by Elise Faber
Talbot shook his head. “I’ve got my bag in my car. I’ll shower when you’re done.”
He strode to the door. I headed for the bathroom.
“Oh hey,” I said just before I went inside. “What’s the name of the winery?”
“Lakeland Lucha.”
I froze. “Really?”
“Have you had it?”
I laughed. “Two bottles of their Chardonnay last night. It’s good.”
Talbot grinned. “That’s why you took so long to answer the door.”
“Shut it, you,” I said with a glare, chuckling as I pushed into the bathroom. “Clothes. Shower. Successful business meeting.”
He saluted as I shut the door and started up the water.
What were the odds that Talbot had a meeting at the winery whose variety I’d just downed like grape juice instead of alcohol the night before because it was so good?
Knowing the world was sometimes a strange, small place, I smiled and stepped into the hot water, taking the quickest shower on record, wrapping myself in a towel and leaving it running because Talbot had called out to me, letting me know he’d made it back inside and was waiting in the hall for his turn. Decent, I opened the door and hurried past him to the bedroom to get dressed.
Of course, if I’d known what was about to happen at the very winery we were headed to, I would have been a lot less sanguine.
I certainly wouldn’t have been laughing as we rushed to the car thirty minutes later, giggling when Talbot jokingly called me a lush.
And I definitely wouldn’t have been planning on buying a case of the Chardonnay.
Or maybe two.
But I didn’t know what . . . or rather, who awaited me.
Nine
Aaron
I glanced at my phone, presumably to check the time since my important Hollywood client was nearing ten minutes late for our meeting. But, in reality, I was checking to see if Maggie had texted back.
Because I’d never expected my Hollywood client to be on time.
Because I was really hoping that Mags would have texted back.
I’d spent too long crafting a single sentence, probably a pathetically long time considering it had now been more than twelve hours without a response.
I was trying to figure out if I should send something else—something like, Hey. It’s Aaron. I was an ass and I’m sorry. Can we talk?—when I saw the dust kicking up in the distance. A shiny black SUV maneuvered its way along the curving road that led up to the stone and wooden entrance of the vineyard.
We’d closed bookings to any tastings today, in deference to our guest’s star power. Not that we’d had to turn people away, since it was a weekday and pretty damned early in the morning for drinking.
But apparently Talbot Green was a big name in town, and he and his girlfriend required privacy.
I glanced to my right, to the trio of managers from this branch of Lakeland Lucha, who oversaw everything day to day at our California location, as well as our marketing team, who were in charge of U.S. promotion. I was superfluous for this meeting, but it was important to Carlos that I be here to “feel” Talbot out.
I got it—in a monetary sense, rather than Carlos’s bare feet wisdom. But the point was that we were going to spend a lot of marketing dollars on this deal, and it needed to be worth it.
I slipped my cell into my pocket just as the SUV pulled through the stone archway and navigated its way up to our little crowd of wine people.
It slid to a stop, the engine turned off, and the passenger door popped open.
I’d already walked over, readying to assist Talbot’s girlfriend out of the car, when I heard it.
Laughter.
My laughter. Or rather, the laughter that was supposed to be meant for me, and only me.
Feet sliding to a stop, I watched a black slack-covered leg appear from behind the door then another. My gaze drew up, taking in the shapely hips, the waist I’d gripped too many times to count, the breasts that were more luscious now than they’d been a decade before. I saw a glimpse of golden skin in the V of her shirt. I took in the gleaming brown locks, a lush bottom lip, a rosebud top one. I counted the freckles on her left cheek—one, two, three, four. I—
Talbot and his girlfriend.
Fuck.
I was too late.
She was still laughing as she slid clear of the door, slamming the metal panel shut and turning to face me.
Maggie faltered, lips parting in surprise, eyes widening.
“Sweetheart,” a man I presumed to be Talbot said as he came around the front of the SUV. “Is everything okay?”
Sweetheart. Girlfriend.
Fuck.
The man slid an arm over Maggie’s shoulders, glanced down at her then up at me, expression curious. “Hi,” he said, keeping his arm in place, but extending the other in my direction. “I’m Talbot. Nice to meet you.”
Bile burned the back of my throat.
My mind was stuck in the perpetual cycle of sweetheart, girlfriend, Maggie, Talbot.
And fuck.
Because there were plenty of f-bombs floating around my brain as well. Enough that it took me several awkward seconds to lift my own hand and shake Talbot’s.
“Aaron,” I said. “Nice to meet you.” I turned my gaze to Maggie. “Mags,” I murmured, knowing that it was too late but wanting her to know that I’d finally got it, that I was growing up. I could be polite, even though it was killing me to see she was with another man.
I got that it had been ten years and clearly, she’d been with other people. But this was Mags. She was supposed to have been mine, and . . . she wasn’t. But I could still be rational, could show her I’d moved past my anger, that her last words had had some effect.
“It’s good to see you.” A beat as I struggled to smother what came out next . . . and failed, obviously, because the next words that crossed my lips were, “I’ve missed you.”
