Chapter 31 #2
“Me,” Rue says, hooking her thumbs on the straps of her overalls. “If someone stays over their allotted minutes, are we to escort them off the premises?”
I give her a deadpan look. “I’m actually worried nobody will meet their time because when they see your outfit they’ll think this a lost scene from Deliverance.”
She sticks her tongue out, and I continue. “Anyway, I’ll be pouring wine.”
Rue says, “I’ll take the register, if it pleases Your Majesty.”
Mom says, “Nancy and I already talked about it, we’ll watch the kids.”
Said kids scream from somewhere in the vines.
Remy raises her commandeered bottle of rosé. “Quality control.”
Yikes.
“Banyan?” My gaze drops to his covered torso and the instrument hanging around his neck. “What are my expectations?”
“You know I hate that word,” he says with a shudder. “It’s vibe smothering and soul sucking. Did I ever tell you about the ti—”
“No.” This is not the time for one of his torrid tales. “Tell me what I expect.”
Gavin steps in with an apologetic wave and makes my breath stutter.
He isn’t in his suit—he’s in his tee, jeans, boots, hat, new-face ensemble—but for an instant, he is. For an instant, we’re back on that dark porch and he’s telling me I’m incredible and I’m wishing that we would have spent every night since together.
Remy mouths ohmygod before fanning herself.
I make a knock it the fuck off face she ignores. Possibly because she’s already drunk.
Banyan’s nasally voice pulls me back to the conversation at hand. “Fire Lady requests that I show the guests how treating the grapes right will help them find their sweet spot of pleasure and ripeness.”
I make the unfortunate mistake of looking at Gavin. He locks his eyes on mine and says, “Like a G-spot?”
Nancy and Mom scoff like prudes while everyone else howls and heat scorches my neck.
Remy conspicuously mutters, “I know a yoga teacher who’s getting her pleasure spotted.”
Rue and I exchange a look.
“G-spot,” Banyan repeats, then blows into the contraption hanging around his neck. “That’s funny, Heater. I should work that into my repertoire. Big Mama would get a kick.”
Gavin grins.
“No,” I snap. “Nothing weirder than usual. No G-spots.” I pin Gavin with a stern look. To Banyan, I add, “And none of your sexual healing nonsense. And what the hell is that thing?”
He blows into it again then looks at me like I should be impressed. “Twelve-holed ocarina. Good for the vagals and the vines.”
“Why can’t you be normal?”
“Why can’t you be chill?” he counters. “You know what?” He snaps.
“I think you need a jaw release.” He sticks his fingers in his own mouth then rubs somewhere along his gum line, mumbling around his hands.
When he pulls the fingers out, he shifts his jaw, wipes his saliva-covered fingers on his pants, and grins.
To the room he says, “Back me up here, people. I keep telling the Fire Lady she needs a poke of the lo—”
“Okay.” We are not going there. Gavin saying G-spot already made me have a split-second visual of him leading the charge to find it then taking up full-time residency. “Anything else?”
Rue makes a smart-ass comment, and Remy takes a slug of wine.
Gavin says, “Have you noticed those grapes stopped in the middle of the road?”
I angle my head to look out a window. “What?”
“Think they ran out of juice,” he says.
I bite back my smile and check my watch. “Nash should be here any minute.”
Everyone files outside except Gavin, who watches me from across the bar as I manically move bottles and glasses.
“Stop looking at me,” I say without looking at him.
“I like looking at you,” he says easily.
This, of course, makes me look at him and his good face and bright eyes. “That’s creepy.”
He leans onto his forearms on the bar. “I’m a creep.”
A laugh puffs out of me. “Why are you here?”
“I work here.”
I give him a flat look. “Not doing this.”
“Apex Properties, is it?”
I still. That’s the LLC I run my rental properties under . . . and now purchase vineyards with. “And?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “That’s not what you told me the company you work for was called.”
“It’s called a subsidiary.” I bring a hand to my hip. “Ever heard of it?”
“Sure I have.” He grins. “You just never mentioned it, and I saw it on Mom’s paperwork—and the paperwork you sent me for the shop. Didn’t know if that meant you had any other secrets.”
Abort! Abort! Abort!
“Hardly.” Other than my whole life. I focus on a stack of napkins. “Speaking of secrets, saw you out at the shed.”
His smile widens, teeth so perfect he could sell braces. “That’s not a secret. I’ve invited you, you’ve declined.”
He has a point.
He reaches across the bar to tuck hair behind my ear, making me pause mid-organization of something that’s already organized. “You’re going to be great today.”
“That why you rallied the troops to assist?”
His lips twitch. “That was because sometimes having people around makes things better.”
We inch toward each other over the bar.
I saw him yesterday when I walked Addie home but was still in the midst of dealing with my emotional hangover from our date and Addie asking me to live with them while I had the face of a clown, so I kept my distance.
He leans closer—he wants to kiss me. My pulse picks up—I want that too.
His mouth is a whisper from mine, and I can’t let this happen again. Not until he knows why I’m really here and I know what I really want. With the right donor. With this business. With him. With being in Fontain.
I whisper, “Did Greg make the glass?”
He snaps upright, eyes wide.
Aha! I knew it. Every time the glass comes up, so does Greg. It explains why everyone’s so cryptic. Greg made beautiful things that make them ache because he’s gone.
Gavin’s eyes snap to the grapes on the ceiling. “Why do you think that?”
“Because you’re vague,” I tell him. “Weird when I ask how to get in touch with the artist. Every time I bring it up everyone gets . . .” It’s hard to find the right word in such a delicate situation.
“Weird.” My brows raise. “And I don’t care how good of a deal you got, it had to be expensive.
The only thing that makes sense is that it’s . . .”
“What?”
“It’s someone you know, know. If it wasn’t Greg, then . . .”
His gaze drops from the ceiling to me. “Then what?”
“Then—” I glance at the ceiling. Then nothing—it has to be Greg; nobody else makes sense.
Gavin’s “Reese” comes with a laugh. “I nee—”
Rue pops her head in the door as a bus pulls into the lot. “Showtime, sis.”
And just like that, the glass and who made it is irrelevant.
This is happening—I’m running a vineyard.
That I own.
At my wide eyes, Gavin grins. “Relax. You’ll be vine.”
We’re about to find out.