Chapter Seventeen Memphis
Chapter Seventeen
Memphis
Vivian hangs out in my office for a little bit, looking through my things. She settles into one of my armchairs with a book about vineyards for a while, flipping through it slowly and occasionally asking questions.
I’m shocked by how much I like it.
I’ve never imagined what it would be like to have someone hang out in my office while I’m working. My first assumption is that it would be distracting.
And it is, a little bit.
But I find that the longer she’s there, the more I enjoy it.
The little sounds she makes when she’s read something interesting.
The way she reveals how her mind works when she asks a question.
And I find that in the lulls of her silence, I’m waiting for her to speak again, eager to hear what else she has to say.
“Do you want to go get lunch?”
Her head pops up in surprise.
Hell, I’m surprised the words came out of my mouth as well.
“Yeah, that sounds great,” she replies, a smile stretched wide across her face. “Right now?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry and I figured ... you have to sit and eat at the restaurant before you leave town, right?”
As soon as I say it out loud, I wish it weren’t true. But I ignore the tightness in my chest at the fact that she’s leaving tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Jesus.
Vivian drops her legs from where she’d been sitting sideways in the armchair and returns her book to the bookshelf while I save and close out the things I’m working on.
The restaurant is in full swing for a Saturday lunch service when we arrive.
Murphy’s eyes widen when we walk in together.
“Hawthorne, party of two,” I say, keeping my face as serious as possible.
My sister laughs and grabs two menus. “Like I’m going to add you to the waitlist.” She looks to Enid. “Take them to table nine, please.”
Enid smiles and motions for us to follow her through the restaurant and over to a two-top situated against the wall of windows looking out to the back patio and the vineyard.
“Your server will be right over,” she says before going back to the front.
As Vivian peruses the menu, I’m hyperaware of her. I zero in on the little details, trying to absorb everything about her before she goes, like the graceful way she rests her chin on the back of her hand, how she adjusts her hair by bringing it forward over one shoulder.
It’s unfamiliar, yet I can’t help it.
“Murphy said this whole restaurant was your idea,” Vivian says, finally looking up at me with a smile. “That you thought of every detail. It’s a very impressive space.”
I bob my head, pride swelling in my chest, both at the way my sister has been talking about the restaurant and at Vivian’s perception of it.
Even if Murphy complained about me quite a bit to Vivian over the years, at least there was some balance to it, right?
“Thank you. It was definitely a very complicated thing to get going.”
“What made you decide to open a restaurant in the first place?”
I blow out a breath. “I was looking for a way to bring in more business, something other than just selling wine. The price point of a wine bottle can only sustain so much growth, so if we wanted to be more profitable, we needed to look at different ways to do so.”
“Seems like it would be a massive ordeal to open this place, right? I mean”—her head tilts back and she looks at the building—“it’s gorgeous, and you’ve clearly made top-notch choices with ... everything.”
The server arrives then, cutting off our conversation. But when I see it’s Harper, I can’t help but laugh inside. According to Murphy, she’s great at her job, except for when I’m around. My sister says it’s because I’m intimidating.
“Hello, Mr. Hawthorne,” she says, giving me a tight smile. “Can I get either of you something to drink?”
“Chardonnay?” I ask Vivian.
She smiles and nods.
“A bottle of last year’s chardonnay, please.”
Harper nods and then scurries away, not telling us about the specials or asking if we’d like to order any appetizers, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“She looked terrified. What did you do to her?” Vivian asks, one eyebrow raised.
I shake my head, smiling. “Nothing! I didn’t do anything. She’s easily flustered by handsome men, would be my best guess.”
Vivian barks out a laugh. “You know, I always figured you were a guy who couldn’t fit his ego through a doorway, and you’ve finally confirmed it for me.”
Lunch goes pretty smoothly after that. Harper manages to take our orders without having a meltdown. Vivian and I talk about the vineyard and what it was like for me, growing up in a small town and then taking over the family business.
It’s easy. Natural.
Like everything is with Vivian.
But she’s leaving tomorrow.
The thought has stayed ever present in the back of my mind throughout the day, and remains at the forefront as I pay the check and we finish off our last glasses of wine.
I can barely admit it to myself, but the truth is right there, plain as day.
I don’t want her to leave.
I don’t want these two weeks to be the only thing we get.
Not that she could stay.
That would be unrealistic.
And I am a realist over everything else.
But maybe ... this doesn’t have to be the end.
Not yet, anyway.
I wait off to the side while Vivian and Murphy chat for a few minutes, and then the two of us leave the restaurant and meander back to the house.