She gasped slightly, her cheeks blazing with pink even as her chin lifted. “Good to see you,” she said and stepped out from beneath Talbot’s shoulder, heading over to the grouping of my employees huddled at the entrance to the cellar.
I watched her shoulders rise and fall on a deep inhale and slow exhale, knowing I was staring but unable to stop myself. The sun had gilded her skin. Those black slacks encased curves I’d once known intimately, and finally, finally I understood how much my anger had hidden.
Want.
I wanted.
Need.
I needed.
Desire.
I was aching with it.
And she was with someone else.
A man who cleared his throat, tugging my focus back to him and the fact that my hand was still wrapped around his.
I pulled back, cleared my throat. “Sorry.” I sucked in a breath, forced my mind to stop racing and focus on what needed to happen. This meeting to go smoothly. Me to feel out this man. My team given the opportunity to give the presentation they’d worked so hard to prepare to a Hollywood celebrity. “Please, come over and we’ll show you around.”
“Thanks,” he said, bleeping the locks on the SUV and walking alongside me. “You said your name was Aaron?”
I nodded. “Aaron Weaver. My business partner, Carlos, and I own this winery and a few others.”
“I see.” His eyes were on the horizon, feet slowing before we got too close to the rest of my employees. “And how do you know Maggie?”
A quietly probing question. One I would have asked if I were in his position.
“We grew up together.”
“In Utah?”
I nodded again.
“Hmm.”
Slow steps moving forward, slow enough they gave me the opportunity to ask, “How long have you and Maggie been together?”
“Three years.”
Three. Years.
A total gut punch. I had thought I’d do some thinking and tell Mags I’d realized I had been an idiot, that I’d changed my mind and
wanted to see what ten years of apart might bring us if we found a way back together. I’d thought she might not be receptive, and I knew that would have been my fault.
But I’d never considered that she might be with someone else.
Fuck.
“Talbot?” Maggie’s voice penetrated the red haze of my spiraling mind and drew my focus like a laser beam.
But she wasn’t looking at me.
I thought I might throw up.
“Yeah, babe?” Talbot said, closing the distance between them, heading over to Mags and slipping his arm around her again. She didn’t react, didn’t pull away, as I half-hoped.
Because they’d been together for three years. They were comfortable. They’d built something.
They’d built. I’d destroyed.
I hung back as introductions were made, as hands were shaken, as my managers began the tour, and I knew I was supposed to be evaluating Talbot, seeing if he’d fit with our brand and image, suss out Carlos’s bare feet sensibilities, but my eyes didn’t work for anyone but Maggie.
Three weeks, and I’d realized a critical truth.
But I was three years too late.
Someone opened the cellar door, and I knew the plan was that they’d lead the group down into the private tasting room, a space that was ensconced in a softly lit, cool-year-round corner of the bottom floor.
Wine would be served, paired with delectable treats from a menu that had been prepared for Talbot and his girlfriend by our talented on-site chef.
Then they’d proceed forward through the cellar, learn about the wine-making process before moving out into the hills to see our vines, dormant and naked of leaves during this time of year.
And . . . I just couldn’t.
I. Couldn’t.
Letting the door close, cutting me off from the rest of the group, I spun away and hauled ass out into vineyard.
Then I did something I’d never thought I would do.
I sank to the dirt, pressed the bare skin of my palms to the earth, and I tried to ground myself in everything I’d built, everything Carlos and I had ahead of us.
I did everything I could to push away the past and to think of the future.
I did everything I could to focus on the rough dirt, the heat of the sun beating down on me, to feel the soft whisper of the wind against my skin.
I did everything I could to forget about the woman inside that private tasting room.
Everything wasn’t enough.
Because I couldn’t forget her, no matter how hard I tried.
Ten
Maggie
I slipped away from Talbot as he gushed over one of the tasty appetizers the winery’s chef had prepared and tried to process what had happened not thirty minutes before.
What had happened. Ha.
I was trying to process Aaron.
Here.
In California. Two hours from me.
“You’ve met Aaron, our owner,” Celeste, one of the marketing strategists for the winery I’d met outside had said when I left him and Talbot, mind spinning, trying to make sense of . . .
Why in the ever-loving fuck Aaron was in California.
Why he was apparently the owner of a winery in California when the Aaron I’d known hadn’t even drank.
And being kids from a small town, kids with plenty of open spaces and safe streets to drunkenly make our way home, homes that were out in the middle of nowhere with nothing exciting going on . . . and our group of friends had perfected underaged drinking.
But not Aaron.
Never Aaron.
He’d driven us home. He’d held back hair as we’d christened the porcelain goddess and provided ibuprofen and water bottles for the rough wakeups the following mornings, but he hadn’t gotten drunk alongside us.
And now he owned a winery.
It made no sense.
None of this made any sense.
I drifted through the door as Talbot continued to munch and drink—my friend and client was never happier than while eating good food and drinking good wine. The opening led to a set of stairs leading down. Knowing that Tal would be otherwise occupied with the food and the winery’s team for a while, I figured I may as well take a look around.
