“Okay, okay,” he assured her. “Anything else you remember?”
“Just little wisps of things.” She smiled and tapped the pillow. “Like this pillow, which, for some reason, takes me back to that time. I don’t know how or why, but it does.”
He didn’t respond for a while, thinking about how complicated and empty it must be for her to have no real memories, or a family to fill in the gaps, or parents to show her pictures and tell her about her childhood. Nothing.
“No wonder you’re so guarded,” he mused.
She sighed and smiled. “I spent about thirteen years being shuffled from family to family, house to house, situation to situation. Every time I let my guard down and started to care or connect, I was sent away.” Her voice hitched. “No one wanted me. At the risk of sounding ridiculously melodramatic, no one has ever wanted me. So it seems safer not to give in to emotions or caring or…connections.”
“What about with men?”
She cocked a brow. “I’ve been with men. Not many, not frequently, but I’ve…tried.”
“And failed?” he guessed.
“No one has the patience to deal with me. I expect it to end. I expect to be…sent away, or they’ll leave. Like Desmond, even though that wasn’t a romantic relationship. He wanted a connection, I know. But I held back, and that’s probably what frustrated him. In anticipation, I sabotage the situation. I’m self-aware enough to know what I’m doing and messed up enough not to stop.”
“Are you going to sabotage things with me?” he asked on a whisper.
“There are things with you?” she teased. “We’re in our first week of knowing each other.”
“I want there to be things with me,” he said, leaning closer to her. “I want there to be lots of things.”
“Like…”
“Like this.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “And this.” He moved to her mouth, taking another kiss and sliding his hand into her messy braid, leaning over her to get more contact. “And anything else I can have, touch, taste, and kiss.”
“Mmm.” A whimper escaped her throat as her whole body rocked a little on the bench. “That could get very…messy.”
“Messy is good, Gracie. It’s real. It’s life. It’s…fun.”
She let out her next breath into his mouth, firing need through him, making him pull her whole body closer, ready to lay her down right on the cellar floor. He coasted a hand down the length of her body, lingering on each curve and dip, itching to get under her clothes.
“The wine,” she whispered. “We need to taste the wine.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“It’ll be ruined.” She kissed him again, harder this time. “And so will I.”
He laughed softly. “Let’s check the wine, then.”
He broke the next kiss slowly, reluctant to let go. She took a second to clear her head, too, finally sitting up and straightening her top, her eyes dark with the same arousal he felt. “You’re awfully tempting, Alex.”
“I’m a firm believer in giving in to temptation.”
She laughed. “I have no doubt of that.”
He stood and reached for her, pulling her up and into his arms. “Come on, Gracie. Let’s taste the wine.”
Keeping his arm around her, he walked her back to the first blend and poured them each a tiny taste. He held it up, but she shook her head.
“Bad luck to toast a taste,” she said. “Ask any vintner.”
He tipped his head in agreement, then sipped when she did. Instantly, he noticed the difference. She must have, too, because her eyes widened. And she swallowed this one.
“It’s better,” he said.
“Richer,” she agreed. “Almost as if it’s been aged.”
“It doesn’t have to be aged.”
“I know, I know.” She held the tiny cup to her nose and sniffed, her eyes closed in deep thought. “It just is missing…something. The micro-oxidation that you can only get from a barrel.”
“Micro-oxidation?” He smiled. “I think it’s missing a whisper of mellowness and a touch of permanence.”
“So we agree it’s missing something.”
He nodded, frowning, tasting again, and feeling more than thinking about the missing ingredient and how to get it. “Last year’s harvest,” he said softly.
“It’s not quite ready.”
“But if you blended it with this, it might add that age that’s missing.”
She shrugged, at least considering the idea. “I suppose we could try. Wineries do mix years sometimes. I wouldn’t want to sell it as an Overlook Glen label, but—”
“But if it hits the mark, we can make it for Scooter and Blue.”
She nodded, her eyes bright with the willingness to try. “Let’s get some and blend it.”
They did, moving like a team in harmony, tasting, testing, and getting it close to right.
“One hour,” she said. “The molecules of the two different wines need an hour to merge and come together.”
“Merge and come together.” He felt his mouth lift in a smile. “Exactly what we should be doing while we wait.”
“Stop it.” She laughed. “We’re not having sex in the wine cellar.”
“Give me one good reason why.”
She breezed by him to the crate where Gertie was clawing for release. “I’ll give you three. Our little friends need some playtime.”
“I need some playtime.”
She chuckled and opened the crate door, and almost immediately the three puppies shot out.
“Whoa!” Alex pivoted and snagged Jack, then ran after Bitsy, while Gracie, as always, cuddled little Gertie.
The namesakes of her childhood memory.
When he had both of them, he brought them back and settled on the floor so they could face each other and keep the puppies somewhat contained and able to crawl, play, lick, and love.
“Everything I want to be doing with you,” he joked, lifting Bitsy to motorboat her sweet little belly.
“I’m excited, Alex,” she said, looking over Gertie’s head.