“So, what are you going to get up to for the rest of the day?” I ask as we come to a stop next to Vivian’s rental parked in our driveway, stalling for time.
She shrugs. “I need to pack, but ... I’m not really sure what else. Probably practice one of my new songs. Or something.”
“The one about my massive, oversize grapes?” I tease, trying to keep the tone light even through the twinge of sadness.
Vivian pokes my stomach. “Obviously.”
I lick my lips, trying to think of anything else to say. Wondering what I should say.
She can’t just leave, right? I mean, not that abruptly.
I swallow hard. “Is this goodbye, then?”
“I’m supposed to come by to have breakfast with Murphy in the morning,” she offers.
“You could stay here tonight, instead of the hotel.”
I say it before I’ve thought it all the way through, and part of me is embarrassed at how vulnerable it makes me feel. Like I’m begging her to stay, somehow.
Vivian tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking out toward the highway.
“Wouldn’t that be weird? Me staying overnight?”
When she asks, something settles in my chest.
Because she’s asking a question that’s making herself vulnerable, too.
“It doesn’t have to be. You’re leaving tomorrow, right?” I shrug. “And if you feel weird because of Murphy, well ... She stays out at Wes’s cabin most nights anyway.”
She nibbles on her lip for a second, thinking it over.
“All right, I’ll stay.”
I don’t realize how much I want her to say yes until she does. That’s when my mind races into overdrive, sorting through the things I need to get done and the things that can wait until tomorrow.
“Go pack up and do whatever you need to,” I tell her. “And then come back whenever works for you. You can practice literally anywhere on the vineyard or in the house. And then tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast with Murphy before you go.”
Her lips tilt up at the side, her eyes searching mine.
We’re walking into murky water, here. I can feel it.
But it also feels right. For whatever reason.
“Okay. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
I tug her forward and bring my lips to hers, kissing her like I’ve wanted to since she first showed up this morning.
The truth is that I don’t know how many more times I’ll get to do that. So I need to take advantage of it while I still can.
I bust my ass while she’s gone, trying to get through as much work as I can.
I update reports. I review our data. I make notes on the paperwork Micah left me with my own ideas about how the restructure might work, mostly leaving it as he’s laid it out, but with a few adjustments.
But my ear is always listening for a knock at the door or a text to let me know that she’s on her way.
So when I head to the kitchen to grab a quick dinner and spot Vivian out at one of the tables on the patio, chatting with my aunt Sarah and some of the temporary hands, I can’t help the surprise that ripples through me.
Or the little bit of hurt that she didn’t tell me she was here.
I step through the patio doors, prepared to give her a hard time, but then her eyes connect with mine. And the smile she gives me is nothing short of magical. It stomps out that modicum of irritability. I take my plate and drop into a seat at the end of her table.
She gives me a grin, but then she returns her attention to my aunt, who is telling her a story about one of Murphy’s earliest performances, a talent show back in junior high where she sang some pop song with her friend Quinn.
“It had choreography and everything, and she was such a little performer, even back then.”
“Murphy is incredibly talented,” Vivian offers, her elbows on the table and her water cup dangling loosely in her hands. “She’s going to be getting songwriting credits on several of the songs on my album.”
“Oh, how nice. She mentioned before that she loves writing music with you. Did you guys work on anything together while you were in town?”
“Unfortunately, no. It didn’t work out. But my writing style is pretty independent, so I don’t know that we would have done more than sit with our guitars in our laps and just talked, you know?”
“Well, I’m sorry we didn’t get more time to chat while you were in town. But I hope you enjoyed your time in Rosewood, and safe travels, sweetie.”
Vivian smiles. “Thanks, Sarah. It was great meeting you.”
My aunt pushes back from her chair and leaves us, probably to check on the food on the island and clean up.
“I really like her.”
I smile. “She’s pretty great.”
Vivian leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, the plastic of the folding chair creaking with her movements. “How’s work coming along?”
“Good. I’ve gotten a lot done.” My curiosity gets the better of me, and I can’t keep my question to myself. “How come you didn’t let me know when you got here?”
She shrugs. “Your work is important to you, and I figured I was more than capable of entertaining myself until you had a free minute or two.”
My lips tilt up at the sides at her understanding of the responsibility I have toward my work.
“I was thinking I might go on a little walk around the vineyard and then sit out here with my guitar and work on some of my music. As long as it won’t be distracting.”
Everything about Vivian is distracting, in all the best ways.
“That sounds like a great idea. I’ve got a few more things to finish up, and then I’ll come meet you out here when I’m done?”
