Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Grayson had seen enough fights—he’d grown up with six brothers, after all—to recognize trouble when it walked in.
The second Tommy walked into the tasting room, heading straight for Lark, Grayson felt every muscle in his body tighten.
It was a beautiful fall Friday, and given the number of people soaking up the midafternoon sunshine, it was safe to say half of the town had decided to treat themselves to an early happy hour to kick off the weekend.
The crowd buzzed around them, laughter spilling from the patio while music drifted through the speakers, the upbeat playlist adding to the relaxing, fun atmosphere. Lark’s cheeks were flushed from the warmth and work. They were all hustling.
Ordinarily, this time of the year would find him in the vineyards, picking grapes with Boone, Maverick, the seasonal help they’d hired, and most of his brothers.
However, he drew the short straw when Nora came looking for extra help in the wine-tasting room and brewery.
They hadn’t anticipated this unexpected rush at two on a Friday, so the waitstaff was overwhelmed.
Sam had left the field to go help Theo and his staff in the brewery, while Grayson had agreed to handle the tastings. Actually, Maverick had offered, but Grayson insisted.
He was still trying to make lightning strike twice with Lark.
It wasn’t working.
He’d tried the special tasting with the vintner thing last week, requesting that Lark assist him.
When Nora gave him a quizzical look about the request, he simply reminded her that they’d worked well together at the festival and had developed a good rhythm.
Luckily, his cousin bought it and put Lark on the schedule.
The experiment had been a big damn bust as far as he was concerned, because it had been like working with the OG Lark again. The one who drove him up the wall with her loud laughter and over-the-top storytelling—not the festival one, who’d been more professional and chill.
Then, Lark had shown up at ladies’ night, something he’d been banking on when he agreed to join his family. Remi and Lark were regulars at Whiskey Abbey on Wednesdays. He’d wanted to see if things were different when they were out socially.
He hadn’t had much of an opportunity to test that theory, since Lark had shown up with her sister…
And lately, it was Wren who’d been occupying his thoughts and driving him to distraction.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to dwell on that particular twin at the moment. It looked like Tommy had reached some sort of breaking point with Lark.
“Please,” he heard the man say, loudly enough that several heads at the surrounding tables turned to see what was going on. “You gotta let me talk to you, Lark. Let me make this right.”
“Tommy,” Lark started, clearly exasperated. “I don’t know how many more times I can say—”
“You’re not giving me a chance to show you that I’ve changed,” he interjected.
Lark sighed. “I’m at work. This isn’t the time.”
She turned her back, intent on walking away from her ex. Tommy stopped her by reaching out and gripping her upper arm with enough force that Lark winced.
That was when Grayson reached his breaking point, something sharp and protective rising inside him. He crossed the tasting room, reaching them within seconds.
He grabbed Tommy’s forearm, his expression black. “Let her go.”
Tommy freed her instantly. But Lark, who’d already been tugging herself free, hadn’t expected the quick release, so she stumbled to the side.
Right into Grayson’s arms.
He blinked a few times, waiting for…
This wasn’t right. Something was wrong.
He didn’t have time to focus on that, since Lark immediately pushed away from him. Grayson tried to steer her behind him, determined to serve as a shield between Lark and her ex, but she shook off his effort and stepped in front of him, her eyes narrowed to slits.
Fortunately, her ire wasn’t directed at Grayson but Tommy. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be so rough. I just…” Tommy raked a hand through his hair. “I hate this, babe. Hate that we’re not together, that you don’t want to see or talk to me anymore.”
Lark crossed her arms. “I know you’re used to getting your way all the time.
” She turned to Grayson, directing her aside to him.
“Curse of being an only child.” Then she looked back at Tommy.
“But you’re going to have to accept that this,” she wagged her pointer finger between them, “is never going to happen.”
“I think you should go, Tommy,” Grayson growled.
“No offense, Grayson, but this is between me and my girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Lark corrected coldly. Grayson was impressed by her strength and conviction. Jace had told him she’d wavered in the past. Lark had admitted the same at the festival. But this time, she seemed determined to follow through. “And he’s right. You should leave.”
Tommy’s shoulders fell, and suddenly the man was the poster child for dejection. “Lark.”
