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I don’t say anything for several seconds, merely staring at her. She begins to squirm under my gaze at some point and looks away when her cheeks turn red.
“Make wine with me,” I say.
Her eyebrow lifts in slight confusion like she did not hear me correctly. “You want me to make wine with you. That’s it?”
I nod, walking over and taking her hand. “I will not ask you to do something you don’t want to do, Harper. You should know me by now. If you had told me flat out that you didn’t want to do any of the activities, like bowling and golf, I would have let you go.”
Harper purses her lips. “I guess so. So, you want to make…I thought this was a paint-and-sip. We paint and then drink?”
I suck in the air between a gap in my teeth. “Well, I didn’t explain the other part properly. We are supposed to make the wine. It isn’t a hard process because I’ve had most of it set up by the staff before they left, so—”
“I was going to comment on that,” she cuts in, “Did you rent out the entire place?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes widen. “Why? Why would you do that? It’s a waste of money, and what about the people who wanted to be here today?”
How endearing.
One of the things about Harper that never ceases to amaze me is how completely removed she is from the life she grew up in. With her mom and dad being the kind of people they are and the wealth they have, you’d expect her to behave in a certain, snobbish way.
But she has to be the most down-to-earth, fiercely competitive, hardworking, amazing, beautiful, stunning, brilliant woman I know.
I hear her click her tongue. “You don’t need to do all this because the public expects you to throw grand gestures for me. I’m fine with painting in a room full of people.”
“I—”
I start to speak, but my voice is not loud enough, so she cuts me off again, this time without knowing.
“I hope I’m better at making wine so that I can kick your ass.”
Laughter rumbles in my chest as her strait-laced facial expression tickles my senses.
“Show me where we make the wine,” she demands.
Taking her hand again, I lead her from the room we are in, through a corridor, and into another area of the building. As we walk through the semi-lit hallway, I remember what I wanted to say.
When she said she didn’t want me throwing her grand gestures, it was at the tip of my tongue to tell her I hadn’t booked this place for that reason. I wanted to tell Harper it was because I didn’t want anyone ruining the mood, and I wanted to make her smile without distractions.
I—
Why can’t I say the words?
At some point, my feet do the job of moving while my brain goes over thoughts that point back to Harper, so I don’t see that she stops until I run into her. Harper makes an oomph sound and turns around—and we come face to face.
My senses are quickly alerted to how good she smells—a combination of soft scents that waft through the air, sink into my nose, and settle on my skin. When my hand reaches out to hold her, the softness of her skin makes me sigh quietly.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods and chews on her bottom lip briefly. “Yeah. I am. Are you? You ran into my back, so you must have hurt yourself. My back is made out of titanium, you know.”
I chuckle, and it turns into a long snort that leaves me temporarily embarrassed.
“I don’t doubt that it is. That hurt a lot.”
She stands on her toes to kiss my cheek, and I try not to wrap my arms around her waist.
“I miss this,” Harper says. “It’s only been three days since we announced our engagement, but it feels like years. I get calls and texts from people I don’t know, asking me what right I have to be with you.”
