17. lucas
SEVENTEEN
lucas
“Marco Grado.” I reached across the bar to shake my old friend’s hand. “How the hell are you?”
Marco was the son of the owners of Grado Valley Vineyards, and now, apparently, part owner himself. While I was gone, his parents had retired, leaving the vineyard—which now included two separate wineries and a brewery—to their four kids, including Marco.
“No complaints here. Good to have you back in town. Thank you for serving. Ten years is a hell of a long time.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. The whole “thanks for your service” thing always made me uncomfortable. “Congrats on the business. Looks like Grado Valley is booming.”
Though most of the wineries on the lake would be pretty busy on a Sunday in the fall, the Grado Wine Cellar was jammed, probably more than most.
“Heard about the tattoo studio too,” he said, moving aside to let the tasting room attendant take care of a new group that had just come up to the bar. “How did you learn to do that in the military?”
“A lot of bad tattoos on myself,” I said. “There was a guy in my squad back in the early days who had his tattoo machine with him. Learning helped to pass downtime when we were deployed.”
“Cool,” Marco said. Then he added, “So, I’ve been hearing some things.”
“Hit me,” I said, knowing Marco wouldn’t hold back.
“Some people are not so happy about the studio. Just wanted you to know, if you have any pushback, ignore the hell out of it. This town can be slow to change, if you remember, but they get there. Eventually.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said, aware they were talking about more than just tattoos. A local reporter had gotten ahold of my story and called me to do some kind of “welcome back” article. I reluctantly agreed to an interview until the guy asked about my ETS. Expiration Term of Service wasn’t something I wanted to discuss. Though I had nothing to be ashamed of—just the opposite—a lot of people might not see it that way. So, I’d cut the interview short, and thankfully, the story never ran.
But in Kitchi Falls, people talked. And I was sure Grunt Ink wasn’t going to be the only rumor circulating about me.
“What can I get you?” Marco asked.
I wasn’t much of a wine guy but could tolerate it. “Dealer’s choice of red for me, and whatever Charlee Donovan and her friends are drinking. Any chance you can find out what that is? They’re here somewhere.”
Marco’s knowing smile wouldn’t go unaccompanied by a comment, I was certain of it. The guy was as much of a ball-buster as anyone I knew. “Charlee Donovan, huh? Didn’t the two of you—”
“Date? Yeah, in high school. That was a long time ago.”
“Mmhmm,” Marco said, pouring a wine.
“Any chance you know what her friends are drinking too?”
“Hold on. Perry, are you serving Charlee and gang? What are they drinking?”
The two of them talked for a second, and Marco poured more wines. “You take those,” he said to me, “Perry will bring the others. On the house, of course.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Let’s catch up sometime.” Marco pulled out a scrap of paper from under the bar. “Your hands are full but here. Give me a call.”
Slipping the paper under my finger at the base of the wine glass, I assured Marco I would call him and then made my way to the deck where Perry said the ladies were sitting.
Natalie spotted me first. She said something to Charlee, who turned in her seat. This was exactly how it’d always been between us. Chemistry, off the charts. How I’d thought to come back to town and simply ignore her, I had no idea. Part of me wished she was attached. A boyfriend. Fiancé. Husband.
On the other hand, I’d want to rip the guy’s throat out if she had any of the above.
She sat up as I approached the ladies sitting in a circle around a fire. “You said two o’clock.”
“I don’t like to be predictable.” I handed her the wine. Just as I did, the attendant came up to us with the other wines, putting them on the table.
“Thanks, Lucas,” Natalie said. “You already met Zoe. She moved to Kitchi Falls a few months ago.”
“Nice to see you again,” I said as Zoe thanked me for the drink. Then, to Charlee, I added, “Walk with me?”
Charlee gave me a look that clearly told me what she thought of my forwardness. Coming here early. Pulling her away from her friends. But I didn’t give a shit about pretense. I took what I wanted, typically, and right now I wanted to walk with her.
Actually, I wanted to do more than walk.
Since the very second my hand had touched her thigh, my thumb rubbing her pussy, even if it was over a pair of leggings, I’d wanted to do a hell of a lot more than walk with Charlee. If I were being honest, I wanted that well before I gave her a ride home yesterday.
Me thinking “no sex” would preserve any ounce of restraint that was left after getting a taste of her?
Ridiculous.
When she stood, I took in the tight jeans, UGG boots, and sweater that fell off one shoulder, revealing a tank top below. One I’d dearly love to remove.