“Exactly. So put them back into the—”
“About the wine.” She lowered the dog. “I really feel like this might be the answer. We might have a wine I’ve never made before that’s amazing. I wouldn’t have thought of that without you.”
He winked at her. “Let’s wait until we taste it.”
“I have a good feeling about this.”
“Look at you, making wine with feelings instead of oxygen.”
As giddy as their three little pets, they played with the puppies for a while, laughing more than they talked, slipping into an easy rhythm, exchanging the dogs back and forth.
“I can’t wait much longer,” Grace said, checking her phone to see the time. “It’s been fifty minutes.”
“Okay, you stay there,” he said, easing Jack toward her. “I’ll get our taste.”
He poured two tasting cups full and brought them back, grateful that the puppies were settled quietly in Grace’s lap. “Here you go. No toasting.”
She took the cup and held it up for a sniff. “Oh God, Alex.”
“What?” He sat down on the ground close to her, careful not to spill his wine.
“It’s good,” she said. “I think it’s great.”
He had to agree based on the aroma. “You ready?”
“I’m ready.”
They both closed their eyes and drank. And swallowed. And stayed perfectly silent for a few heartbeats, each waiting for the other to respond.
Finally, he opened his eyes to meet her smile.
“You like it, Gracie?”
“It’s the best wine I’ve ever made.”
Satisfaction washed over him. “I think it’s damn good. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what we’re going to serve and bottle for our dry run, which will be anything but dry.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth as if her joy couldn’t be contained.
“And
you know what this wine deserves?” he asked. “Its own label. Let’s make them for the bottles.”
“I have Overlook Glen labels. I don’t think they expect named wine for the dry run they threw at us with zero notice.”
“Exactly. Remember, we’re going to wow them. What were you going to call it? Blue Hawk?”
She shrugged. “That was just one idea.”
“We need something amazing.” He picked up Jack and nuzzled his chunky neck. “Jack Wine.”
“Gertie’s Choice,” she joked.
He laughed. “Bitsy…Bitsy Noir.”
“You’re on to something, but we’re just not there yet.”
“Three dogs…” Grace said.
“Three Dog Night!” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. That’s the wine. The wine we made in this cellar with our three puppies. Three Dog Night.”
“Like the band?”
“It’s actually a real thing. My buddy from Australia used to say if it was freezing at night, it’d take three dogs in bed with you to stay warm. Then it’s a three-dog night.”
Suddenly, all of the puppies barked and made a rush for Alex, climbing onto his legs and chest, pawing their way up. “What do you think, puppers? Want a wine named after you?”
Jack barked wildly. Bitsy turned so hard, she slid off his thigh and nestled between his legs. And Gertie snuggled into his neck and slathered him with kisses.
And Grace? She just watched with a look that told him she’d trade places with those dogs in a heartbeat. And God knew he wanted her to.
Chapter Twelve
Oh Lord, her back hurt.
Grace blinked her eyes open, expecting the normal morning light that poured into her room, but there was only darkness. The cool, comforting darkness of…the wine cellar.
She sat up, realizing she was asleep on the bench, covered with the purple blanket that belonged to the puppies. Blinking, waiting for her eyes to adjust, she slid her gaze to the crate in the corner, expecting to see the dogs, but the door was open, and they were gone.
“Oh God.” She straightened and stood, wincing at the knot in her back, memories of the night before coming back. They’d finished blending, carefully mixing last year’s Pinot into this year’s first press and free run to create more than enough wine for fifty bottles.
Alex—the world’s most relentless person—insisted on carrying each five-gallon container out to the bottling station near the press. At about four thirty, she’d nearly collapsed, and he told her to rest for a few minutes on the bench.
That was the last thing she remembered.
Well, that and the…fun. The laughter. The easiness. A few too many congratulatory kisses and the sexy undercurrent that hummed between them. In fact, if she hadn’t been worried about the chemical balance and oxidation of the wine, they’d probably be waking up next to each other upstairs in her room, balancing a whole different set of chemicals.
She froze midstep at the thought.
That’s where this was going. She knew it. He knew it. Hell, those puppies knew it. It would be hot and crazy and passionate and…messy. She’d develop feelings and an attachment, and then he’d leave, or she’d run, or life would separate them, because that’s how it always happened to Grace Donovan.
It’s been a wonderful year, Grace.
We love having you, Grace.
Oh, honey, you’re like our own daughter. But…this is best for you.
There was always a but. No family, no love, no explanation.
The back door swung open, blinding her with a flash of morning light and a familiar silhouette.
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
She laughed, pushing back some hair, feeling anything but. “Did you ever sleep?” she asked.
“Not a wink. But the wine is almost bottled and…” He angled his head. “I mastered the screw-top machine.”
“Pretty sweet, isn’t it?”
“I admit I get the appeal.”
“Where are the puppies?” she asked, looking past him.
“I’ve got them leashed up out there, all their business done and morning meals completed.”
“On zero sleep? Who are you, Superman?”