“Don’t come around here again,” she added.
“Show up one more time uninvited and we’ll serve you with no-trespass papers,” Grayson warned him.
Tommy nodded, cheeks red as he turned and headed for the door, and Grayson thought—or perhaps hoped—that finally, this time, the man had gotten the message. He was proud of Lark for standing her ground.
However, that pride gave way to fury when he spotted the red finger marks Tommy had left on her arm. The fucker had grabbed her hard.
“Shit, Lark. Are you okay?” Grayson reached for her arm, lifting it to gently run his fingers over the marks.
And that was when he felt it again.
Or, more precisely, didn’t feel it.
No lightning, no awareness, no devastating certainty.
The absence hit him like a fist straight to the gut.
Ever since they’d returned from the festival, everything about Lark had felt off.
He’d tried to chalk it up to work—harvest time was brutal, they both had busy schedules, etcetera.
But every day since they’d come home, that certainty he’d felt about Lark being the one had faded more and more.
And now?
Now, there was nothing left at all.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, but Grayson barely registered the words. His world had tilted sideways…again. Just not in the same way it had at the festival.
That fateful day, one touch from Lark had nearly brought him to his knees. He’d felt it all the way to his soul.
She’d been his.
He’d spent his whole life believing in the Storm legend, even if he didn’t think he’d be lucky enough to experience it. But, knowing without question that if it did happen to him, he’d recognize it instantly. And he had.
Hadn’t he?
Most of that weekend with Lark had felt perfect, intense, easy. Real. But nothing with her, either before or after, had matched it. Not one single moment.
Lark gently pulled away from his touch. She glanced at the marks, then shrugged. “I bruise really easy. Most of the time, I don’t even remember how I got them. He didn’t hurt me. Honest.”
Grayson didn’t reply, his thoughts whirling in a million different directions.
“Grayson?”
Lark’s voice finally penetrated the fog in his head. He looked at her. Really looked at her. She was pretty and nice and funny and…entirely wrong for him.
“Thanks for taking up for me,” she said. “I’ll get back to work.”
Grayson watched her go, still trying to make sense of things.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there in the middle of the bustling tasting room, staring off into space, but it was Nora who pulled him out of his head, asking if he could grab a couple cases of wine for her, as they were running short.
Typically, work was a great distraction for him, but today, it wasn’t helping, and for the next hour or so, he managed to fuck up just about everything he did.
He kept filling orders wrong, and, during two tastings, he poured the same wine twice.
Then he dropped a tray full of glasses, and bumped into a table of patrons, knocking over their drinks.
“Earth to Grayson,” Nora said, in a tone that told him it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name.
“Yeah?”
“I think we can handle it from here. I called a couple of the waitstaff who are scheduled this evening to see if they could come in early. They’re here now, so you can head back to the vineyard or…” She paused.
“Or?” he prompted.
Nora gave him a concerned look. “Or maybe you should call it a day. I’m not sure what’s bothering you, but, cuz, you’re a serious hazard right now. I’m not sure the grapes would be safe.”
Grayson didn’t argue with her, because he couldn’t. And that was when he realized it hadn’t been Lark distracting him from work for the past few hours.
It had been Wren.
He’d been reading her book suggestions at the speed of light, not so much because he was enthralled with the stories—though Wren’s recommendations had been rock solid—but because he was quickly becoming obsessed with the pretty, quiet librarian.
Whose twin sister he’d shared a bed with and kissed just a few weeks earlier.
Shit.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who tried to score with sisters. Just the thought of that felt skeezy, but there was no denying he was apparently attracted to both the McCoy sisters. Or at least…he had been.
Now, he felt no more for Lark than he had before the festival. He was back to square one, considering her a lively, entertaining, frequently tardy employee whose loud laugh and boisterous personality…well…grated on his nerves.
If he’d met Wren first, there was no question he would have pursued her and asked her out, but doing so now felt wrong. He got the sense Lark and Wren were close—very close—so it seemed like a safe assumption that Lark had probably told her sister about the kiss.
Nora was right. He was a menace, and it was clear no work was going to get done until he sorted out these fucked-up thoughts.