Leaning Into Series: The Complete Box Set

by Hayes, Lane

  I chuckled. “Whatever inspired you to memorize a Wikipedia entry on language?”

  “You.”

  I narrowed my gaze and studied his handsome profile in the truck’s darkened interior. “You’re still flirting.”

  “Yeah. My game is coming back. If I keep talking and you keep listening, you’ll eventually warm up to me. Where was I?”

  “The psychology of alliteration,” I deadpanned.

  “Right. Your tone is imperial, you use alliteration like a poet, and you dress like a diva. You’re pleasant to strangers, but you hold them at bay. You’re kind but controlled. Most likely you were an elite member of a royal family in a former life.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said, amused in spite of myself. “Since you have me figured out, let me see if I can do the same.”

  “Be my guest.” Levi made a sweeping motion with his left arm before resting it on the steering wheel. The casual gesture was ripe with potent masculinity. And I hated that I noticed.

  I tore my gaze from his stubbled jaw and cleared my throat. “You’re a newly out sports enthusiast at a crossroads.”

  “Sports enthusiast at a crossroads,” he repeated with a laugh. “I guess that’s better than has-been athlete looking for a new gig.”

  “As you said, I do have a way with words, and I’m a firm believer it’s crucial to accentuate the positives.” I set my hand over his without thinking then pulled back when a familiar spark of awareness skittered along my spine.

  Levi smirked. “You’re weird. I like you.”

  “Thanks. I like you too. Platonically of course,” I added.

  “Of course. What exactly is my crossroads?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps you quit your job to try a new venture with this lover who dumped you, and now you’re heading to LA to woo him back—”

  “Not a chance,” he snapped.

  I raised a brow at his vehemence. “Or…you’re going on a fact-finding mission to salvage what you can of your original idea and determine what comes next.”

  Levi nodded. “Closer.”

  “Have you thought about selling the diner?”

  “Yes. But I’m not going to.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have nothing to lose. And you know what? It’s kinda liberating. No net required ’cause I’m already free-falling. Have you ever felt that way before, Geord?”

  Every fucking day.

  Silence fell like a blanket between us. Soft and warm and safe. I didn’t want to break the quiet, but I couldn’t allow myself to be pulled under either.

  I licked my lips and whispered, “Yes.”

  Suddenly, I couldn’t move and I couldn’t look away. Maybe I was a sucker for ruggedly handsome men who weren’t ashamed to reveal their vulnerable sides. I admired that he made free-falling sound like an adventure. I’d been doing it for nearly four years, and my outlook was nothing like Levi’s. I worked my ass off to make sure no one knew how tired and raw and afraid I felt every damn day. I clung to the best parts of my past like a lifeline, hoping my ghosts would ease the inevitable “splat on the concrete” nose dive I had coming my way.

  Levi’s story was certainly different, but I recognized something in him I knew too well. A desperate spirit that wasn’t quite ready to give up. I’d like to think that sense of acknowledgment was why I leaned across the console, closed my eyes, and pressed my lips against his.

  Levi went perfectly still for a moment; then he tilted his head slightly and molded his lips to mine. I could feel his breath and the scratch of his beard as I sank into the connection. Fuck, it was exhilarating. I’d forgotten how much I loved kissing a man. And when he cupped my chin gently and licked the corner of my mouth in a silent request for entry, I nearly wept at the sweetness.

  He glided his tongue alongside mine, slowly and with care. He gauged my response before deepening the kiss…licking, sucking. Then he pulled back to nibble my bottom lip before doing it all over again. When he threaded his fingers through my hair, my pulse raced. I practically climbed across the truck to get closer to him, kissing his lips, jaw and the curve of his neck and then sliding my hand around Mike’s neck and—

  I froze.

  And then I freaked the fuck out.

  I pushed away abruptly and swiped the back of my hand over my mouth.

  “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry,” I choked. “I-I…thanks for the ride. I—”

  “Geordie, stop. Hey, it’s okay. Don’t get scared. It’s okay. You’re home and you’re safe, and nothing is wrong.”