The staircase led to a narrow hallway, but instead of giving off creepy, ax murderer vibes, I was intrigued. Stone lined the walls, soft lights overhead made sure there weren’t any scary shadows. And the hall was short, leading to another door, this one open and showing off a large space that was filled with huge wooden barrels.
I stepped through into the cellar that was more football field than home wine storage and spent a few moments gaping at the sheer volume.
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
I jumped and whirled around, seeing a man with a Lakeland Lucha T-shirt, his dark hair peppered with gray, but his brown eyes filled with amusement.
“Sorry.” His lips twitched.
My hand was over my heart, the organ having skipped a few beats due to the words that had surprised me out of my reverie.
“My fault,” I told him. “I”—I waved a hand at the rows and rows of giant barrels—“just wow. I didn’t expect it to be this big.”
He lifted a brow.
I felt my cheeks heat as I processed my words and how they could be taken, but aside from that brow, his reply didn’t let on that he’d caught the double entendre. Apparently, that was me and my issue. Cool. Another to add to the list. I was supposed to be good at words, at picking them carefully. That I’d somehow gone down the path of innuendos told me how much seeing Aaron had rattled my typically professional demeanor.
“I’m Maggie,” I said, lifting my chin, pulling myself back into the present and the job I was supposed to be doing, and extending my hand.
“Harry.” We shook then he tilted his head to the side, asked, his tone curious “What did you expect?”
I let my gaze drift back to the barrels. “A small family operation, I guess.”
A chuckle.
“Why did you laugh?” I asked, turning back.
His beard twitched when he smiled at me. “Only that Lakeland Lucha is global. Carlos and Aaron recently expanded the operation to Italy.”
“Italy?” I gasped.
He nodded.
“Where else have they expanded?”
“The winery in France. Here. And they still have their original location in Utah.”
“Utah?” I asked, gaping.
Another chuckle. “I know. Not the typical wine region, but Carlos has been growing a variety of ice wine there for a little more than a decade. The results over the last few seasons have really taken off, enabled Lakeland to grow.”
“Wow,” I said, eyeing the barrels again, wondering why I wanted to run my fingers over the rough-looking wood.
“We make Chardonnay here, though.”
I grinned. “Not much ice in these parts.”
“No,” Harry said. “Can’t say there is.”
“I’ve had the Chardonnay from here,” I told him. “I really enjoyed it.”
“Glad to hear.”
I bit my lip. “Is it okay if I look around?”
“Seeing as you’re already doing it?” There, that brow lifted again. See? The innuendos were my issue. “I’m teasing,” he said, no doubt because my face had paled, and I’d been trying to summon an excuse or apology to my tongue. “Look away.” He waved a hand at the barrels. “The employee areas are marked with signs, so be sure to not enter those parts without an escort.”
“Will the wine guards get me?” I teased back, starting to understand the mischief in the man’s expression. It was hard to discern, but it was there.
Harry’s beard twitched again. “No, but there is some machinery that can be dangerous. Unless you want me to give you a tour and explain the process of making wine?” That brow lifted once more.
I stifled a shudder, wanting to learn the process of wine-making about as much as I had wanted to learn about coding for
arrays during my date last night.
Drinking wine? Yes. I was all about that.
Learning about the chemicals and fermentation and the notes of honey and oak Talbot had been waxing poetic about upstairs was why I’d gone off exploring on my own in the first place.
“Thanks for the offer . . .” I began.
“But not necessary.” He picked up a clipboard with another beard twitch. “Good. I have work to do. You’ll avoid those Employee-Only areas?”
I nodded. “Employee areas. Avoided. Check.” Another nod, but then I paused, asked, “Is it an issue if I go look at the vines?”
Harry shook his head. “No,” he said. “Though, they’re not much to look at this time of year. Still, feel free to walk the hills if you want. There’s a door on the other side of the cellar. You might not see any grapes, but you’d be in for a nice view.”
“A nice view sounds perfect.” I smiled. “Thanks.”
“Yup.”
He slipped out into the hall, and I spent the next few minutes making my way through the barrels. God, they were huge. Twice as tall as me and sitting on racks that looked far too spindly to support them. I kept having to blink away the image of one after another of the stands collapsing, the barrels tipping to the side, wine bursting out and filling the space—
Making a wine swimming pool.
Hmm. I could get behind that.
Giggling to myself, I kept walking. I spied the door on the opposite end of the space that was marked overhead with an exit sign and pushed through.
Then had to bite back another gasp.
I’d expected more stairs leading up, but instead this door led to the outside, to a blindingly bright panoramic view of the vineyard.
“Oh, wow,” I murmured. The only thing that was green were some strips of vegetation between the vines, the grapes and leaves having been pruned back to the brown stalks of the plants themselves. The sun was high overhead, the sky blue and cloudless . . . and it was quiet.
No traffic noise. No smog.
Just the soft whisper of the wind, the warmth of the sun shining down.