Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
A rcher
At first, I don’t recognize the woman who walks onto the sprawling wood deck at the back of Dash’s house. I look away initially because I’m not about to ogle another woman, even if I’m curious who the woman is who walked confidently out the back door in a fire-engine red dress that’s way too fancy for a backyard shindig.
Then I hear her laugh and my head jerks up, eyes hungry for the woman it belongs to. My heart thunders in anticipation of seeing Ella in that fucking red dress, which I can now see hugs every curve of her body. And she has curves galore. The red dress is like a flag and I’m a goddamn bull.
I put my margarita down on the picnic table in Dash and Mallory’s yard and take long strides toward the deck, feeling the denim pull at my legs, keeping me from getting there as fast as I want to.
She reaches the bottom of the stairs and wobbles in her sandals just when I get there, her hands extending toward me as I hold up my forearm for her to grab. Her fingers sink into the skin of my forearm, and I wrap my other arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight. I lean in and inhale the sweet jasmine scent of her perfume and vow to myself that I’ll never let her go.
“I never knew what it meant to take a person’s breath away, but when I saw you in that dress, I forgot to breathe,” I growl against her ear. I feel her shiver and stare down at the goose bumps on her bare arms, wanting to make her feel so much more than chills.
Her cheeks pink up at the compliment, and she leans her head on my shoulder. Her hair is untamed and curly, tickling my cheek as I breathe her in once more. I want to consume her.
I lead her to the table where I was sitting moments ago. “I just met Dash. What a sweetie. And very serious about his tacos,” she says, casting a glance to the deck where Dash mans the barbecue in a green apron that says, “I cook as good as I look.”
“He is indeed serious. The chicken has to be barbecued and hand-shredded, and he makes his own salsa and guacamole.”
“Well, sure. You’ve gotta make those from scratch.”
She’s still gazing in my brother’s direction, so I bring my fingers to her chin and turn her head back toward me, unapologetic about the need to have her looking only at me. “Spoken like a woman who knows her way around a kitchen?”
“Oh, yeah. I can make guac like the best of ‘em, but I won’t divulge my recipe.”
Taking her by the hand, I walk her back toward Dash’s house, where Mallory is in the kitchen putting together a crudité platter. “Wow. These family barbecues don’t lack for food,” Ella says.
“Yeah, it’s a good thing that all of us live on the property because after the amount of food and wine we consume, we can barely waddle to our respective homes. And lucky me, I have the shortest walk,” Mallory says.
I start to introduce them, but both women stop me with a wave of the hand. “We met,” they say in unison. They laugh and high-five each other, and I feel warmth spread in my chest at the idea of Ella blending with my family.
“I’m an only child, so this is like the family of siblings I never had,” Ella says, accepting a margarita from Mallory and taking a sip. “Ooh, these are strong.”
“Yeah, I put half a bottle of tequila in here,” Mallory says, holding up a juice pitcher of margaritas.
“I’m all for you getting drunk and not being able to keep your hands off me, but that’s not why I brought you in here,” I say, calling for Dash to come inside.
He pokes his head in the door. “Yeah?”
“I think we’ve got ourselves a little guacamole competition.” I point between him and Ella and watch the smile spread across his face. He’s just slightly competitive about his cooking skills and I’m dying to see if Ella can show him up with some ingredient he never thought of. “Oh, wait,” I realize, pulling Ella aside and whispering in her ear to ask what ingredients she needs.
She gives me her list, which requires me to run back to my house for a few ingredients, but by the time the rest of my siblings arrive, they’re presented with two perfect-looking bowls of guacamole on the picnic table and one bowl of chips.
“Two guacamoles?” Fiona nods, impressed. Being the only nine-year-old at the barbecue, she’s the odd one out, so I always like to give her a little extra attention.
“How’s third grade, Fi? Any boys you like?”
She twirls her hair and thinks about it. “Only one, but he’s into basketball, like, all the time, so that’s not super fun.”
“I could teach you some basketball if you want to give him a run for his money.”
Nodding, she gives me a high five. “Let’s do it. Now?”
“How about after we eat?”
I catch Ella smiling at me. I give her a little salute.
Margaritas are poured, and then Dash comes down the stairs to make sure everyone’s briefed on the rules before a single chip is eaten.
“Taste them both and decide which one is best. Loser has to do the dishes.”
“Better get ready for dishpan hands, mister,” Ella says, fluffing her hair and jutting a hip to the side.
I study both bowls, certain I’ve seen Dash’s version enough times that I can figure out which one is Ella’s, but they both look pretty much the same. “Which one’s yours?” I lean in and ask Ella quietly, but Dash sees me do it.
“No way, no cheating,” he says. “Mallowmar is the only one who knows which is which, other than Ella and me, so don’t even think about trying to get an advantage.” I cringe at his nickname for his wife, but then figure people would probably think Princess is just as bad.
Jax and Ruby each take a chip and taste the first bowl, chewing slowly. They wash down the taste with a healthy swig of margarita and taste the second version, nodding solemnly as though this is a royal competition.
The rest of us do the same, and Mallory hands out slips of paper, so we can vote secretly.
Then she shuffles through them and reads the results. When she’s read the last one, her gaze turns to Dash, an upside-down smile on her face. “Sorry, honey.”
Ella jumps up and down and extends her hand to Dash. “Good game, sir. Honestly, I loved your version. I think the cumin in mine is what tipped it.”
“Damn cumin,” Dash grumbles, making his way back to the house to assemble the rest of his dinner. “Whatever. Tacos in ten minutes. Save some guac to go on top.”
Conversation erupts around the table, and everyone digs into the appetizers. Ella grabs a handful of baby carrots, but when she turns back toward me, her face falls. “Did I just kill his vibe? He’s hosting us all, so I don’t want to make him feel bad.” She looks to where Dash is stomping up the steps to the deck.
“You did not kill his vibe. We Corbetts are a competitive bunch, so if anything, you just made him like you a little bit more.”
I wrap my hand around hers and pull her close until she collides against my chest. She looks up at me, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
I nod, my eyes greedily taking in her milky skin, the apples of her cheeks, her rosy lips, which beg to be kissed. “I’m very sure.”
Her smile tells me she understands that I’m no longer talking about Dash. I lower my lips to hers, barely brushing against them, barely tasting what I want from her. But I’m not going to grope her in front of my whole family.
“Aw, how cute are you two?” PJ asks.
There was a time when hearing that from my youngest sister would have annoyed me, but I’m too content right now to bother with any other emotion. “Very cute,” I say, leading Ella away from the picnic table.
“We could get lost in the vineyards for a while. I’m sure no one would notice.”
“Ha. I’m sure everyone would notice.”
I shrug. “I’m the last single guy in the family. They know what these vineyards are for. Let ‘em notice.”
Ella’s laugh fills the air as I take her by the hand and pull her toward the outer edge of the grass and beyond Dash’s yard to where miles of vineyards take over. She drops my hand and starts running down a lane of vines, tossing a look back at me, daring me to chase her.
Don’t have to tempt me twice.
And don’t have to ask me if I really want to strip the red dress from my rom-com princess in the middle of a vineyard. The answer is always, “fuck yes.”