Chapter 3 #3
Grayson smiled. His family was one of his favorite topics.
He pointed to the wine bottles on the table behind him.
“My grandfather started the winery, tearing down the apple orchards maintained by his father and planting the grapes instead. He built the winery from nothing. I’m proud to be a part of that heritage, of the traditions he created in making the wine. ”
Grayson wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Lark so attentive, so engrossed in what he was saying. Usually, her focus either drifted, or she interrupted to launch into another topic. Right now, she was fully engaged. Curious and interested.
“It was always my intention to follow in his footsteps. Working in the winery, remaining on the farm, maybe one day settling down and starting my own family the way my brothers are.”
Lark reached for her water bottle, taking a long drink. September was always one of those unknowns as far as weather. He’d lived through Indian summers where the September temps rode into the nineties, just as he recalled early autumns that meant sweater weather hit too soon.
Today, however, was one of those perfect days that felt like the way September should always be—complete with a bright blue, cloudless sky, seventy-degree temp, and a gentle breeze.
It was that breeze that had blown a long strand of Lark’s wavy blonde hair into her face. Before he could think better of his actions, Grayson reached out, intending to tuck it behind her ear.
Lark jerked before he got there, brushing it out of her eyes and taking the tiniest step away, her posture suddenly stiffer.
He dropped his hand quickly, feeling like he should apologize, though he didn’t know why.
“It seems like quite a few of your brothers are settling down lately,” she said, the words coming out so quickly, he got the sense she was trying to distract him from her reaction.
Grayson rubbed a hand over his jaw, stroking his close-trimmed beard. “Yeah. They are. This past year has brought a lot of changes. First, Levi married Kasi and moved out. Now, Theo and Maverick are shacked up with their girlfriends in cabins on the farm. It’s a lot quieter at home these days.”
Grayson shared one of the three farmhouses on the farm with the other three Storm bachelors, Everett, Sam, and Jace.
“Sounds like you miss the way things were.”
He wasn’t used to this kind of introspection or astuteness from Lark.
Though, to be fair, the two of them had never engaged in a conversation one-on-one quite like this.
They were always surrounded by other people back home, and it made him wonder if this was how Lark acted in private conversations.
If she felt less like she had to put on a show with fewer people to entertain.
“I do,” he admitted. “More than I expected.”
She studied him, her gaze thoughtful. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to hold on to things that matter.”
Grayson let out a slow breath, surprised by the tightness in his chest. “Yeah. I know.”
There was another pause. The kind that lingered just long enough to mean something, and he found himself looking at her again. Really looking at her.
And that flicker from earlier…when he’d touched her…
It sparked back to life. Stronger. More dangerous.
Grayson shoved the feeling way down deep, straightening abruptly and pushing away from the table.
“We should open some more bottles and restock stuff. The crowd will pick up again soon.”
“Okay.” She stepped back into place.
The ease between them shifted, but it wasn’t gone.
As Grayson reached for a bottle, the same stubborn thought kept tugging at the edge of his mind. Something was different about Lark.
And he liked it way more than he should.
By early evening, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting everything in warm gold. Strings of lights overhead flickered on one by one, glowing softly around all the tents.
The festival crowd had changed as day drinkers gave way to evening wanderers. Couples strolled hand in hand between the tents, while groups gathered near the stage when a blues band started playing.
The air smelled like wine, barbecue, and autumn.
Lark sighed happily beside him. “This is surprisingly nice.”
“The drunk people stumbling into tents?” he asked.
She shot him an amused looked. “No. This time of the day. It’s a lot less crowded now, so we can appreciate the atmosphere, the lights, the music. Everyone’s relaxing and having a good time.”
Grayson glanced out at the crowd, trying to see what she did. He couldn’t. “It just looks sticky and loud to me.”
“You have the soul of an eighty-year-old man.”
He shrugged. “Probably.”
God knew his brothers had lodged that same complaint at him enough in his life, usually when he turned down their invitations to join them at Whiskey Abbey or to drive over to one of the bars in Henley Falls.
She laughed at his response, and this time he caught himself staring outright.
Because she looked beautiful.
Not in the flashy, obvious way he normally associated with Lark. Today, there was something softer about her. The cooler evening breeze had put some color in her cheeks, and a few strands of blonde hair had escaped whatever effort she’d made in taming it this morning.
And her eyes…
He’d never noticed how blue they were before.
Not pale blue but storm-cloud blue. Deep and impossible to ignore, now that he was really looking.
A customer waved, breaking his attention.
Thank God.
Another rush hit, and suddenly the line stretched halfway down the tent row, forcing both of them into nonstop motion.
Despite the chaos, they continued to work well together.
She anticipated what he needed before he asked.
Fresh bottles appeared at his elbow, empty boxes vanished.
When he reached for tasting cards, she was already handing them over.
It was seamless, natural, and dangerously easy.
At one point, he glanced over to find a guy around her age, openly flirting.
“You should come check out my booth once the festival winds down,” the man said, flashing a grin too polished to be trustworthy. “I’ve got a bottle of Cabernet with our names on it.”
Lark smiled politely. He thought for a moment she was going to turn the guy down, but then she glanced quickly in Grayson’s direction and changed course.
“Tempting,” she said, in true Lark fashion.
Nope. Not happening.
“She’s busy,” he snapped. “Working.” The words came out harder than intended. Both Lark and the man stared at him.
An awkward beat passed, then the guy lifted both hands in surrender. “Okay, man. Message received.”
He wandered across the way and immediately started flirting with the woman selling festival merchandise.
“You sounded like an angry caveman,” she mused.
“You are working. This isn’t a club, Lark. You’re not here to pick up men.”
“That’s not what—” she started.
But he was still pissed off about the interaction. “He was holding up the line,” he interrupted, trying to downplay her comment about him being a caveman. Mainly because it had hit a little too close to the mark.
Lark looked over her shoulder, pointedly, making sure he saw what she did—which was no one standing in line.
“Right,” she said, turning back to him, her lips twitching.
The little minx was teasing him, and it was just too adorable to resist.
Grayson finally laughed, shaking his head. “Very funny, little bird,” he said, uncertain where that term of endearment had come from. Not that it mattered. It fit her perfectly.
She bit her lower lip but didn’t remark on the pet name. They held each other’s gazes, and it was Grayson who looked away first.
A little while later, during another lull, Lark grabbed two bottles of water from the cooler beneath the counter and handed him one.
“The crowd loves you,” she said.
He scoffed. “They tolerate me.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re wrong. You’ve really got a way of talking about the wine that shows how much you believe in it…and in the traditions that go behind making it.”
He wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment, so he brushed it aside, even though it meant a lot to him. “You seem pretty energetic for someone who’s been on her feet all day.”
“I’m having fun.” There was something in her tone that told Grayson she was both sincere and surprised by that.
“You always have fun,” he pointed out.
She nodded, but it came slowly. “I like watching people, hearing their stories, seeing them connect with the wine.”
Grayson was forced to admit this festival hadn’t been the disaster he’d expected. “Yeah. I like that too.”
Her expression softened, and for one suspended second, the noise around them faded into the background. The music, the crowd, and the clink of glasses all disappeared beneath the strange awareness pulling tight between them.
Grayson didn’t understand what the hell was happening today, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
The woman standing next to him was not the person he thought she was.
And that was a problem.
A big one.