Redo.
One I’d dearly love to tear from her body.
“Sure.”
When she stood and grabbed her wine, Charlee’s friends gave her looks that said be careful .
Too late for that.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” she began as we walked off the deck down to the lower level. There were too many people here for what I had planned.
If I were going to have Charlee in my life, even temporarily, you could be damned sure I was going to taste her. In more ways than one.
The sex thing was purely self-preservation. I couldn’t imagine being inside a woman I’d thought about for so many years and still let her go. And there was no doubt here, that’s what would eventually happen. One whiff of us and Daddy Donovan would zero percent let it stand. For the darling of Kitchi Falls? A guy like me? No way.
But in the meantime. . .
“Change your mind yet?” I asked, certain once her friends got ahold of her they would put the kibosh on this insane plan of mine.
“Not quite,” she said as we walked toward the lake. Still too crowded for my tastes.
“I’m surprised.” I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her. Charlee Donovan had always been the forbidden fruit, and then I’d gotten to know her. As a teen, she’d been one of the most empathetic people I knew. I always admired qualities in others I didn’t possess, at least not in spades like Charlee.
Added to that, Charlee loved to have fun. Was passionate in everything she did, even if impatient at times. She was one of the most positive people I’d met at that point in my life and since. So far, there was little evidence she’d changed much.
“You thought I’d think it over and get scared?” she asked.
“Not scared so much as. . . offended. I would think no self-described feminist would consider such an offer.”
“Yeah, well, she shouldn’t. But what one should do and what one actually does aren’t always the same.”
We stopped close to the lake, but most of the Adirondack chairs were already taken. Which was fine by me. This wasn’t the final destination.
In the meantime. . . “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“Me? You’re the one who’s been gone. The one with the stories, I assume.” She took a sip of wine. “It’s been business as usual here. College, job. Wine weekends, trips when I can manage it.”
“So you work for the resorts?”
“I do. Manage Taughannock Falls.”
“I remember when all you wanted to do was draw.”
She gave me the side-eye. “Since we met in art class and spent half our time together drawing and bouncing ideas off each other, I’d say you know as well as anyone how big of a part of my life that was.”
“Was?”
Charlee sighed. “I actually minored in graphic design in college.”
That didn’t surprise me in the least. “But ended up in hotel management?”
“I have a really good job, with flexibility, which is important to me since I like to travel a lot. . .” She trailed off.
But it was a job. Not a passion. Charlee was and always would be trapped—something I absolutely refused to let happen to me—if she didn’t pursue the creative side of her.
“What about you?” she asked, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Can you tell me about your time in the military?”
“What do you want to know?”
It was the perfect fall day. Part of me had had no desire to come back to a town that judged first, asked questions later. But another part of me, the one that had actually come back, knew this region was like a little slice of paradise, and I’d be damned if I wouldn’t at least try to stake my claim.
“I know you were a sniper. And that you’ve lived all over, were deployed twice. But, what else? Fill in the gaps.”
That would take longer than one afternoon. I thought of something I could share. “My spotter,” I said. “His name is Nate.”
“Spotter?”
“A sniper and spotter work together as a two-person team. You end up pretty close with that person. And my person is Nate.”
“Tell me about him,” she said, seeming genuinely interested.
“He’s one hell of a sniper—”
“I thought you said he was your spotter.”
“A spotter is also a sniper. Nate is a great one too. He’s from Monticello, New York. Been in for about thirteen years. We were a team for just under three years.”
“Is he young, old? Married?”
I laughed. “Have someone in mind for him?”
Charlee’s smile was something I could spend a lifetime staring at. It was as genuine as they got.
The whole time. I tried to keep track of your movements.
He threatened not to pay for college.
“No, just trying to picture you with a guy that you tell all of your deepest, darkest secrets to.”
“Charlee, would you like to know some of my deepest, darkest secrets too?”
She could say no, but the answer was clearly yes. If I licked my lips, it was deliberate.
“Lucas. . .” She swallowed.
“Yes?”
Say it, Charlee. Go ahead.
“Tell me,” I prompted.
Her lips parted.
Say it. Fucking say it, Charlee. Say yes.
“I. . .”
I took a step closer to her, so close, in fact, I could smell her. “You what? Go ahead,” I prompted. “Say it.”
She breathed in. Steeled herself. And then finally answered.
“Yes.”