Maggie grimaced. “Sorry. I meant to think that, not say it.”
Morgan plucked the seating chart out of Maggie’s hands. “I’m going inside to start moving tables.” She stepped in front of Griffin and her shoulders went stiff. “I need to tell you again how sorry I am, Griffin. I get that you don’t have much of a reason to believe me, but I’m sorry about the tasting room and the fire and...everything.”
Maggie held her breath as they both waited for his response. “Your dad told me you worked all summer to pay back some of the money he gave me for the damages.”
Morgan nodded. “I couldn’t cover all of it,” she admitted, “but I’ve basically been his indentured servant for months. Every penny goes to that.”
“I appreciate it,” Griffin told her. “You might have heard something similar happened when I was your age.”
“You and your friends were out here drinking and a cigarette caused the fire.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. Maggie could tell he liked discussing his mistakes about as much as Morgan did. “I didn’t stick around to make amends,” he said. “That’s part of why I’m back here now. It says a lot about your character that you took responsibility for what you did.” He inclined his head. “Cole was willing to take the fall.”
“I’d never let him do that,” Morgan answered without hesitation.
“That shows character, too. I misjudged you after the fire, Morgan. I’m sorry.”
“You were right about me back then,” Morgan whispered and it broke Maggie’s heart to see her sister wipe at her cheeks. “But I’m trying to do better.”
Griffin gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s all any of us can do.”
“Thanks,” Morgan said and headed into the tasting room.
Maggie watched her walk in and then moved toward Griffin.
“I think your sister and I are square now,” he said.
Instead of answering, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders, went up on tiptoe and kissed him.
Chapter Seven
“Want some help?”
Morgan jumped at the sound of Cole’s voice in the quiet space, tripping over a chair and landing on her back end on the floor.
Mortification poured through her as she scrambled to her feet. “Way to scare me half to death,” she said, glaring at him as he grinned. “You think that’s funny?”
“It was like you thought I was some demented clown coming after you,” he said, stifling a chuckle, but not very well.
“Not the clown part,” she muttered. “For sure demented.”
“Sorry,” he said, his voice and his gaze gentling. “Are you okay?”
Why did he have to be so darn cute that he made her heart race and all her defenses fade away? No. Morgan squeezed shut her eyes and shored up her walls. He’d pretty much told her he didn’t like her. He’d given the stupid excuse of not being good enough for her. But it was only an excuse.
“I’m fine.” She dusted off her palms, then winced. Turning over her hand, she noticed a small piece of wood embedded in the fleshy pad.
“What is it?” Cole took her hand before she could pull it away.
“A splinter.” She tugged but he didn’t let go. “I’ll take care of it when I get home.”
“We have a first-aid kit here,” he told her, his work-roughened hand encircling her wrist. His skin was warm against hers and sent tiny sparks shooting down her spine.
“I don’t need it.” She yanked her arm out of his grasp and pinched the skin with her uninjured hand. It stung but the splinter didn’t pop out.
“Don’t be stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“Afraid?”
She glanced at him sharply. His expression remained sympathetic and slightly challenging.
“No,” she breathed even though she was afraid far too often. Not of a stupid splinter. But most everything else. Afraid of being alone, of not having friends, of the crowd she’d worked so hard to fit in with discovering she wasn’t really as cool as she acted. Afraid of disappointing her dad and Maggie—although not Grammy. Disappointing Grammy was a given.
“Seriously, Morgan.” Cole’s voice was more insistent now. “You’re freaking me out. Let’s just take care of the splinter. Please.”
“Fine,” she whispered, sick of arguing for the sake of arguing.
He put a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the bar on one side of the tasting room. The space felt different than it had when she’d been here before, more open somehow.
“Stay here,” Cole told her. “I’ll be right back.”
He was acting like the injury was serious and while Morgan knew a splinter was almost nothing, she couldn’t help but enjoy the attention. It was the kindest he’d been to her in ages.
Maybe she should have faked a sprained ankle. That would have garnered some big-time sympathy. She swallowed back a guilty giggle at the thought. This was her turning over a new leaf, she reminded herself. Honest Morgan. Straight-as-an-arrow Morgan.
Cole returned, holding a white plastic box with red lettering. “I try to clean up the place every night, but Griffin’s still working on the wall behind the bar and there’s always sawdust and bits of wood flying.”
“This isn’t your fault.” She reached for the box but he nudged her hand away.
“I’ve got it.” He frowned, studying her. “You look pale. Do you need to sit down?”
“It’s a splinter,” she reminded him.
“Right.” He took an individually wrapped antiseptic wipe from the first-aid kit, opened it and then dabbed at her palm.
She sucked in a breath at the sting.
“I’m hurting you,” he whispered.
“It’s fine.”
He nodded, then finished cleaning the wound. He pulled tweezers from a plastic case and dabbed at the ends with the wipe. “What are you doing at the vineyard anyway?”
