Chapter 3 #2
“Take a second before you sip,” she said. “Let it sit. Breathe it in.”
They did.
“And now taste.”
There was a collective hum of appreciation.
Grayson liked the quiet, almost-sensual pleasure of wine. The way it could slow people down and draw them into the moment.
Sort of like Lark was drawing him in now. Because he realized with a start that he was watching her more than the crowd, observing the way she moved, how her smile was softer than he’d ever seen it. The way her eyes lit up whenever someone connected with what she was saying.
It didn’t make sense.
This wasn’t the Lark he knew.
And yet, he found himself wanting to know this version better.
Before he could question that desire, a trio of women approached the tent, laughing loudly as they clutched tasting glasses and festival maps.
“Well, hello, handsome,” one of them said to Grayson. “My friend was here earlier, and she said I needed to see the hottie from Lightning in a Bottle Winery.”
This was why Grayson wished Maverick was here instead of him. His brother thrived on charming the ladies—though, now that his brother had fallen in love and settled down with Ella, he wondered if that would still be the case.
Grayson didn’t do charm or flirting. When he was out on a date, he preferred quiet conversation and honesty.
The brunette woman leaned on the counter, bending forward in a move guaranteed to give him a bird’s-eye view of her cleavage.
Lark went oddly still beside him.
“You told her that she was drinking red wine wrong.”
Lark snorted softly. “That sounds like you.”
The women burst out laughing, and Grayson shot her a look. This was one of the few glimpses he’d gotten of the true Lark all day, though the comment didn’t bug him. It amused him, made him want to tease her back.
“Smart-ass,” he lobbed at Lark, winking at her.
One of the brunette’s friends shoulder-bumped her. “Looks like you’re out of luck, Tammy. The hottie is spoken for. You two are adorable together, by the way.”
“We’re not together,” Grayson and Lark said at the exact same time.
The women cracked up, laughing loudly.
“Thank God,” Tammy exclaimed. “Should I give you my number?”
Grayson resisted the urge to rub his forehead. Festivals were exhausting. “Uh…”
Lark, however, recovered quickly, stepping forward to cover the tasting for him. “Do you mind grabbing another case of Chardonnay from the truck?” she asked. “We’re almost out.”
They absolutely weren’t, but he was grateful for the escape she provided. He dawdled at the truck for a few minutes, pretended to be busy, until the coast was clear.
For the next hour or so, the crowd thinned as folks sought lunch at the food trucks.
Since the line was short, he and Lark worked in tandem.
She chatted while he poured. She guided people through the tastings with a confidence that somehow felt different from the version of her that he knew back home.
She was softer, less performative, more genuine.
He continually found himself studying her whenever she wasn’t looking.
All of sudden, he was fascinated by the way she tucked her hair behind her ear while listening to someone. He was enamored by the little crease between her brows whenever she concentrated and the surprisingly elegant way she held a wineglass.
But more than that, he was captivated by her laugh. He’d always thought Lark’s laugh was loud, wild, almost manic. Today, he kept catching quieter versions. Soft little bursts that warmed him in a way he did not fully understand.
She leaned across him to grab a stack of tasting cards, and he caught the scent of her shampoo, something floral and clean.
His grip tightened on the wine bottle, shutting down this current line of thought.
Lark McCoy was still Lark McCoy, and she was definitely not for him.
Just because she’d temporarily stopped behaving like a human firecracker didn’t mean he should take leave of his senses.
“Earth to Grayson.”
He looked over to find her smirking at him.
“You’ve been holding that bottle in the air for ages. I was starting to wonder if you’d turned to stone or something.”
A customer chuckled.
Grayson immediately lowered the bottle and poured a small amount in a woman’s glass. “Maybe if it wasn’t so damn loud around here, I could focus.”
“And there he is,” Lark sighed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he grumbled.
“Grumpy seems to be the primary word La—er, people use when describing you.”
Grayson wasn’t sure that was entirely accurate.
Of course, it wasn’t inaccurate either.
Her comment should have irritated him, but instead, he felt himself fighting back a smile at the gentle way she poked at him.
By midafternoon, the post-lunch rush thinned again as a popular band started playing on the main stage. They both leaned back against the table, enjoying the brief lull.
“You’re doing a great job,” Grayson said sincerely.
She glanced at him, a little surprised. Not that her reaction was shocking.
