by Tawna Fenske
“Thank you for your candor.”
“No problem.”
She looked down at her hands, surprised to see they were shaking. She clenched the letter opener more tightly.
“Look, this is all a little overwhelming,” she said. “First you show up out of nowhere, claiming you’re clean and sober. Now you’re not only going to be working here, but you’re telling me this bid is so far off the mark that I can’t even see the fucking mark.”
“Your frustration is understandable.”
Reese dropped the letter opener, something inside her bubbling over the top now. “Frustration? You make it sound like I’m sexually deprived, not in danger of losing this whole construction project. Frustration is putting it mildly.”
She saw his jaw clench, and he opened his mouth to say something. He hesitated, then closed it. The old Clay would have jumped all over the sexually deprived comment, but this one sighed.
“Are we talking about the numbers or about me being here?”
Reese picked up the letter opener again, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. Look, I’m sorry. The bid thing isn’t your fault. I know that. I’m just upset, okay? I should have pushed the family to move faster or—well, whatever. It’s done now. The ball is rolling and you’re here now.” She bit her lip. “God, you’re really here? It’s all so—so—”
Clay cleared his throat. “Look, if it helps, let me say this. Wine was never my poison. You know that. I was a beer man, and this isn’t a brewery.”
“It’s still alcohol, and you’re an alcoholic.” She flinched at her own words. “I’m proud of you for getting sober and everything, but well—aren’t alcoholics always alcoholics, even after rehab?”
“That’s true.”
Her throat felt tight with emotion, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the bid anymore. “So to be surrounded by temptation like this—”
“I can handle temptation,” Clay said, his voice so steely Reese sat back a little in her chair. “I’m well acquainted with temptation.”
Reese didn’t say anything. She couldn’t even blink as Clay’s eyes held hers, warm and a little dangerous. He reached across the desk as if to touch her, then stopped, drawing his hand back.
“I take it one day at a time, just like I’ve been doing for the last four years.”
Reese took a shaky breath, her mind not entirely occupied by thoughts of Clay swilling from barrels of Reserve Pinot. That wasn’t the temptation that worried her. She looked up to see those root-beer-brown eyes studying her with an intensity that made her stomach clench.
Her mind flashed again to those muscular shoulders, the sheen of sweat on bare skin, the feel of—
The letter opener fell from her palms.
Clay reached over and picked it up, handing it back to her without a word. His fingers brushed hers as she reached out to take it. Before Reese could draw back, he wrapped his fingers around her fist and held tight.
“I can handle this if you can,” he murmured.
Reese took a deep breath and looked down at his hand engulfing hers. “I can handle it.”
That evening, Clay leaned back from the dinner table and grinned at Eric and Sheila. “You guys have to stop feeding me like this. You’ll never get rid of me.”
Sheila beamed and passed him a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. “It’s so wonderful having you here for a little while.”
Clay helped himself to a cookie, taking note of the gentle warning: A little while. Translation: Don’t get too comfortable, buddy.
Hell, he deserved that. Clay had still been hanging around when Sheila and Eric started dating a few years after Eric split with Reese. They’d all seen him at his worst, so how could he blame them for thinking he might drag them all through it again?
He’d just have to work harder to prove that wouldn’t happen.
“Eric’s thrilled to have his oldest friend back in town,” Sheila continued as she took a cookie for herself and set it on a little white plate.
Eric squeezed his wife’s hand as he tipped his chair onto its back legs and took a bite of cookie. “You hear that?” he said to Clay through a mouthful. “She just called us old.”
“Actually, she just called me old,” Clay pointed out as he grabbed another cookie. “Which makes no sense, since I’m eight months younger than you and brimming with youthful vigor.”
Eric snorted. “You’re brimming with something, all right.”
Sheila stood and began to stack the empty plates, tucking her blonde hair behind one ear as she leaned across the table. Clay got to his feet, setting his cookie aside and reaching out to take them from her. “Let me get those. I’ll do the dishes while you guys relax.”
“Absolutely not,” Sheila said, giving his hand a light swat. “You’re a guest. You boys sit here and catch up. There’s some of that nonalcoholic beer in the fridge, or I could get you some more water or—”
“I’m fine, really,” Clay insisted. “Just let me help with the dishes—”
“Sit!” she commanded.
Clay sat. “Thank you for dinner, Sheila. It was delicious.”
“No problem, honey. I’m heading out to watch The Bachelor with Reese and Larissa, but you boys stay here and get comfortable.”
Eric and Clay began to stack plates as Sheila maneuvered around the table and headed for the kitchen. Clay glanced at Eric, noticing the way his friend watched his wife with undisguised fondness. He tried to remember if Eric had ever looked at Reese that way.
Stop thinking about Reese, he commanded himself. He grabbed another cookie and took a bite.
Eric dropped his chair back to all four legs with a thud. “I think we’re grounded.”
“Huh?”
“The cookies, the fake beer—my lovely wife is terrified we’re going to sneak out for a wild night on the town.”
