12. Rosay #2
“Papa,” I chide, just as Graham says, “Like the gem she is.”
My dad pulls him into one of those bro hugs, and Winnie bumps my arm, drawing my attention. “Look at them, two peas in a pod already.”
“Want a drink?” Dad asks, leading us toward the kitchen.
“Sure,” Graham replies.
He pulls out a bottle of wine and two decanters along with three glasses. My cheeks heat as I stand at the end of the massive island.
“Dios mío.” I throw my head back in embarrassment. “Nosotros ni siquiera hemos estado aqui por cinco minutos.”
“Mija.” He arches a thick brow at me and pops the cork on a bottle of red wine and pours it into a glass, pushing it toward Graham.
None of the bottles have a label, so unless Graham is familiar with the bouquets of certain wines, he’s most likely to fail this arbitrary test my dad has cooked up. “You know the rules.”
I groan, reliving the memory of my dad testing Connor’s wine knowledge.
Connor, of course, came from a wealthy family, so he was primed in the etiquette of fine dining and had knowledge of wines.
Though most of the time he drank warm, cheap beer at home.
Dad tested him, stating that a man who knew fine wine would understand how to treat a woman.
Boy, how wrong he was.
“Lord help us,” I murmur as Winnie comes up beside me and says, “He’ll do fine.”
She hands me a strawberry candy, the same ones my abuela kept in a glass jar on her hutch, and I pop it into my mouth, savoring the memories as much as the flavor.
I hold my breath and watch as Graham picks up the glass, praying he remembers to let it breathe.
He sniffs the wine, and without swirling it, brings it to his lips and takes a long draw of the liquid.
Muscles ache in my jaw from how tense the room is, and I chance a glance at my dad.
He’s focused on Graham, pensive. I should’ve known this was coming, that my dad would test him in every way possible.
The only man I’ve ever brought home to meet my family was Connor, and that was only because he pushed for it.
To say that they were surprised to meet anyone I dated is an understatement.
“Light, fruity…” Graham’s voice trails off before he takes another sip, swishes it around his mouth, and says, “French. Beaujolais.”
“Holy shit,” Winnie says, bumping my arm. “He’s good.”
My tongue is glued to the top of my mouth as I watch my dad’s reaction.
He simply pours another glass, this one from the decanter.
Graham inhales a deep sniff of the wine and tilts his head as if in thought while he swirls the glass.
It’s at this moment I realize I’ve wholly underestimated the man I’ve brought home.
He knew exactly what he was doing at his house the other day when I tried to teach him about wines.
“Dickhead,” I murmur beneath my breath, taking another candy from Winnie, who snorts at me.
“Cherry, and if I’m not mistaken a hint of tomato,” Graham says, taking another sip. “Not as full bodied as a Cab, but it has good acidity. Spain, a Tempranillo.”
“Hey, hey, not bad.” I catch my dad’s nod out of the corner of my eye, but I’m still focused on Graham and his undercover wine snobbery.
I suck in a breath through clenched teeth as Dad pours the last one, a white wine, into another glass.
This is the wine that is the deciding vote on Graham’s worthiness as a companion, though Connor only knew it because he was familiar with my family.
While my mom’s hometown is known for its powerful, oak-aged reds, there’s been a shift in the last two decades to cultivating white wine.
I watch w ith bated breath as Graham takes a drink.
His eyes close, and I fight like hell to keep mine open, to keep them fixed on the way his cheeks move, sloshing the wine from side to side in his mouth and the way his throat rolls as he swallows.
The act shouldn’t be as erotic as it is but watching him sends a chill down my spine and makes my nipples hard.
“Wow,” is all he says for a moment before taking another drink. “Aromatic, fruity. I’m picking up on apple, something like…honeydew?”
My heart thumps wildly in my chest as he hits each note perfectly.
“Thoughts?” Dad asks.
Winnie grabs my hand and squeezes it, flooding me with her confidence that he’ll get this right.
“I’ve never tasted any wine like this.” He stares at the glass with a puzzled look on his face. “But it’s the best white I’ve ever tasted. Where is this one from?”
The collective breath that Winnie and I let out is audible. Had Graham said he knew where it was from or the brand, my dad would’ve known Graham researched him, that he was simply blowing smoke up his ass in order to get his approval.
