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He no longer grits his teeth when he’s planning his next chess move. He’s settled into a “my usual” coffee order, a flat white with two percent milk.
“Not high maintenance yet, but you’re headed in that direction,” I tell him as he sets up the chess board on the table by the window on Saturday. I still don’t have a plan for doing “normal” things because he’s already hiked all of the local hills, and I like to spend my free time doing that.
“One game?” he asks when he’s finished setting up the pieces, holding out his hands like a magician. I hear the espresso machine whir to life, a satisfying noise that gets my adrenaline going in anticipation of my coffee. Or maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s being in the same room as himandcoffee that gets my adrenaline going.
Not like the feeling is mutual. He clearly doesn’t know the effect he has on me.
“No, we should head out. I have a lot of ideas for today.” In other words, we need to keep moving. Sitting across the table from Colin will only make me yearn for him to reach out and touch him. And that’s not going to help me stop thinking about him in inappropriate ways.
In fact, I have no ideas.
I can’t imagine what kinds of things would be fun for a guy who works sixteen-hour days but who also carries an Amex Black card and can use it anywhere he pleases. Colin Hathaway is a romance novel wrapped in a whodunnit.
We leave the café with coffees to go, and I find it fitting that after a few days of experimenting at Sweet Butter, Colin’s coffee drink of choice has turned out to be a flat white—not too austere, not too high maintenance. Like him.
“My brother’s fond of the golf cart, but I like to walk when I have time.” I don’t bother to add that I rarely have time to walk the Buttercup Hill property, especially right now when everyone’s nerves are raw, worrying about the future of the company and our financial situation.
If we don’t figure out how to infuse half a billion dollars into the company’s coffers, my siblings and I will lose our entire savings. Or we’ll have to take on investors and might lose control of the winery.
But I can’t think about that now because I’ve promised to entertain this man for the day.
“Walking works for me. My main walking at work is pacing the halls between my lab and various meeting rooms.”
I squint out at the early morning sun, which is bright, yellow, and shining across the vineyards and into my eyes. “You’re really not making a very good case for being a CEO.” I lead us down one of the footpaths that winds past my house down to the small lake.
He runs a hand through freshly-showered hair and nods. “Yeah, I don’t imagine I am. And look, I don’t want to sound like a whiny asshole who isn’t grateful for the life I have. I know I’m lucky?—”
Holding up a hand, I stop him. “This is all between friends. I don’t think you’re a whiny asshole, and you’re allowed to complain.”
“I still shouldn’t complain.”
I study him for a moment as we walk, feeling a little more relaxed now that we’re moving. “You’re pretty hard on yourself.”
He stares at the ground as we walk. “Yeah. It works for me most of the time. Long days, long weeks. My parents are grinders. Both academics. Publish or perish, so they work really hard to stay relevant in their fields.”
“I get that. My dad wasn’t exactly trotting out to Little League games during the week. Though he managed to come to some of mine. By the time I came along, he’d already grown the vineyard to pretty much what it is now, so he took the occasional break. It annoyed my siblings, but half of them were in college by then, and Dash doesn’t let much get to him.”
“I remember your dad. He didn’t suffer fools.” I like the way his eyes soften the same way mine do when I think about my dad.
“Nope. It’s why I still can’t figure out how he funneled half a billion dollars out of the company without a good reason. Evenwith dementia, I feel like he’s hardwired to make good financial decisions.”
“Maybe he thought it was a good decision, whatever it was.”
“Probably. Just wish he could tell us. He’s always speaking in tongues.”
“You’ll figure it out. And until then, tell the potential investors to talk to the hand.”
I laugh. “Hard when I’m the one who’s used to smoothing things over.”
“But not impossible. Take it from someone who may have just ruined his company by talking about climate change.”
Without thinking, I reach for his hand. Heat races through my veins, and my brain instantly scolds me for my recklessness, but I try to ignore it. I sense that this man needs someone to be kind to him more than I need to protect my feelings.
He casts a glance my way and tightens his grip around my fingers. His large, warm hand engulfs mine, and somehow, I end up feeling like the one who’s being comforted.
We walk like that until we get to the lake. I’m fully aware that if Archer sees us together like this, he’ll probably blow a gasket, but I don’t care. I’m just being a good host. I can make myself believe that lie for a little longer.
“As promised…” I point at a family of ducks, the mallard dad sailing across the water by himself, green head feathers glinting in the sun. The brown mother duck drifts behind him with a trail of ducklings. In truth, I got lucky. The small lake usually has ducks, but there’s no guarantee.
