CHAPTER NINE #2
We reached the barrels and carboys that were old enough to try. Using a siphon, I filled a shot glass that I carried in the front pocket of my overalls. “Try this. It’s a merlot from two summers ago.”
He brought it to his nose and took a sniff, then sipped it like it were a port after a decadent steak dinner. “I’m afraid I’m not enough of a wine buff to really have an opinion.” His lopsided smile was adorable.
I finished off the rest of the shot glass and smacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth.
“The tannins have definitely softened. Raina thinks we could be ready to bottle it this fall, but I’m inclined to leave it another year—or two, if we can.
Create something really rich and special.
A small batch, limited-edition blend. I’d like to transfer at least half the batch into some oak whiskey barrels for added depth and flavor.
We like to trade barrels with Hardwood Distillery.
They get wine flavor into their booze, and we get whiskey flavor into our wine. It’s win-win for all.”
He frowned and nodded, totally out of his depth of expertise. “That could be good.”
Chuckling, I tucked the shot glass back into my pocket, and we moved onto the next one. “We primarily deal in white wines or rosés because of the climate, but merlot grapes are happy here. We also grow Pinot, and Gabrielle wants us to consider Marechal Foch for the new property.”
“New property?”
I went on to tell him about Bonn Remmen’s land, and how the McEvoys and our family had been in the middle of a cold war—particularly because Raina and Jagger were enemies.
But then they fell in love, and united us all, and we decided to band together and pitch our plan to the Elders as one group rather than two. And we won.
“I’ll take you there one day,” I said. “Show you the plans. Right now, it’s just bare. We’ve leveled a lot of it, pulled out the big boulders, stumps and stuff. We’re keeping Bonn’s house though. Hopefully by next summer, the land will be functional. This summer is all about building.”
I glanced up at him after I checked the temperature of a barrel and found him grinning at me in an interesting, slightly unsettling way.
“What’s that face for?”
“I just love hearing you talk about wine. You’re passionate about it. Do you enjoy what you do?”
My face flushed with heat again, and I tucked a strand of wayward hair that had escaped one of my braids back behind my ear. “I do love it. I didn’t know anything about wine or making it before I moved here. My aunt taught me everything. Then I taught the others.”
“Why did you move here?”
“My aunt. She offered me a place to stay after my husband died. I was a single mom with a toddler and a baby on the way, and my family was … they’re not exactly people I want around my children.
So I left. I came here right from our tiny little Idaho town, and we’ve never been happier.
” I swallowed. “I didn’t know what it felt like to really feel safe until the kids and I landed on the island.
It was this overwhelming sense of peace.
I burst into tears the moment we unloaded off the ferry. ”
The backs of my eyes burned from the memory.
I would remember that all-consuming sensation of relief until the day I died.
Up until then, I’d lived my entire life in fear.
If it wasn’t fear of my father, it was fear of my husband, fear for my children.
But here, I felt no fear. This was a community that took care of its people.
I was part of a family, a group of women, that looked out for each other, and we made sure, every damn day, that our kids wouldn’t grow up the way we did.
That our kids felt safe to be themselves and didn’t question how much they were loved for even a second.
My jaw ached, and I worked it back and forth to relieve the strain. My vision was glassy now, and I had to use the sleeve of my shirt to blot at it. “Sorry. I … I still get emotional thinking about that day and how I felt.”
His gaze burned into me. “Don’t apologize. I felt similarly when we arrived. We moved across the country. And even though I’m not ready to start leaving my doors unlocked, I can say that I certainly feel a hell of a lot safer here than I did anywhere in Florida.”
Even though a man stood in front of me, for a second all I could see was this young boy. Scared, hurt, and with nobody he could trust. No child should ever have to feel like that.
The air between us pulsed and crackled, and now that lump in my throat wasn’t just because of overwhelming memories. Everything inside of me hummed like a live wire, and even my chest started to rise and fall quicker.
“Naomi …”
“Yes?” I zeroed in on his lips. Nice, full, plump lips. Wet from his tongue, but not too red. And that scar … I liked it. It was sexy and I kind of wanted to know what it felt like against my mouth.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
My stomach did a flip. “O-okay.”