“That’s the Esme,” Dad says with a grin. “From my late wife’s grapevine. We only carry it in a few select places.”
Her favorite places.
“The Esme,” Graham repeats, gaze finally drifting to me. “It’s perfect.”
I look off to the side, praying away the tears that form.
“You guys probably want to get settled,” Winnie says.
I glance at Graham who nods. “I’ll grab the bags from the vehicle.”
“You gu ys are staying in the first wine barrel,” Winnie yells as Graham reaches the door. She flashes me a devious smile. “Figured you’d want your own space for…alone time.”
I try to hide my relief that we don’t have to stay under the same roof as my family. Winnie might think it’s because we want to have sex, but we can at least cut the pretense while we’re alone, something I’m sure Graham is ready for.
“The rest of the gang will be here in the afternoon for dinner,” Dad says, pulling me to his side. “It’s so good to have you home, mija. Ha pasado demasiado tiempo.”
“Glad to be back,” I reply, though I can’t bring myself to call this place home. For so long, I stayed away because the memories of my mom were everywhere, and it was too painful to be here without her. But now, only the grapevine and my father remain from that time, and everything else is new.
“Wendy will be home after school, and I’m sure Kieran will pop in at some point to say hello before dinner,” he says.
I acknowledge his statement and disappear through the door.
My stepmom still teaches at the local school, and it was her that urged me to consider my options after my abuela passed and I returned home to the States.
She encouraged my love of learning and teaching, but I couldn’t see past my anger at my dad for moving on to ever develop a relationship with her.
“Got the key?” Graham asks when I meet him at the car.
“Yeah, but knowing Winnie, she probably left the door unlocked.” I try to take my bag from him, but he moves it out of reach.
“Lead the way.”
“You just want to stare at my ass as we walk,” I say as a joke.
“Guilty .” I feign offense. “Did you want me to lie to you? That’s not a good way to start off an engagement, Pinky.”
“My hair isn’t pink anymore,” I say with a snarky tone. “And don’t call me that.”
“So, no sweetheart, no Pinky. What can I call you?” he asks, coming up behind me. “El amor de mi vida? La mujer de mi suenos?”
A flush of arousal tingles over my body hearing Graham calling me the love of his life and the woman of his dreams. I inhale a breath of freshly mowed grass and let it ground me as we approach the wine barrel.
“This place is massive,” Graham says, staring down the vacation rental.
He’s not wrong. The top of the round roof is at least forty feet high, and it has to be thirty or more feet wide. It’s perfect for a small family, or two people who are pretending to be engaged and need some space.
Graham tries the door, and it opens, but he stops me before I can cross the threshold.
“What’s wrong?”
He points above him, lifting his eyebrow as my gaze lands on another mistletoe hung to the frame.
“Winnie,” I growl. “No one is around, we don’t need to pretend.”
Sparks fly in my chest as he grips my waist and pulls me to him. “Who said I was pretending?”
The flare that sets off in my brain is quickly dampened when Winnie drives by on a four-wheeler and yells, “No bad luck at my wedding.”
“Okay, let’s get this lame ass kiss over with so we can get inside,” I grumble.
“Did you just call my kiss lame?” Graham’s eyebrows bunch, and I somehow manage to keep my hands at my sides instead of trying to smooth at the crinkles in the center.
I shrug. “Yeah, I mean, it’s all for show. It’s not like we’re actually kissing each other.”
Graham’s hand encases the back of my neck and pulls me toward him, devouring my squeak of surprise.
My hands land on his firm biceps, and fire sizzles down my back as his tongue swipes along the seam of my lips, dipping in just long enough to have me chasing his cinnamon taste.
I bloom like a damn flower for him, opening wider and luring him back in with a nip to his lip.
He growls and slides his hand into my hair, tugging with just enough pressure to make me moan into his mouth.
Our tongues enter a tango, two partners playing off the heat of each other in the most combustible way.
Gravel crunches in the distance, the sound snapping the rubber band of reality back into place as Graham and I part, chests heaving and lips red.
“Don’t call my kiss lame again.” He grabs the bags and leaves me stunned in the doorway as he escapes into the house.