He shrugged. “When I’m going hard on a project, I don’t need sleep. This wine, Gracie.” He did a chef kiss with his fingers. “We nailed it.”
“You did,” she corrected. “I would never have thought to use wine aged a year to blend with this.”
“Three Dog Night is going to be a huge hit. Would you think I’m out of my mind if I asked for a blank label? I’ve got the idea for a design in mind and wanted to sketch it out. I have a friend who did some marketing work for Santorini’s, and he texted that he could probably produce something for us in time for the big event, but he needs the measurements and your logo.”
Her jaw loosened. “Did you work any other miracles while I slept like a baby?”
“Managed not to join you, and that is a miracle.” He tapped her nose. “Labels?”
“They’re in the office.” She shot her thumb toward the winery, hearing Ryan’s truck rolling up outside. “I need to go to my apartment for a few minutes, so let’s get Ryan and Jay started on the barrels, and I’ll show you the labels.”
A few minutes later, she and Alex returned to the main house, both of them moving with a surprising spring in their step despite the long night of bottling.
“Your enthusiasm is infectious,” she told him as she unlocked the door to her office.
“I’m stoked for this. I have so many ideas for the menu. And you have to figure something out with Cassie to have those puppies in the wedding.”
“The wedding Scooter and Blue don’t even know is happening.”
He gave her a squeeze as they walked in. “We’re going to kill this, Gracie.”
She just laughed, infected by his spirit.
“This is a great office,” he said, looking around the room full of scarred, antique woods and ancient file folders, sun pouring through a window that looked out at the vineyards.
“I haven’t renovated it,” she said, seeing the room through his eyes. “I like the feel of it, imagining owners over the years running Overlook Glen from here, on this oak furniture. And look at this. It’s really cool.”
She stepped to a large wooden cabinet with three long, flat drawers and pulled one open. “Every label of every wine ever made here. One of these days, I’m going to go through all of them, pick the best, and make a collage for the reception area. But these are from the last twenty years or so.” She waved her hand over the array of wine labels, each in small stacks, all with the Overlook Glen logo and different types of wine and names.
Alex picked up a pack and fluttered through them. “Very nice.”
“Next drawer is even older, and the blanks are in the bottom drawer.” She swallowed, aware of how close he was and suddenly wanting very much to brush her teeth before he turned and kissed her. “I’m going to run up to my apartment and clean up for the day,” she said. “Make yourself at home.”
“I will, thanks.”
She slipped out, closing the door and darting up the curved stairs to her apartment. There, she flipped on the shower, brushed her teeth, jumped under deliciously hot water, letting it sluice over her aching bones. Most, not all, of the grape stains lightened on her hands and forearms after she washed and shampooed, moving quickly and thinking about coffee and how much work it would be barreling all day.
Fun with Alex, though, whom she suspected wouldn’t leave her side.
Yep, it was getting messy. And dangerous. And…wonderful.
Wrapping the towel around her and squeezing the water out of her hair, she opened the bathroom door and froze.
Alex stood in her room, right in the middle of it, holding something in his hand, his expression kind of…ravaged.
“What?” She barely breathed the word.
“I found something.”
“The perfect label?” But even as she guessed it, she
knew that whatever he held, which was the size of a label, had visibly upset him.
He shook his head. “I think you need to…” His gaze dropped over her. “Dress?”
Frowning, she took a step closer. “The towel won’t fall off.”
He inched back, covering what was in one hand with the other. She looked down at his hands, staring at his purple wine stains, trying to see what it was. “Grace.” His voice was gruff and low. “This is going to upset you.”
“What is it?” A hot tendril of worry wended its way through her chest, at war with a punch of frustration that he wouldn’t show her what he was holding. “Alex, you’re scaring me.”
She waited for him to laugh, to be his easy, comfortable, and comforting self, to make a joke and punctuate it with a kiss that she was more than ready for now.
But he stayed dead silent.
Turning, she went back into the bathroom, grabbed a robe from the back of the door, and slipped into it, letting the towel fall as she yanked the tie tight. If he wanted her dressed for whatever label he thought would upset her, fine.
“What is it?” she asked when she stepped out, catching him looking at what he held. Then he lifted his gaze, his perpetually tanned skin the closest thing to pale she’d ever seen.
He came closer, reaching for her hand, tugging her to sit down on the bed.
“I pulled the bottom drawer too hard, trying to get to the back, and it fell out.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure we can fix—”
“And I found this.” Very slowly, he finally handed her a picture with rounded corners and slightly washed-out colors.
She took it, angled it away from the sun that shone on its glossy surface and looked at the image of a woman holding a baby, a tiny Mary-Jane-wearing towhead who couldn’t have been two years old, the vineyards in full bloom behind them.
“Someone who lived here once?” she guessed.
“Turn it over.” The order was barely a rough whisper.
Suddenly, as something hot and scary shot through her stomach, her hand started shaking, paralyzed and light purple and unable to do what he said. Instead, she looked up at him. “Why?”
Three Dog Night (The Dogmothers Book 2) Page 13