  Tears pooled in my eyes and fell unchecked onto my cheeks. I gasped in a combination of horror and pain and mortification. “I know, I know. I’m just…I’m gonna go. Good-bye, Levi.”

  He jumped out of the truck and raced to the passenger side, gallantly bending to pick up the keys I dropped on the gravel. I couldn’t trust my voice, so I didn’t bother arguing when he walked me to my front door. I held out my hand and nodded my thanks when he set the keys on my palm.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I said in a stronger voice. “I’m tired but I’m okay. I promise.”

  “Will you do me a favor and text me when you’re inside? Just let me know you’re in one piece. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I gave him a weak half smile and didn’t flinch when he leaned in to press a kiss on my temple.

  “Goodnight, Geord.”

  I watched Levi move to his truck before unlocking my door and stepping inside. I reset the alarm out of habit and then flattened my back to the wall and slid to a crouching position, willing myself to breathe evenly and tried to find my voice. I fixated on a long shadow against the hardwood floor. The light was on in the kitchen. I hated coming home to a dark house. I always had.

  Every night I’d call out my usual, “Honey, I’m home” the way I had for fourteen years. Mike hadn’t been here for almost four of those years, but I greeted him anyway. I supposed it was like having coffee with him in the garden outside the wine tasting room. I couldn’t explain it to anyone without sounding crazy but I knew he was there, watching over me. Talking to him kept him alive and made me less…dead.

  But I might have tipped the balance tonight and ruined everything. I opened my mouth and closed it immediately when a sob escaped. I bit my hand to keep the sound inside before trying again.

  “I’m home,” I whispered. “I’m home. Are you here?”

  Tears clouded my vision as a powerful silence surrounded me, taunting me with a daily reminder of the difference between quiet and emptiness. I swallowed around the lump in my throat then inhaled deeply and just as I released my breath, I fell apart.

  I covered my face with my hands and wept. And wept. My chest heaved, and my body shook as grief ripped through me, tearing me open and leaving me wrecked and raw and infinitely fragile. I sat in a crumbled mess on the floor in my foyer and cried until there was nothing left.

  Until I was empty and hollow…inside and out.

  Chapter 4

  For the first time in years, I avoided the garden. If I could have avoided people too, I would have. And that wasn’t like me. I was a true extrovert. Interacting with employees and customers energized me and kept my mind occupied. I didn’t dwell on upsetting things when I had wine flights to prepare and recommendations to give. I loved meeting new people and hearing about their lives while they sampled Conrad’s best reserves. And the days I could encourage a stodgy jet-setter dressed in designer chic to drop the pretentious wine connoisseur act and belt out a popular show tune were some of my favorites. My job suited me perfectly. I could be campy, silly, and fun but still be a badass business owner who knew which regions grew the best grapes for a classy California Pinot.

  I relied heavily on my theater training to get through Sunday. Monday wasn’t as easy. It was ghostly quiet in the wine tasting room. Too quiet. I left Danny, Ryan, and Lauren in charge of the bar and gift shop and went upstairs to my office to “catch up on paperwork.” It didn’t sound pro
fessional to tell them I planned to curl up on the chaise next to my window, reading romance novels and drinking endless cups of tea. I did the same thing Tuesday and Wednesday.

  Well, I tried to anyway. They were on to me.

  I glanced at my cell to check the time and looked up to find all eyes on me from the other side of the bar.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked innocently.

  “Nothing. Um…Wes needs some help in the warehouse. I’m gonna head out,” Danny said.

  He paused to shrug his jacket on and whispered something to Ryan that sounded like “…should say something. Maybe he’ll talk to Wes.”

  I shot them an irritated look but was saved from replying when my phone buzzed in my hand. I paced to the window and answered the call without checking the screen.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi. How are you?”

  It took a moment for me to recognize the deep voice on the line. And when I did, I wasn’t exactly excited. Levi was the last person I wanted to talk to.

  “I’m well. And you?” My tone was cool and detached. Not unfriendly, per se, but I certainly channeled a “Couldn’t this be done in a text?” vibe loud and clear.