“That sounds great.”
I take my empty plate inside, give my aunt a thank-you kiss on the side of her head, and dip back into my office.
But standing at the threshold, looking into the room, I’m immobile.
My computer is still bright, an open spreadsheet on the screen. An unread compliance report needing my attention sits on the desk. And I don’t doubt there are at least a dozen emails that have remained unread for most of the day that I should be responding to.
Yet ... I can’t think of a single thing that absolutely has to be completed right this minute or the vineyard will shut down tomorrow.
So instead of crossing the room and rounding my desk to get back to work, I flip the light off and return to the patio.
Vivian is standing at the edge, pulling her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head as she looks out at the property. When I come to a stop next to her, she does a double take when she sees me.
“Mind if I join you on that walk?”
A smile stretches wide on her face. “I’d love that.”
We wander for over an hour, a slow mosey through the vines and all the way across to the other edge of the property, easy conversation flowing between us the entire time. And on the way back, when her feet start to hurt from her poor choice of shoes, I carry her to the house piggyback style, not even trying to pretend I don’t love having her arms wrapped around me and her body pressed close to mine.
After we get back to the house, she gets out her guitar and we sit on the now empty porch. She idly strums melodies that sound brand new and familiar at the same time. It’s the first time I can remember in months—years maybe—sitting outside and enjoying the sunset as it dips behind the rolling hills in the distance.
“Are you looking forward to getting back to LA?”
Vivian takes longer than I’m expecting to respond, to the point that I wonder if she didn’t hear me. She continues to gently strum her strings and look off to the side.
But when she does answer, I’m more than surprised at what she says.
“No, actually. I’m not.”
“Why?”
She rolls her neck around, then leans her head back against the house, her fingers on the guitar coming to a stop.
“I mean, I should be excited to get back. I’m recording an album this week. I’ve been dreaming about this since I was old enough to hold a tune.” She shakes her head. “But a lot has changed since I left. And when I go back, I’m gonna have to face it.”
My brow furrows as I consider what she’s just said.
“You mean Theo?”
Vivian sighs. “Theo, yeah. But also me. It’s like ... I’ve changed, somehow,” she says, her voice wistful and almost unsure. “And maybe it’s about Theo. But also, maybe it’s not.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I’m not sure if that’s the right question, but I want to be someone she can talk to.
She looks at me for a long moment, considering. But then she shakes her head. “I appreciate it, but let’s just enjoy the evening,” she says, giving me a regretful smile, before her fingers begin to move again.
I can’t begrudge her for not sharing. She’s leaving tomorrow. Should she really be pouring her heart out to some guy? And why fill what little time we have left with conversation about things that are hard or emotional or frustrating?
But in the same breath, I can’t help the little bit of disappointment that she doesn’t want to confide in me. That she doesn’t want to share whatever it is that’s causing this bit of melancholy when she thinks about going back to LA. We’ve talked about some pretty important things, and I’d like to think I’m someone she can confide in.
Even if I am some guy .
I let it go, deciding that for now, the two of us need to just enjoy our final moments together. As horrible as that sounds.
Our conversation takes on a lighter tone after that. Vivian sets her guitar aside and pulls out her phone, taking a few pictures of the sunset and the vines stretched out before us. We stay out on the patio enjoying each other’s company until long after the very last hues from the sun have disappeared and the sky is truly dark.
Then we go inside and back to my room.
“Bathroom’s right there if you want to change or brush your teeth or whatever,” I tell her, leaning back against the door and watching her casually study my belongings.
I wonder what she’s noticing. What picture she’s getting of me that she didn’t have before. I try to follow her gaze to assess what it is that she’s seeing and how she’s seeing it.
The queen bed with simple dark-blue sheets and comforter. The solid wood nightstand and matching dresser that I’ve had since I was in high school. The bookshelf in the corner with pictures from high school and books I’ve wanted to read but haven’t made the time to do so.
Suddenly, I’m concerned that my life might seem too small. Too basic. Too unimportant for a woman like her, who has the world at her fingertips.
Not that there’s anything I can do to change any of that.
Not that I’d necessarily even want to change it.
But I want it to be enough, all the same.
“I’m just gonna go make sure the house is locked up. I’ll be back,” I tell her, slipping into the hallway and giving myself a bit of a distraction.
Vivian doesn’t seem like a judgmental person, by any measure. But it isn’t hard to see that she lives a more affluent life than I do, and probably has a different idea about what a thirty-one-year-old man’s bedroom should look like.