“Ah, I see—she’s afraid I’ll be a bad influence?”
“Something like that.”
Clay wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he took another bite of cookie and chewed hard. It wasn’t the first time someone from his past showed skepticism about his sobriety, but this time stung a little more for some reason. He sipped his water—recently topped off by Sheila—and ignored the frosty microbrew in the glass beside his friend’s plate.
“So things went okay at the vineyard today?” Eric asked.
“Not bad,” Clay said, picking at the corner of his cookie. “Reese was pretty upset about some changes in the material costs, but hopefully we’ll get it ironed out.”
“She seem worried about you being out there with your history and everything?”
“A little,” Clay admitted.
“She’ll get over it.”
“Hope so. We’ll be spending a lot of time together.”
“Yeah?”
Clay shrugged. “This LEED-certified building process is pretty intense. I’ll practically be living out there for some phases of construction. And since Reese does live there, I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“So you’ve swapped out alcoholism for workaholism now?”
“Is that even a word?”
“Sure it is,” Eric said. “So is douche bag, which is what I’m going to call you if you eat that last cookie.”
Clay broke the cookie in two and handed half to Eric. When they were both munching in silence, Clay spoke again. “So is she seeing anyone?”
Eric’s eyes narrowed a little. “Reese?”
“Yeah,” Clay said, picking at his cookie and trying to look nonchalant.
“Not really. Sheila and I have been trying to get her to date again. Sheila wants to set her up with this guy she knows from work, but Reese keeps canceling.”
Clay broke off a piece of cookie, not sure why he couldn’t just drop the issue and ta
lk about the Trail Blazers or Breaking Bad reruns or something. “I’m surprised she never remarried like you did. Her parents have always been so crazy about each other. Seems like with that sort of example—”
“With that sort of example, Reese is a fucking basket case about marriage,” Eric said. “Her parents made it look too easy. Sorta like growing up with a dad who’s a tennis pro or a mom who’s a supermodel. All you can do is notice how far you fall short.”
Clay raised an eyebrow. “Does the doctorate in psychology just come with the enology degree, or did you pay extra for that?”
Eric gave him a look like he was an exceptionally dense child. “Jed and June have the world’s most perfect marriage. There’s no way Reese can match it, so she doesn’t bother trying.”
Clay nodded, not sure he followed the logic, but pretty sure Eric knew Reese better than he did. They both picked at the last of the cookie crumbs in silence.
“Why are you asking about Reese?” Eric said at last.
“No reason,” Clay said, determined to keep his tone light. “Just curious.”
“Because if you’re thinking of asking her out—”
“Dude,” Clay said, looking up with an expression he hoped conveyed the right amount of horror. “Your ex-wife? Isn’t that like the number one rule in the guy code of ethics?”
Eric grinned. “It’s the one between not talking at the urinal and never sharing an umbrella with another guy.”
“No, I think it’s the one just before never watching men’s gymnastics on TV.”
“After the requirement that you be able to quote at least three lines from Rocky, though, right?”
“Yeah, but I think it’s before the one about making sure every guy hug is preceded by a bro handshake.”
“And never using the term YOLO.”
“Or setting your Facebook profile photo to a picture of your pets or kids.”
“And never making eye contact while eating a banana.”
“Exactly,” Clay said, relieved the familiar pattern of their banter had defused the awkwardness of the conversation.
But Eric wasn’t ready to drop it just yet. “It would be weird. You and Reese, I mean. It’s not just the man code. We’re friends. All three of us. You don’t shit where you eat, you know what I’m saying?”
“Your wife ever tell you you’ve got a real romantic way with words?”
“No.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
Eric fell silent a moment. He cleared his throat. “You’re not still sore about college, are you?”
Clay looked up. “What do you mean?”
“I know you kind of had the hots for Reese first, but then she and I got together and then—”
“No,” Clay said, shaking his head for emphasis. “No.”
“Because I don’t want things to be weird.”
“Don’t be an idiot. We never even dated.”
Clay felt his gut twist on that comment, but he forced himself to hold Eric’s gaze, not to look away or even blink.
Eric was studying him with an interest that made Clay uncomfortable. “Still—”
“Dude, it was a long time ago,” Clay said, brushing cookie crumbs off the front of his shirt. “Vodka under the bridge and all that.”
Eric nodded. “Whatever you say.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Reese drained her wineglass and took aim at the TV with the remote. “Well, that was a stupid choice.”
Sheila laughed as she stood up and reached for Reese’s empty glass. “Since when do women on reality TV dating shows make smart decisions about men?”
Larissa handed her glass over with a snort. “Since when do any of us make smart decisions about men?”
“Speak for yourself,” Sheila called as she set the stemware on Reese’s counter before trooping back to the sofa. “I happen to think I picked a pretty good guy, myself.”
“I’d raise a toast to that if you hadn’t just taken my glass,” Reese agreed.
“You want it back?” Sheila asked. “The glass, not the man. I’m keeping him.”
Larissa rolled her eyes. “Okay, can I just say you two are my weirdest friends? In what world can two women be BFFs after tying the knot with the same guy?”