Stepping forward, he cupped the back of my neck in a possessive way, inhaled through his nose, and brought his mouth down to mine.
I opened for him, tilted my head, closed my eyes, and melted.
I absolutely melted. Like a Popsicle on a hot sidewalk.
I grew malleable and allowed him to sink into the curvature of my body as he deepened the kiss.
One arm wrapped around his neck while the other traveled up to his shoulder.
His muscular shoulder, tightly encased in a white T-shirt.
His arms came around my waist as his tongue slid between my parted lips, hesitantly probing.
I opened wider and slid my tongue against his, moaning a little from just how good it felt to finally kiss him.
To be in his arms, to have his body pressed against mine.
The scar on his upper lip didn’t feel strange, but I could tell it was there. I liked that slight disruption to the softness of his mouth and carefully slid my tongue across it.
After a few more sultry kisses that had my heart racing, he pulled away, his gaze glassy and unfocused. “Let’s go for a drive.”
I was done in the barn anyway, so I let him take my hand and lead me out into the sunshine to his truck.
Austin was off somewhere with Jagger and Marco, and Honor was at Tom’s with Sam and Laurel.
I didn’t know where my cousins were, but they weren’t my keepers.
I simply allowed this handsome, wounded man with the lip scar, tattoos, and tragic backstory to spontaneously whisk me away for the afternoon.
He held the passenger side door of his truck open for me, and I hopped in. Then he ran around the grill and climbed in behind the wheel.
We grinned at each other like twitterpated fools as he turned the ignition and put it into drive.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Wherever we want. Any suggestions?”
Nibbling on my lip for a moment in thought, I gazed out the side window at the rows of grapevines on either side of us. We owned a lot of land, but we needed it to produce as much wine as we did.
It also kept us from having nosy neighbors right in our back pocket.
“Heaven’s Leap,” I finally said.
“You’ll have to give me directions. I’m not familiar.”
Playful smirks and googly eyes passed between us as I told him where to turn. All I wanted to do was climb into his lap and kiss him again. And never stop. The man could kiss. Not that I had a lot to compare him to, but I liked the way he kissed. Wasn’t that all that really mattered?
He took a right, and the road narrowed to just one and a half lanes. There were a few long driveways on either side, but we couldn’t see any houses from the road.
The signs ahead said Heaven’s Leap Nature Park and Lookout. Another one said Dead End.
The parking lot wasn’t much, just gravel and worn logs nailed together to create a squat fence to cordon off the lot from the lookout.
It was a make-your-own parking spot kind of situation.
A dented, green, metal trashcan sat in one corner, and a few trails meandered off in various directions.
There were three concrete picnic tables scattered throughout, but beyond them spanned just the ocean.
While there wasn’t much of a wind at the vineyard, on this side of the island there was. Whitecaps covered the sea below and out toward the horizon, while shorebirds spread their wings wide and rode the gusts like expert paratroopers.
For a sunny Sunday, I was surprised at how few vehicles there were in the parking lot. The spot he found provided us with a great view of the water and the birds. He opened the sunroof halfway, then shut off the engine and unbuckled his belt.
“What was your plan, bringing me here?” he asked. “I know people like to park and make out at lookouts, but doesn’t that usually happen at night? It’s broad daylight.”
Snickering, I unbuckled my belt as well and spun on my seat to face him, bending one knee and propping up my leg. “It’s just a nice place to come talk, think, or … not think.”
“I’d like to talk.”
That made me grin. “Me too.”
“So … I know you said it was a story for another day, but now that you know my tragic backstory and didn’t get scared off …”
I figured he might ask, and I was prepared to give him the canned response. “My cousins and I grew up in a Christian fundamentalist cult.”
His brows shot to his hairline. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Nobody does.”
“Our fathers were all brothers. They had one sister, our aunt Dolores—”
“The aunt who owned the winery?”
“Yes. She escaped the community after she miscarried a baby with her abusive husband. She checked herself out of the hospital, and nobody saw her again. When my cousins and I became teenagers, she started to reach out via the town’s librarian.
She let us know that if we wanted out, she would be on the outside to help us. ”
“That was brave of her.”