  Levi chuckled. “Good. I just wanted to hear your voice to make sure you’re okay.”

  I eyed my friends warily before moving to the lounge area. My heart thundered in my chest. I hadn’t felt…anything at all since Saturday night. I’d been dull and listless and so unfabulous, I could barely stand my own company. But suddenly my pulse was racing. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. However, Levi had been patient and kind the other night. He deserved a modicum of respect in turn. I folded my free arm around my waist and studied the embers in the fireplace while I chose my words carefully.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  He snorted. “That’s what your text said. I didn’t trust the tone though, so I figured I’d call.”

  “The tone?”

  “Yeah. Text tones and email tones are a science I don’t get. You think you’re writing a simple ‘How’s it going?’ but then you get a ‘Fine’ in return. ‘Fine’ has got to be the worst reply ever. It can mean anything. It’s so neutral and bland, it’s practically a verbal middle finger.”

  I huffed in amusement. “That’s ridiculous. ‘Fine’ means ‘fine.’ ”

  “Nah, I’m not convinced. I think it’s right up there with ‘whatever’ and let’s be real, ‘whatever’ is the ultimate ‘fuck you.’ ”

  This time I laughed outright and fell gracelessly into one of the high-back leather chairs. I kicked my pink-feathered slippers off and curled my long legs under me in an attempt to get comfortable. His voice was soothing and cheerful and yes…comforting.

  “Well, I am fine. Thank you for checking. I appreciate it. How’s LA?” I asked conversationally.

  “Fine.”

  “Funny man. Give me three adjectives to describe your sojourn in Tinseltown, and then let me be. I’m very busy, you know,” I said haughtily.

  “I know you are. Um, let’s see. Trafficky, exasperating, and…beautiful.”

  “Just the way I remember, then. Have you reconciled with your ex and rehired the star chef?”

  Levi grumbled an obscenity. “No to both. Thank God. But I’ve had a few good meetings and I’ve been mulling over some ideas, so it hasn’t been a total waste of time.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah. Hey, what are you doing Saturday?”

  “Working,” I replied automatically.

  “I meant at night. We should talk about—”

  “No.” I sat up and clutched at the armrest then glanced back to be sure I wasn’t in danger of being overheard. Ryan was pouring wine for a middle-aged couple while Lauren dried wineglasses beside him. The coast was clear. I refocused on the fire and bit my bottom lip. “No, we shouldn’t. Thanks for calling. Enjoy LA and—”

  “Hang on. I wasn’t going to say what you thought I was going to say.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Oh. Then what did you want to talk about?”

  “Barbra. Did you know she’s from Brooklyn?”

  I chuckled and sank back into the chair. I had no idea what he was up to, but there was no harm in playing along. “Someone has been Googling again,” I singsonged.

  “Yeah, well…I was told I’m the world’s worst gay, and I’m not gonna lie.…It kinda stung, so I did some research.”

  “Whoever would say such a cruel thing?” I teased.

  “You.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Not directly but the critique had something to do with not knowing my diva culture, which inadvertently leads to giving off the wrong signals in social situations. Ring any bells?”

  I bit my lip as I studied the embers. “Not at all. But if it’s true, it sounds like a serious problem. How is Googling Barbra going to help you?”

  “No clue. I just don’t want you to hang up on me,” he said.

  “Are you flirting with me again, Levi? I’m having a difficult time discerning your tone.”

  Levi snickered. “I can’t read you either. Let’s FaceTime. I’ll call you back.”

  “No. I’m working and—”

  He hung up.

  Then called back two seconds later via FaceTime. I stared at the screen in dismay. I gave him credit for persistence, but I wasn’t answering this time. I pocketed my cell and moved back to the bar.

  “Your phone’s ringing,” Lauren said as she pulled a wineglass from the dishwasher.

  “It’ll stop.”

  It didn’t. Correction. It stopped and then started again. And again. I mumbled an apology to the couple at the bar when the incessant buzzing interrupted Ryan’s spiel about the bold, rich character of our Cabernet reserve. I hurried to silence my cell but at the last second, I changed my mind.