“Helping Maggie arrange the tables for the fund-raiser this weekend.”
“Your sister has been working on the event for a while. I haven’t seen you in the mix before.”
“I didn’t really want to come back here,” she admitted. “It’s too embarrassing knowing I caused Griffin so much extra work.”
“It was an accident,” he said quietly.
“A stupid one.” Morgan felt color heat her cheeks as she thought about that night and her clumsy attempts at seducing Cole. What did she know about seduction? A boy had kissed her only once in her life—Brady Rechtin in fifth grade. His teeth had clinked hers and he’d tasted like cheese puffs. Not a great memory.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Cole told her. “I’m sure Griffin understands.”
“I think he does.” Morgan shrugged. “So I guess it’s good that I came today. I don’t have to keep trying to avoid him. Plus I didn’t want Maggie to be alone. Did you hear about what happened at the debate? How Jason Stone went after her so hard?”
“My brother’s girlfriend was there,” Cole answered. “She said Maggie freaked out and accused Trevor of cheating on her.”
“It wasn’t an accusation. Maggie caught him right before they were supposed to get married. That’s why she walked away from the wedding.”
“Harsh,” Cole murmured. “You might want to look away. It’s in there pretty deep, so I might have to dig around a bit.”
A small groan escaped Morgan’s lips. She really wished she would have waited until she got home to deal with the splinter. It felt so odd to have Cole fussing over her like this. She turned her head away from him, taking in the tasting room in its entirety.
It was cooler than she remembered from that one night. Rustic shiplap covered two of the walls while the others were painted a muted gray color. The ceilings were vaulted and a huge wrought iron chandelier made a
perfect centerpiece for the airy space. Although tables filled the room, it still felt open and large. She could imagine tons of great events out here with the breathtaking view of the fields out the long bank of windows on one side.
She gritted her teeth as she felt the tweezers press against her skin but kept still. She was a lot of things but a wimp when it came to pain wasn’t one of them.
“Got it,” Cole said a few seconds later.
She turned back to see him holding up a short sliver of wood. “All that trouble for something so small,” she said, taking the antiseptic wipe from the counter and pressing it to her palm again.
“It wasn’t any trouble,” he assured her, his voice warm and gentle.
She was such a sucker for gentle.
“Delilah...my brother’s girlfriend,” he explained, “said a couple of her friends think Maggie’s just making up the business about Trevor cheating to make the Stones look bad again.”
“That’s not true,” Morgan said, feeling her temper swell. “She’d never do something so underhanded.”
“I didn’t say I believed it.” He put away the tweezers and snapped the box closed. “Delilah is kind of a bi—” He paused, took a breath. “She likes to gossip and can get pretty nasty.”
“How are things at your house?” Morgan asked quietly, then almost regretted the question when Cole stiffened. She knew he didn’t like to talk about his family and all the trouble his dad and brother seemed to attract.
“Dad’s not drinking as much lately,” he said finally. “And mainly sticking to beer instead of hard liquor. That helps.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know how to even begin responding to that.
“Sorry you asked?” He gave a harsh laugh.
“I’m not.” She placed her hand on top of his and squeezed. “I’m glad things are getting better. You deserve that.”
“Do I?” The notion seemed to surprise him. “What about you? How’s your dad?”
“Still taking an interest in me,” she said, “which is equally nice and annoying.” When he gave her a pointed look, she sighed. “Okay, it’s more nice than annoying. It’s going pretty good, actually. Maggie said she’d help convince Dad to let me go to the homecoming dance.”
He pulled his hand from hers. “So you can sneak out of it and hit the party circuit with Jocelyn and her loser group?”
“No.” Morgan crossed her arms over her chest. “I just want to go the dance.”
“Who’s your date?” he demanded, his tone chilly. “Zach or Jonah?”
Zach and Jonah were two of the guys who ran with the wild group of juniors and seniors she pretended were her friends. Both were total meatheads and not at all potential date material as far as Morgan was concerned. She shook her head. “I wouldn’t go with either of them.”
“That’s smart at least. Then who?”
“I don’t have a date,” she whispered. “No one has asked me.”
“Someone will.”
“I doubt it.” She stepped away from the bar, glancing at the seating chart she’d taken from Maggie. She needed to act casual so Cole didn’t think she was fishing for an invite. Because she wasn’t. Not even a little bit. “I’ll probably go with girlfriends.”
“I’d ask you.”
The words were spoken so quietly, Morgan wasn’t even sure she’d heard them correctly.
She turned to him. “You would or you are?”
He stood on the other side of the table, staring at her like he still couldn’t figure out what she was doing there.
“You already know I’m no good for you.” His voice was rough and pleading, as if having this conversation was physically painful for him.
“That’s not true.” She gripped the edge of the table, moving it several inches to the right, needing something to distract her from the intensity of Cole’s gaze. “You keep saying that, but I think it’s just an excuse because you’re not interested in me.” She threw up her hands. “I get it, Cole. Fine. I never said I wanted you to ask me in the first place. Forget this whole conversation even happened. I’m going to find Maggie.”