The two of them rarely interacted back home, but when they did, it was typically tinged with…
well, barely there tolerance was the only way he could think to describe their relationship.
They gave each other a wide berth whenever possible, because she rubbed him wrong and he did the same to her.
“Thanks,” she replied. “I’ve just been trying to follow your lead.”
“Which is something you’ve never said, done, or even considered before,” he joked.
She laughed, but it wasn’t her typical burst-your-eardrums volume. Again, this laugh was softer, sweeter. “You caught me on a bad day,” she tossed back, adding to his joke.
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t awkward. Just…comfortable.
“My mom would love this,” she said after a moment.
“The wine?” Grayson asked, trying to recall if he’d ever seen Mrs. McCoy at the winery.
Since he didn’t spend a lot of time in the tasting room, it wasn’t unusual for him not to know who the regular patrons were.
The majority of his days were spent either alone or with Maverick, working to create the wine, or during the heart of harvest time, he was out in the vineyards, picking grapes.
She shook her head. “No. More like the vibe of the festival. Open air, people connecting, the music.”
They were fortunate that their tent was set up near the festival’s stage, allowing them to enjoy the music groups that had been rotating throughout the day. Right now, a couple was onstage, the man playing an acoustic guitar, while the woman sang in a voice as soulful as Janis Joplin’s.
“Mom is very free-spirited,” she added.
“Must be where you get it from.”
Lark frowned briefly, as if confused by the comparison, before rapidly nodding her head. “Oh yeah. In some ways, I guess. But in others…”
“Like?” he asked, suddenly curious about Lark’s family. Of course, he knew who they were. Like the Storms, the McCoy family had strong ties to Gracemont, all of them settling down in the small town rather than seeking greener pastures, as so many others did.
Unlike his family, the McCoys lived down in the valley rather than in the mountains. Townies, as his mother liked to call the locals who lived on one of the four main streets that made up Gracemont’s town center.
“Birdwatching at sunrise, homemade everything. She also believes the universe is always sending signs.”
Grayson smirked. “So, a hippie.”
“Big-time. La—I,” she said, a little too loudly, “am not a fan of sunrise or cooking.”
“Color me surprised. You hate sunrise?” he joked, alluding to the fact she was always sleeping through her alarm.
Lark laughed.
“Your mom sounds interesting.”
“She’s a lot,” she said, though with a fondness that told him how much she loved her mother. “My dad balances her out, though. He’s quiet, kind of awkward, but solid. He’s the kind of guy who just rolls with it. Whatever it is.”
“So opposites attract.”
“Totally,” she replied.
“What about the rest of your family?” he asked.
“My brother, Rob, is the funniest person I know. Like effortlessly hilarious. And my little sister, Piper, is the best of us all. Smart, grounded, sweet.”
Grayson agreed with that assessment. “Piper has become a bit of a familiar face around Stormy Weather Farm. She and Sadie are thick as thieves.”
Twelve-year-old Sadie had moved to the farm when her father, Boone, took over as vineyard manager from Levi.
While Sadie and Boone had only moved to Gracemont in January, in some ways, it felt like they’d been a part of the family for years.
They fit with the Storms like wine fit cheese.
And, if all went according to plan, there was a good chance they’d become official Storms when Boone married his cousin Mila—the couple had fallen for each other fast and hard.
“Piper loves it on the farm. She’s becoming a bit of a horsewoman, thanks to Remi taking her on trail rides all over the mountain.”
Grayson grinned. “I swear Remi would sleep in the stall with her horses if she could.” Then, he frowned slightly, remembering there was another McCoy sibling she hadn’t mentioned. “Wait. Aren’t you a twin?”
Lark hesitated, which felt like a weird reaction to a normal question. “I am.”
“You haven’t mentioned her. What’s she like?” he asked, surprised by how much he enjoyed getting to know more about this woman.
“Wren is…” She shrugged. “She’s Wren. She’s a lot quieter than me. She works as the librarian at Gracemont Public Library.”
“Oh yeah. I think my mom mentioned that she’d taken the job after Ms. Pauley passed away.”
“I—er…I mean, Wren was devastated when she died. Ms. Pauley was one of the main reasons she decided to become a librarian.”
Grayson understood that. The bookworms in his family had been deeply saddened by the beloved, elderly librarian’s passing.
“Sounds like you’ve got a tight family,” he mused.
“I do,” she said. “Of course, you do too. You guys have been in Gracemont forever.”