“Reality TV,” Sheila said, beaming. “Is Sister Wives still on the air?”
Reese shrugged. “No idea. But I like our arrangement better anyway. She has the guy, I have my sanity. It’s a win-win for everyone.”
“Amen,” Sheila said. “Not everyone finds their soul mate on the first try. There’s no shame in a starter marriage.”
Reese nodded, though she felt a dark wave roll through her. She didn’t think it was shame, exactly, but something made her want to change the subject in a hurry. “What’s Eric up to tonight?”
“Hanging out with Clay at the house.”
The dark wave was replaced by a swirly little flip in Reese’s gut at the mention of Clay’s name, but she kept her expression neutral. “Drinking beer and farting like old times?”
“Not that I could tell,” Sheila said as she plunked back down on the sofa beside Reese. “Well, not Clay anyway. Eric’s probably doing both, but Clay’s too busy trying to be a model citizen.”
There was a sharp note in Sheila’s voice that made Reese look up. “Not a Clay fan?”
Sheila shrugged. “Clay’s fine. I’m glad he got sober and all. I just don’t know that Eric needs that energy in his life right now.”
“Energy.” Larissa laughed. “Is that another way of saying women throw their panties at Clay and you’d rather not have Eric catching a pair?”
Sheila was spared having to answer as the doorbell chimed. Reese glanced at her watch, annoyed at whoever felt the need to drop by at nine p.m. on a weeknight.
She flung open the door. “Dick,” she said.
“Yes!” Larissa called from the couch. “I’ve been wishing there was a delivery service for dick.”
Reese ignored her and raised an eyebrow at her disgruntled-looking neighbor standing on the front porch. “Can I help you?”
“That animal is a menace!”
Reese resisted the urge to smile as Dick cupped a protective hand over his groin. Beside the house, Leon the alpaca gave a proud chortle and twitched the ear with the heart-shaped splotch. “Was he on your property?”
Dick glowered at her. “That doesn’t matter. I needed to come over to discuss official business, and that thing—”
“Why are you here, Dick?”
“Well, for starters, would you mind informing me just where you plan to put all the cars that will be coming out for your little Memorial Day weekend event? If you think they’re going to be parking on my property—”
“We’ve hired a horse-drawn carriage service,” Reese interrupted. “Guests will be able to park in the lower acreage, and we’ll bring them up in groups in the carriage.”
“I included that in the press release,” Larissa said, leaping off the couch and moving to the doorway so she stood shoulder to shoulder with Reese. “I sent a copy to all the other wineries we’re on friendly terms with. Oh, wait—that wouldn’t be you, would it?”
“Dick, go home,” Reese said. “We’ve got everything under control here.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really. I know you’re still pissed about my grandpa not selling you the east acreage and the fact that we won those three medals, and—”
“And the fact that your wife ran off with your hottie winemaker,” Larissa added cheerfully. “Sorry about that.”
Dick flushed crimson, and for a moment Reese worried he might take a swing at Larissa. Instead, he tried another tack.
“You’d better make sure you have those event permits in order,” he snapped. “I have a friend who works for the county. I’m having lunch with him t
omorrow, and it would be a shame if you held an event out here without having the proper permits.”
“Goodnight, Dick,” Reese said, and shut the door in his face. She turned to Larissa. “You did get the permits, right?”
Larissa rolled her eyes. “Of course. He’s just being a—well, I was going to say dick, but that’s an insult to penises everywhere. Hey, speaking of penises—”
“We were not speaking of penises,” Reese said.
“We could start,” Sheila called from the sofa.
Reese’s cell phone rang, and for the second time in five minutes, she was grateful that the sound of ringing had saved her from an awkward conversation. She snatched the phone off the end table as Sheila and Larissa got down to the business of discussing genitals.
“Hello?” she said as she stepped into the hallway.
“Hi, Reese.”
The voice made her throat clench. Not an unpleasant sensation, and not unfamiliar, either. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing until she felt herself grow dizzy.
“Clay. Um, hello. Hi. Good evening.”
“Just wanted to make sure Sheila’s okay to drive,” he said. “I’m heading past there on my way back to the hotel. Eric said you guys were drinking wine, and if she’s had too much, I’m happy to pick her up.”
“Oh,” Reese said, gathering her bearings. “I’m pretty sure she’s fine. One bottle split three ways over the course of two hours—” She held the phone away from her ear. “Sheila, you okay to drive?”
“Is that my dashing and considerate husband? He’s so getting lucky tonight.”
“Um, no. No, it’s Clay.”
Sheila looked up from her station on the sofa. “Clay?”
“Offering a ride.”
Larissa grinned. “I can think of a lot of women who’d take him up on that.”
Reese rolled her eyes and put the phone back to her ear. “We’re all fine, but thanks for the offer.” She hesitated, not ready to end the call, though she wasn’t sure why. “Everything okay there?”
Clay cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure. Just catching up on old times—college, girls, jail terms, stuff like that.”