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“It’s hard to explain.” How can I explain it to her when I haven’t thought it through myself?
“Try. Talk it through.”
“It’s been…a while since I’ve been with a guy, and it’s because it started feeling empty when no emotions were involved. And now I’m feeling all these things, and it scares the hell out of me because what if I’m wrong about him? What if he just has the makings of a fling, and I get attached?”
She smiles at me and strokes my hair. I’ve never felt more like a little sister. Or a puppy.
“You might get attached. It might end. You might get your heart stomped. Anything could happen. But I can tell you one thing for sure—nothing will happen if you run away and don’t at least see what it could be. Don’t let your fear keep you from experiencing something great.”
We’re standing on a rustic wood deck under the shade of an ancient live oak tree, but we could just as easily be sitting inBeatrix’s bedroom, where I used to camp out whenever I had a tough choice to make. To her credit, she never chased me out.
She’d pull her drapes closed, and we’d sit on her pink bedspread, and she’d hand me her favorite white fuzzy pillow to hug while I poured out whatever small thing was troubling me—a bad grade, a guy who asked me out and then ignored me for a week straight, a friend who dated the guy who’d asked me out and then ignored me. Trix was there for all of it at a time when my parents weren’t.
Our dad was busy building Buttercup Hill into his personal wine empire, and our mother had divorced him and moved to the East Coast. Talking to her on the phone wasn’t the same as crawling onto that pink bedspread and pouring out my heart to a sister who always told me she knew exactly how I felt because she’d been there. Whether that was true didn’t matter—I secretly suspected that my perfect older sister had never been dumped by a guy or double-crossed by a friend. She’d certainly never gotten a bad grade. But she was always there for me.
Just like today.
“So…what? You think I should gamble on a guy who already told me he doesn’t do relationships? How is that going to lead to ‘experiencing something great?’”
“Wait, he said that?” Beatrix looks from me to where Colin stands with Archer and Jax talking about wine. Archer holds a glass of pinot noir up to the light, and I can tell he’s saying something about the grapes. He’s always talking about grapes now that he’s taken over the winemaking part of the business.
I don’t look at Archer long, not when my eyes are pulled toward Colin, standing there in a gray Henley that shows off his bicep, which manages to flex just from holding a glass of wine. The sunlight kisses his shoulders like he’s an aphrodisiac for light itself.
When I dare sneak a look at his face, cheekbones slicing the air, lips parted the way they were last night, I see darkness in the blue that mirrors exactly the way I feel—the way I wish I didn’t feel because it’s dangerous for my well-being.
But I can’t fight it.
He stares at me unabashedly, and I feel stripped down to my panties. It’s a struggle to inhale.
Archer says something that gets Colin’s attention, and he’s forced to look away. When I do the same, I find Beatrix staring at me.
I smile at her like she’s discovered my guilty secret, and she simply nods.
“Yeah. Take the gamble. You have no damn choice.”
Chapter
Fifteen
PJ
Dash makes a mean street taco. We’ve eaten three platters of them, slathered with salsa and guacamole and dusted with shredded cheese.
Most of the wine is gone.
I’ve survived the evening without my insides imploding by sitting as far away from Colin as possible. He sits at one end of the picnic dining table in the middle of the deck. I’ve planted myself at the other end.
Beatrix gets up and clears away some of the dishes, and Colin follows Dash into the kitchen to help him with dessert while Fiona paints Archer’s nails. He grits his teeth and keeps looking around as though he wants to make sure we’re the only ones witnessing his makeover.
“No one here to save you,” Jackson says, delighted with the pumpkin color Fiona’s chosen for Archer. “It’s a good look.”
Archer grimaces and mouths, “Fuck off,” to Jackson, who goes into the kitchen. I’m so immersed in their mini-drama thatI don’t notice Colin carry the brownie plate out until he drops it on the table and slides onto the bench next to me.
“I heard you made these.” His voice is quiet like we’re sharing a secret.
“You heard right.”
I sit frozen, afraid that if I move a muscle, I’ll end up sliding onto his lap and licking his neck.