  “I’ll be right back.” I grabbed my coat from the hook near the archway and slipped it on before opening the door to the herb garden. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies and fluffy clouds but it was still chilly. I walked down the gravel path away from the shade of the olive trees then pushed Accept. “Levi, I—”

  “Wow. It’s a nice day there. You look good,” he said cheerfully.

  He did too. Really good. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his beard was thicker—like he’d skipped shaving for the past few days. The ruggedly casual look suited him, and though I’d never claimed to be a fan of plaid flannel anything, his blue button-down shirt complemented his eyes beautifully. He was sexy as hell. The kind of sexy that didn’t need to glance in a mirror for confirmation. Whatever he possessed was innate and on some level, he knew it.

  “So do you,” I admitted. “Levi, I’m busy.”

  “I can see that,” he snarked. “Where are you?”

  “I’m freezing my ass off in the herb garden.”

  “Ah. Too bad. I’m sipping margaritas on a rooftop in LA.”

  “Good for you. I—”

  “I’m just kidding. I ordered a Diet Coke with a slice of lime fifteen minutes ago and it’s still not here,” he griped good-naturedly. “I must be invisible.”

  “It’s your shirt.”

  “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

  “Nothing. I was teasing. You look…manly. Like a lumberjack,” I said, adjusting my phone to fix my angle. “Much better.”

  “Lumberjacks are better than what?”

  “I was referring to my face in this phone, smartass. This is why I don’t participate in visual chatting. I’m easily distracted by terrible lighting. Remind me why we’re doing this again. Did you need something?” I fixed a smudge of eyeliner under my right eye then puckered my lips.

  “Not really. I—” he paused to thank the waiter when he set his drink down. He lifted his Diet Coke in a mock toast and gave a comical sideways glare. “Twenty minutes and probably ten bucks later. Welcome to West Hollywood.”

  I chuckled. “Don’t they know who you are?”

  “Obviously not.”
>
  “Perhaps they’re busy.”

  He turned his phone to show the sparsely populated rooftop with the Los Angeles skyline in the background. I could make out neon-green chaise lounges and white umbrellas surrounding the crystal-blue pool. A glass balcony in the background was dotted with perfectly sculpted topiaries.

  “I know exactly where you are. I’ve been to that hotel a few times. It’s scrumptious, and the bartenders are fabulous. If you aren’t being served, you must be giving off a vibe. It’s definitely the shirt,” I said sagely.

  Levi looked down at the plaid material. “You just said I looked like a manly lumberjack.”

  “But that’s not a lumberjack sort of place. It shouldn’t matter of course, but LA is the land of artifice. Nearly everyone there is obsessed with labels. They check out your car, your clothing, your overall physique, and then decide if you might be someone worth knowing. If you’re giving off regular guy vibes, they’ll assume you’re every gay’s nightmare…a basic bitch. In your case, they’ll think you’re straight too.”

  “You got all that from my shirt?” He widened his eyes theatrically.

  “Yes and no. I’m from LA. I know it well. And I really should go now. Good-bye, Le—”

  “Are you from West Hollywood?” he intercepted.

  I smiled at his attempt to keep me talking as I made my way to the nearby bench under the olive tree. “Not originally, but I’ve spent time there. I’m from East LA, darling. The other side of the tracks.”

  “Oh. Do you have family here?”

  “Probably. I don’t keep in touch, but I’m more than fine with that, so don’t look so sad.”

  “See? Aren’t you glad we’re FaceTiming? A lot would have gotten lost in translation if I couldn’t see your expression.”

  “Hmm. Well, not all of us have the luxury of lounging at LA sky bars before noon on a Wednesday. I must get back to work.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m working too. I’ve interviewed a couple of chefs so far, and I have another one tomorrow. And I’ve been doing research. I’m on a mini wine-and-dine tour of the top-rated eateries in the city…sampling food and interviewing chefs and kitchen staff. You’ll be glad to know—I’ve been taking notes on a few of the better menus I’ve come across for content and font ideas.”