Let It Breathe

by Tawna Fenske

  “I love Chardonnay.”

  “Perfect. More for you. See how well this is working out?”

  “You’re asking me to trust you,” she said flatly.

  “No, I’m telling you to trust me. I’ll earn it—believe me, I’ve been working on that. But I need you to give me a chance.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “You’re right. I owe you a chance.”

  “Damn straight. Next doubt?”

  She sighed and nibbled the corner of her toast. “You slept with my cousin.”

  “You slept with my best friend. Actually, you married him. That’s much worse, but I’m not dwelling on it. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because that marriage only lasted a year. And ours is going to last a lot longer than that.”

  Reese choked on her toast. Clay handed her a glass of orange juice, patting her back until she stopped coughing.

  She stared at him through watery eyes. “Did you just propose to me?”

  “Of course not. I’ll be much more romantic when I propose. I’m only informing you that I will be proposing eventually, and when I do, you will say yes and we will live happily ever after.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “That’s why you love me. And also why you’ll say yes to my proposal.”

  Reese set her toast back on the plate, and Clay grabbed her hand. He lifted it to his mouth, kissing the back of her knuckles. Reese sighed with pleasure.

  “Are you going to argue?” he asked. “Tell me you don’t love me? That you don’t want to be with me?”

  She looked up from her toast and met his eyes. Despite the cockiness in his speech, she saw real fear there. Reese swallowed as her eyes filled with tears.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “Can’t argue or can’t be with me?”

  “Both,” she said, swallowing hard. “Clay, I’m scared. I don’t think I’m cut out for long-term relationships.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  She laughed. “That’s your argument?”

  “No, that’s just the start of it. Want to know what I think?”

  “Does it matter if I do?”

  “No, I’m going to tell you anyway.” He took a bite of toast and chewed, while Reese wiggled her fingers inside his grip. His hand felt good—warm and solid and strong.

  “I think you need to stop judging yourself by other people’s relationship standards,” he said. “You’ve been listening to Eric wax poetic about relationships being hard work and your parents spout about soul mates and Larissa yammer on about the importance of good sex and Axl tell you—actually, I’m a little afraid to guess what your grandpa’s relationship advice entails.”

  “Nudist colonies,” she said. “Also, he says I should ignore everyone else’s relationships and focus on setting my own standards.”

  “Oh,” he said. “In that case, I agree with him. The last part, not the nudist colonies. Smart grandpa.”

  Reese smiled. “I hate to say it, but you’re right.”

  Clay looked at her. “Really?”

  She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Really. I know I’ve been a bitch. I know I’ve been a cynic. I know I haven’t given you the benefit of the doubt these last few days, but I’m going to change that. I want to change that. I want to be with you, Clay. I do.”

  He laughed. “Damn. I didn’t figure you’d be this easy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You had me naked three days after you got back to town. You bent me over my own kitchen counter last night. You really didn’t think I’d be easy?”

  He grinned and set the breakfast tray on the nightstand. Then he leaned over and kissed her. He tasted like orange juice and red peppers, and Reese was ready to drag him down on top of her and prove just how willing she was to make things work.

  At least until her front door burst open.

  “Reese? Reesey, where are you?”

  She pulled away from Clay and sat up in bed. “Larissa?” she yelled.

  Her cousin shoved through the bedroom door and dropped onto the end of the bed, cleavage bouncing under what was either a halter top or a jockstrap.

  Larissa surveyed them and smiled. “Oh, good. You’re doing it.”

  “Not at the moment,” Clay said. “But give us five more minutes alone—”

  “Out!” Reese commanded. A flicker of hurt flashed in Larissa’s eyes, so Reese tugged the sheet up tighter around her breasts and softened her tone. “I love you more than anyone else in the world, except maybe Clay—”

  “So you finally admit it?” Larissa grinned. “The part about Clay, I mean. Obviously, you love me.”

  “I do love you,” Reese said. “And I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. But can you please get the hell out of my bedroom?”

  “But I have something to tell you, and I have to do it before the others get here.”

  Clay raised an eyebrow. “Others?”

  “Let me put some clothes on first,” Reese said. “Then we can have a conversation in the living room like a normal family would.”

  Larissa rolled her eyes, but stood up and trudged toward the living room. “Normal families are overrated.”

  Clay grinned and shut the door behind her, while Reese scrambled out of bed and pulled on a rumpled pair of pajama pants and a thin tank top with no bra. She turned around to see Clay watching her and felt the warmth flood her body all over again.

  “That’s a good look for you,” he said.

  “Thanks. Maybe I’ll start dressing this way in the tasting room.”

  “You’d certainly make my cork pop.”

  Reese laughed. “It’s nice to see the old Clay is still in there somewhere.”

  “Come on,” he said, taking her by the hand. “Let’s see what Larissa wants.”

  They trudged out to the living room, where Larissa was bent over the baby opossum’s cage, cooing softly to the little animal. She looked up as they entered and gave them a broad smile.

  “The morning-after glow looks good on you,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Reese said. “And in case you missed it in there, I’m sorry.”