Everything has always been tight around here, even back when we were kids and the vineyard was doing well. My grandmother did a great job making this house warm and welcoming all the way up until she passed away when I was in my early twenties, but our clothes and our furniture were thrifted. Our food was bought in bulk. Our family never went on vacation.
The things that make up this home and the life I’ve lived are humble and unassuming and probably a lot less luxurious than Vivian is accustomed to. So even though she might not notice or care, I’m suddenly a lot more self-conscious about it all than I expected.
The house is quiet as I flip off the lights and make sure all the doors are latched. Most everyone retires to bed after dinner to get in some sleep before the two a.m. harvest time. When I slip back into my bedroom, the light underneath the closed door to the bathroom and the sound of running water is plenty for me to know that Vivian’s getting ready for bed.
I strip down to my boxers and climb into bed, and just a few minutes later, Vivian slips out of the bathroom.
Her hair is up in a messy bun, exposing her long neck. She’s wearing an oversize shirt that falls off one shoulder.
And, god, she’s gorgeous.
She leans up against the doorjamb, and with the expression on her face, I don’t doubt for a second that she knows exactly how sexy she looks right now.
“I’m ready for bed,” she tells me, her voice a husky thing, filled with flirtatious energy, before she rounds to the other side and crawls in.
I flip the light switch and plunge us into darkness, just the moon outside casting a bit of glow across the room. Then I turn, each of us lying with our heads on our pillows, watching each other.
I reach out, tuck some of her loose hair behind her ear and stroke down her cheek, along her jawline.
Then I lean forward, pressing my lips against hers. Soft and gentle and searching.
She parts for me immediately, and our tongues stroke against each other, our bodies shifting closer until my arm is wrapped around her and we’re pressed together from nose to toes.
It’s electrifying, being connected to her, and then my hands begin to rove and touch. When I realize she’s not wearing a stitch underneath that shirt, it takes everything inside me not to rush, not to move at a breakneck pace. To keep us moving slowly, savoring every moment. Breathing in every delicious scent.
I try to touch her everywhere, wanting to caress every inch of her body.
I lick and suck at her neck, pinch at the sweet berries of her nipples, press my face between her breasts. I kiss slowly down her middle until I’m settled between her thighs, spreading open her lips and stroking my tongue through her folds, dripping with her arousal.
And fuck, do I take . . . my . . . time.
My cock is like stone where it presses into the mattress as I eat at her. I gyrate my hips, desperate for relief but unwilling to move any faster than I absolutely have to.
By the time I slide my fingers inside her, searching for that spot that I know drives her mad, she’s a shaking, whimpering mess. Her hands are fisted in my hair as she tries to control my movements. But I am an immovable force. I continue to circle her clit as my fingers massage inside her.
Finally, I relent, my mouth closing around exactly where she wants me. I flick at her little nub over and over again until she splinters apart, her face pressed to a pillow to muffle her pleasure.
I crawl up her body, kissing her damp skin as I go, until my nose bumps hers and my cock rests at her entrance.
“There is nothing like the way you taste,” I whisper, then kiss her, our tongues tangling in a lazy duet.
I suck at her neck and begin shallow thrusts, testing her readiness.
She reaches down and grabs my ass. Her knees bend and her legs wrap around me, opening herself to me completely. Her head falls back, her mouth open as I push all the way in.
“And nothing like being inside you,” I say, her wet heat clamping down around me, an almost unearthly thing.
“Memphis, please,” she whispers, her fingers gripping at my back.
I pull out and thrust back in, gritting my teeth and already struggling not to tip over any second. But I hold off. I hold off as long as I possibly can, returning to my leisurely pace, stroking in and out of her in a way that keeps us both right on the edge, right on the cusp, for as long as I can manage.
When that control breaks, I hook one hand underneath her knee, opening her wide to fuck into her, slam into her, our bodies colliding and slapping together over and over again until if feels like my soul cracks wide, a chasm splitting me in half and everything inside me pouring out. Vivian’s inner walls grip me with a pressure that’s almost unbearable as she follows me over.
Her forehead glistens, damp with sweat. Her sweet mouth falls open in her delirium.
We are like cats in heat as we come down, each of us exhausted but desperate for each other’s touch. We kiss for long minutes. Our hands still gently roving and touching each other, almost like our hands are the reassurance that we’re still here. That we still exist. That we’re okay.
Or maybe that’s just me.
I’m not sure.
All I do know is that when Vivian eventually drifts off to sleep, I stay awake for a long time, watching her in the dark, wondering how I’ll ever let her go.