time at the vineyard is the first hour after everyone’s gone. This place in its off-hours is sacred ground for me.
The hum of the refrigeration units backdrops the sound of the peeler gliding over the washed skin of the sweet potatoes. The wind kicks up outside, winding its way through the grape vines. The sun is only just beginning to set, peppering the sky with an amber sort of color.
The vineyard after hours is my kingdom.
And tonight, I intend to share it.
I move methodically, letting the potatoes boil while I bring out the salmon. I read online that Omegas in preheat need certain kinds of protein to keep up their strength. Funny, how Omegas need omega-3 fatty acids.
That’s why I jumped for the twelve-ounce slabs of salmon.
“All right, in you go,” I murmur as I slide the marinated salmon into the fridge.
The only problem with making her fish is that I won’t be able to cook it until after she’s here. Salmon doesn’t keep more than about seven or so minutes in an oven, so I can’t precook it before I go pick her up.
Which is fine, too—the last thing I want is to smell like fish while I’m picking her up. If I splash something onto myself, I can change my clothes in the kitchen before bringing out the food.
Clothes.
I need to get a separate set of clothes for back here.
It takes me an hour to prepare everything. Since I already know what bottle of wine I’m pulling from the cellar for our meal tonight, that takes drinks off my plate.
I double-check the kale and amaranth, making sure it looks the way it should. It will be slow cooking while I pick her up, and trust me, there’s nothing worse than gummy, slimy amaranth that’s been cooked too long.
“Time to get a shower,” I murmur as I turn everything onto low and head out of the kitchen.
I barely get to my room on the second floor before my phone buzzes.
“Oh, come on,” I groan, assuming its work.
I pause when I see it’s the group chat I’ve got going with the guys.
Knox: She’s ready whenever you are.
Eli: Try not to scare her off with that broody stare of yours.
I quickly type a message back.
Me: You better not have worn her out too much today, Knox.
Three dots appear immediately.
Knox: Even if I did, I’m sure you enjoyed the show.
Eli: Do I want to know?
Knox: The lovely Lia and I put on a little show for Walker in the kitchen this afternoon.
Eli: What kind of show?
I snicker as I type a message while heading to my bathroom.
Me: The kind that usually leaves preheat Omegas tired.
Another message buzzes through to my phone, only this time it’s not the guys.
It’s her.
Lia: Just let me know when you’re on the way. I’ll wait outside for you.
She’s going to be waiting outside for me. Which means I won’t be able to walk up to her door and knock like a gentleman.
My jaw tightens in disapproval.
She really hates that place.
Me: Give me twenty minutes and I’m out the door. Just need to shower, beautiful.
Then I hop back to the group text, where Eli and Knox are going back and forth discussing details of the afternoon that make my cock hard just with the memory of it all.
I interject into their conversation with a text of my own.
Me: Time to clean up. You guys have a good evening.
Knox: Let us know how it goes!
Eli: Let me know if I need to do damage control in the morning.
I roll my eyes and shoot one last text to them.
Me: Ha. Ha. Ha. Assholes. Goodnight.
I find myself grinning when I put my phone away, though.
The guys really aren’t so bad once you get to know them.
It takes me no time to wash down before I’m changing into a charcoal button-down with my sleeves rolled up twice. Only twice. I can’t stand the bulky feel of them against my arm unless I roll them all the way up to the crook of my elbow, and that’s more of a casual feel.
What I feel for Lia is anything but casual. Which means she gets my best.
Instead of opting for a pair of slacks, I choose some jeans I have yet to break in. They’re new, dark, and go well with my polished boots. I intend to take her on a walk through the vineyard tonight after we’re done eating.
Which reminds me.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and open the text message thread with Lia.
Me: On my way. Make sure you’re wearing shoes that allow you to walk. The vineyard is beautiful at night.
Her message is damn near instant.
Lia: I’ll change them now. Can’t wait to see you. I’ll be here.
Part of me wonders what kind of shoes she had on in the first place, but the rest of me doesn’t give a shit. I slide into my shining boots that I always use for stomping around the vineyard before I grab my wallet, then I check on the food in the kitchen one last time.
The kale and amaranth are just beginning to cook down.
I pick up a lemon wedge and spritz it into the slow cooker before placing the lid back on it.
I remove the salmon from the fridge so it can come to room temperature while I’m picking up Lia.
Then I move to the mashed sweet potatoes, tossing in the butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar.
I give it a stir, place the lid back on the pot, and wash my hands.
All there’s left to do is aerate the pinot.
By the time I pull up to her place, the sky has melted into a deep violet that the moon dominates.
The first stars are twinkling above our heads as my headlights wash over the beauty that is Lia.
There she is, standing beneath the first streams of moonlight, her blonde hair twinkling like the very stars above our heads.
For a moment, I forget to breathe.
She looks like a dream.
Her hair catches the light spring breeze as I step out of my convertible.
I’ve got the top down for the evening, and I make my way to her and offer my hand before she evens steps off the curb.
Her dress flutters around her legs, not clinging to her body, but certainly not covering up its wondrous shape.
A shape I ache to have beneath my fingertips.
“You look nice tonight, Walker,” she says as I help her step down off the curb.
I open the car door for her. “Not nearly as beautiful as you. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Nah,” she says, sitting down into the leather seat. “I had to change my outfit three times, though. Pickles kept jumping up on me and getting hair everywhere.”
I look back toward her first-level apartment and see her dog staring at us through the window.
“He’s a good boy,” I say as I close her car door.
“That he is.”
As we pull onto the main road, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, where are we headed tonight?”
“The vineyard.”
She pauses. “We’re not going out before our walk in the vineyard?”
I grin as I peer over at her. “Tell me about your day, beautiful. I want to hear about all of it.”
She blushes, and the sight makes my cock kick. “I think you know how it went.”