  “No need,” Larissa said. “I have some growing up to do. I know that. I’ve been playing around for too long with boys and booze, and while I’m not a degenerate lush like Clay was—”

  “Thank you.”

  Larissa smiled. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” he said. “I was a degenerate lush.”

  “Right. And I don’t want to become that. So I’m going to get my shit together, starting with making better choices about men. Which is why I only let your veterinarian get to second base last night.”

  Reese blinked, processing her cousin’s words. “Dr. Wally?”

  “Yes. I met him at some art thing last night and we hit it off and one thing led to another and—”

  “Um, congratulations?”

  Larissa smiled. “Thank you. I figured you weren’t going to be dating him since you’re madly in love with Clay, so we should recycle the vet and I can date a nice guy for a change.”

  “Very environmentally responsible of you,” Clay pointed out.

  Larissa nodded and looked at Reese. “So are we good?”

  “We’re good.” Reese bit her lip. “I’m sorry, ’Riss. For the things I said yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry, too. You’re a grump sometimes, but you’re still my third-favorite cousin.”

  With that, Larissa lunged and tackled Reese in a perfume-scented bear hug. It felt warm and messy and absolutely perfect, so Reese let Larissa topple them both onto the couch. She felt Clay let go of her hand, but he sat down beside them on the sofa.

  The front door burst open again, and Reese remembered her cousin’s words about the others arriving. She heard the thud of
footsteps in her foyer and wriggled free from Larissa’s hug as June marched in with Jed on her heels. “Honey? Reesey?”

  Reese spit Larissa’s hair out of her mouth. “Doesn’t anyone in this family ever knock?”

  June ignored her and hustled to her side. Jed followed as Axl and an unfamiliar man with a necktie and a neatly trimmed beard came through the wide-open front door.

  “Come on in,” Reese muttered. “Make yourselves at home.”

  Axl scratched his armpit and grinned at the three of them sprawled on the sofa in various states of undress. “Your grandma always liked a good threesome, too.”

  “Morning, everyone,” Clay said, adjusting his boxers. “Good to see you.”

  “You guys, can we maybe do this later?” Reese asked, folding her arms over her chest. “Like after I’ve had time to shower and put on something besides pajamas?”

  “No dice,” Axl insisted. “We’ve got serious vineyard business to discuss.”

  “Should we call Eric?” Clay asked.

  “Hell, yes,” Reese muttered. “That’s just what this situation calls for. My ex-husband.”

  Her father shook his head a little sadly. “Eric’s going to be tied up for a while with Sheila.”

  “And not in the good way,” Axl added.

  “There’s a lot to deal with,” June said. “The police and fire marshal and all. But we’ve been talking it over, and we agreed as a family we don’t want to press charges. How do you feel about that, honey?”

  Reese swallowed. “You want to forgive and forget?”

  “Not forget,” Jed said. “But forgive, yes.”

  “I don’t know that the police will be as forgiving,” Reese pointed out. “There’s the whole arson thing and all.”

  “We’re willing to be character witnesses,” June said. “We know she’s a good person at heart. She just made some really bad decisions.”

  “Haven’t we all?” Larissa said.

  Clay nodded. “Amen.”

  “And if she does go to prison, I can help her out,” Axl said. “I got friends on the inside who can get her in with the right gang, teach her to make a knife out of a pork chop bone, all that good stuff.”

  Reese shook her head, trying to digest it all. “How’s Eric handling it?”

  “Okay, under the circumstances,” Jed said. “We gave him the name of this really good marriage counselor we heard of and—”

  “Whatever,” Axl said, giving Reese a knowing look before waving a dismissive hand. “That’s not important right now. The important thing is that I’ve got your money.”

  “My money?” Reese said. She felt Clay grab her hand, and the comforting squeeze reminded her this wasn’t some bizarre dream.

  “Shit, girl—your money for the construction,” Axl barked. “I told you I’d come through. You know those ’shrooms I’ve been growing?”

  Reese closed her eyes. “Axl, I really appreciate everything you’re trying to do, but illegal drugs are not the way to fund—”

  “Shut up. Who said anything about illegal drugs? I said ’shrooms.”

  “Oregon black truffles, to be more precise.” The man with the necktie stepped forward and offered his hand. Seeming to realize he’d barged into something more intimate than a normal business deal, he flushed bright crimson and began to stammer. “I’m, uh—I’m Tony Gavin, owner of—um, eighteen different fine-dining establishments around the Pacific Northwest.”

  “Reese Clark,” she said automatically, reaching for his hand. “Vineyard manager who doesn’t generally hold meetings in her pajamas.”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “Your family assured me now would be a good time to talk.”

  “It’s fine. Go ahead,” she said. “My family has a warped sense of what ‘good time’ means.”

  “It’s one of our finest qualities,” Axl said, grinning like he’d just figured out how to hot-wire a BMW.

  Tony regarded him awkwardly for a moment, then turned back to Reese. “Your grandfather discovered what we suspect is the largest crop of Oregon black truffles ever found in this state, and he found them right here on your property.”

  “The east woods,” Axl added. “The ones Dick’s been jonesing for all these years. Aren’t you glad I didn’t sell?”