Swallowing back the pain from another rejection, she started for the door. Why did she keep torturing herself with a boy who was clearly not at all interested in her?
Before she took two steps, warm hands grasped her arms. Cole turned her to face him. His hands moved up until he cupped her cheeks. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
Morgan’s breath caught in her throat. Although it wasn’t anywhere near how she’d planned it, the kiss was the most perfect thing she’d ever experienced.
His lips were soft against hers and it felt like she was being engulfed in a tornado of butterflies. She wanted it to go on forever, but all too soon he lifted his head.
“You taste like mint gum,” she murmured.
Cole tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a half smile playing at one corner of his mouth. “Is that good?”
“Very good. Way better than cheese puffs.”
His grin widened and Morgan realized she was babbling about how he tasted. She might not be super experienced, but she knew enough to understand that was not what a girl was supposed to do after a boy kissed her.
“You taste like the stars at midnight,” he told her, his voice low as if he were sharing a secret.
Her heart seemed to skip a beat and she totally forgot her embarrassment. “That’s not a thing.”
“It’s our thing,” he countered and she loved the sound of that. “I know that I’m supposed to make some big production of asking, but I don’t want to wait. If your dad says it’s okay, will you go to homecoming with me, Morgan?”
“Yes,” she whispered and then he kissed her again.
* * *
Griffin wrapped his arms around Maggie, slanting his head to deepen the kiss. As their tongues mingled, it was difficult to know where she ended and he began. He wanted to stay like this forever.
Finally she pulled away, her lips swollen and her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon. From the way his heart raced in his chest, he imagined he looked much the same way.
“See how simple that was?” she asked with a laugh, and he couldn’t tell whether she was talking to him or to herself.
“I was thinking more along the lines of amazing,” he told her, “but simple works, too.”
She laughed again.
“I missed that sound,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “I missed you, Maggie May.”
But before he could kiss her again, the sound of a truck engine could be heard coming up the driveway. She shifted out of his embrace, taking several steps away from him and smoothing a hand over the front of the pale gray shift dress she wore.
An older-model Chevy pulled to a stop in front of the tasting room and Thomas Helton, Harvest’s cellar manager, got out. “Hey, Grif,” the man called. “Marcus asked me to stop by and check the barrels they brought up here for the gala.”
“No problem,” Griffin shouted back, turning to Maggie as Thomas disappeared around the side of the building.
“What was that?”
She frowned. “Nothing.”
“You jumped away from me like we were teenagers with your dad about to catch us in the back seat.”
“Well, I don’t know what this...” She waved her hand between the two of them as if fanning the flames of a bonfire. “What this is right now. Until we figure it out, I want to keep it private.”
Irritation flickered along the back of his neck. “What’s there to figure out?”
She chewed on her bottom lip, clearly thinking about how to answer. Overthinking, as far as Griffin was concerned. Never a good thing.
“There’s going to be backlash from the debate,” she said finally. “The campaign will kick into high gear in the next couple of weeks. I have the gala to get
through and you’re almost finished with the tasting room.”
“Which means?”
“You tell me,” she shot back. “The last I heard, you were heading out once the renovations were complete. You’ve paid your debts and all that. Has something changed?”
Yes, he wanted to shout. He’d changed. She’d changed him. But the words wouldn’t form. “I don’t know.”
“Then we need to keep things simple,” she said, almost sadly.
“Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly. But his body and his heart screamed in protest. Simple was never going to be enough with Maggie, but he wasn’t sure how to give more. It had been so damn long since he’d tried.
“I’m going to check on Morgan,” she said after a moment. “Thank you for coming over last night. It meant a lot to me.”
“Go to the reunion dance with me,” he blurted.
She stilled. “Excuse me?”
“The dance,” he said slowly. “A date. You and me.”
“You don’t go to high school dances.”
“Not in high school,” he admitted. “But it’s different now.” He took a step closer to her. “I’m different.”
“Griffin.”
“Don’t make me beg, Maggie.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “But I will if that’s what it takes. It’ll be the perfect night. You and me and some cheesy dance moves. I understand your need to keep your private life private, but it’s your ten-year reunion. You have to go.”
“You don’t.”
“I want to. I want to be with you.”
She sucked in a breath, then whispered, “Okay.”
“I’ll get you the biggest corsage you’ve ever seen,” he promised, unable to hide his grin.
She smiled back at him. “That might be pushing it.”
“The white tux I’m already planning is pushing it.” He stepped back and did a few impromptu dance moves, ending with an elaborate twirl.
“Who are you right now?” Maggie asked with a laugh.
The man trying to win your heart, he thought, but only bobbed his head again, feeling like John Travolta in his Saturday Night Fever days when she clapped and wolf whistled.
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