  Tony cleared his throat. “Not only did he discover a highly sustainable, preexisting crop, he and his, um—crew have been working on a cultivation system of adding lime to the soil to raise the pH and alter the soil chemistry while inoculating trees and—”

  “This is what you’ve been doing?” Reese asked Axl. “When you said you were growing ’shrooms, I thought—”

  “Magic mushrooms?” Axl grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got those, too.”

  Tony frowned. “Right. As you may know, Oregon black truffles can sell for more than two hundred and fifty dollars a pound. Given the superior quality of truffles found on your property, I’d like to contract with you to be the exclusive truffle provider for my entire restaurant chain.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Axl said.

  June placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Tell her the other part, Dad.”

  “Right. You know my old place, right?”

  “Right,” Reese said, her head still spinning.

  “We’re converting it into a joint joint.”

  “A what?”

  Reese’s dad cleared his throat. “I believe the correct term is ‘bud and breakfast.’ With Oregon legalizing marijuana last year, pot tourism is becoming a big draw for this whole region.”

  “Wait, you mean all those permits were legit?” Reese blinked. “Axl was doing everything legally?”

  “Maybe not everything—” he began.

  “But the things that matter—the paperwork,” June said. “That’s all legal.”

  “Believe me,” Jed said. “No one’s more surprised than we are.”

  Larissa bounced cheerfully beside her on the sofa. “So we’re saving the vineyard with weed and magic mushrooms. Isn’t it great?”

  Jed and June clasped hands and beamed. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice,” June said, “but it does seem like a workable plan.”

  “So whaddya say?” Axl said, nudging Reese’s knee. “I believe we have a proposal on the table.”

  “A very good one,” Tony added. “I can show you the figures if you’d like. All the paperwork is back in the office, if you’d like to review it, but I can assure you it’s an excellent proposal.”

  “What do you say, Peanut Butter Cup?”

  But Reese wasn’t looking at her grandfather or her parents or her cousin or Tony anymore. She was looking at Clay, who was smiling down at her like they were the only two people in the room.

  “Yes,” Reese said. “I say yes.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Growing up in Oregon’s Willamette Valley made me intimately familiar with the geographic setting of this story, and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the amazing individuals in the wine industry who spent countless months familiarizing me with the nitty-gritty of vineyard operations and winemaking. I’ve taken some creative liberties with the details, and any errors are mine alone.

  Spending time at more than fifty Oregon vineyards while researching this story was certainly no hardship, but a handful of people went above and beyond to make the experience even more incredible. Special thanks to the Ford family at Illahe Vineyards and to Leanna Garrison for helping set up my fabulous time there. Thank you to Michael Lundeen, Forrest Schaad, Michael Caputo, and Peter Rosback for opening your cellar doors and opening my eyes to the incredible passion that drives this industry. You inspired facets of the story and characters that might not have existed if I hadn’t met you.

  I’m grateful to Alex Sokol Blosser at Sokol Blosser Vineyards and to the fine crew at Stoller Vineyards for giving me insight into the cha
llenges of LEED-certified building at Oregon wineries. And thank you to Rebecca Sweet at Van Duzer Vineyards for offering a glimpse into the life of a female vineyard manager.

  Thank you to Angela Perry for the Catholic liturgy, to Larissa Hardesty for letting me steal your name, and to Dan Krokos for help developing Clay in the early stages. Thanks also to Adam Fenske, PsyD, (and awesome cousin to boot!) for your insights into addiction and recovery. I’m also grateful to my veterinarian, Dr. Holly O’Brien, for not batting an eyelash when I started asking questions about alpacas and pot.

  I owe a million hugs and sloppy smooches to my amazing critique partners, Linda Brundage, Cynthia Reese, and Linda Grimes, as well as my terrific beta readers, Larie Borden, Bridget McGinn, and Minta Powelson. You all know the challenges I was facing in my life while writing this book, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for pulling me through both personally and professionally.

  Thank you to the Bend Book Bitches for your unwavering friendship and love of good books. I’m eternally grateful to the readers of my blog, Don’t Pet Me, I’m Writing, for being the best cheering section a girl could ever ask for.

  I owe so much to my amazing agent, Michelle Wolfson, for the extra hand-holding that went on behind the scenes during the creation of this book. Thank you for being my staunchest advocate and most enthusiastic cheerleader. I’m picturing you with a bullwhip and pom-poms.

  Huge thanks to Irene Billings, Anh Schleup, Jennifer Blanksteen, Chris Werner, Michelle Hope Anderson, Nicole Pomeroy, Sharon Turner Mulvihill, and the rest of the fabulous team at Montlake Romance for shepherding this story from “that manuscript gathering dust under my bed” to the book I always knew it could be. I’m especially grateful to Krista Stroever for understanding so precisely where I wanted to go with this story and mapping out the perfect route to get us there. Your belief in this book and its characters reignited my passion for it after all this time.

  Thank you to my parents, Dixie and David Fenske, for all the love, support, and humor over the years. None of this would be possible without you guys. I’m also grateful to my baby brother, Aaron “Russ” Fenske, and his lovely wife, Carlie, for buying so many copies of my books even though I would have given them to you for free.