“That’s the spirit.”She smiled at him like his stiff grouchiness amused her.“I’ll go first.To pivoting.”She raised her glass higher, and he noted that her lacy scarf or shawl slipped behind her back to pool at her slender waist, leaving her shoulders bare.
“For having the courage to not only take a step off the path familiar, but also to jump into the unknown.”
She was deeper than he’d imagined.She sounded more like the unknown Vesna in some of the late-night texts.She raised one eyebrow, and it felt like a challenge that was both sexy and intimidating.But toasting the unknown sounded awful.How could he toast confusion?Or the void that had swallowed Cam forever?
She sipped from the flute.Her eyes closed and a faint blush colored her cheekbones.She held the liquid in her mouth.He could tell, because he could not tear his somehow fascinated gaze from her long delicate throat.
He counted two breaths before she swallowed.Then she was still.Finally, her eyes opened—a heated bourbon that burned through him, and he felt an unexpected bolt of desire.Was she playing him?She’d come for Cam to tell him Vesna wasn’t coming and to offer herself up as substitute, even though she denied it.But women often played coy, thinking men wanted the chase.Waste of time.Agreement should be mutual and preplanned.
“This is spectacular,” she breathed.“I’ve poured so many glasses of wine and bubbles for people celebrating, but I was never the one enjoying.”
There was a note in her voice that touched something inside of him.He held his breath, wanting to watch her take another sip, experience the wine in a way he’d never experienced before.But instead, she held the base of the glass between her thumb and forefinger—like a professional—and bent over the glass, eyes closed, breathing in.
Telford wondered if this was what church was like.What prayer was—asking for something you couldn’t really name.
“So much life in this glass,” she said softly.“It’s history and family and tradition.The crazy hope and obstacles.The rebel jousting with nature, even as the winemaker walks with Mother Earth.Culture and science and geology and artistry.There’s both a humble spirit and an arrogance in the glass,” she mused, finally taking another sip, and letting it roll around her mouth, dance on her tongue, and then she moistened her plump bottom lip as if she’d missed a drop.
“A testament to humanity’s quest to create something bigger than themselves.To create a legacy.”
Legacy.
The word hit like the SUV had hit Cam, robbing his breath and then so much more.
“That word means something to you.”
To give himself time to think, he finally sipped the champagne like it would be a balm.Her description of the wine echoed as he too allowed the liquid to linger in his mouth, dance on his tongue.
He motioned the server over, needing to not be alone with her because she made him think.Made him feel.And he wanted none of those things, so he needed to move this lunch along so he could be alone again.
They shared a salad because she’d also wanted the crab bisque.And when a piece of leafy purple-green lettuce with raspberry vinaigrette fell from his fork, she’d laughed, picked it up and popped it in her mouth.
“Bet no one’s done that here before,” she joked, eyes sparkling and those gorgeous dark pink glossy lips tilted in a smile.
Dimples again, laugh lines, and he caught himself staring, unable to comprehend his… fascination with her.The pull went beyond sexual.Sexual desire he understood and accepted, though he would have said this morning that this nymph or fairy of a woman was not remotely his type.
He hadn’t even asked her name yet—still socially backward, Cam would have howled with laughter and kicked his ass before flirting with her himself to show Telford how it was done.
Yet she made him feel alive when he’d been dead.And he wanted her with the awareness of someone who knew he shouldn’t.Knowing she wasn’t wearing a bra teased him—the buttons of her soft cotton tee were carelessly open, revealing another lace shirt with a deep V that beckoned his touch.Then the layers of necklaces against her skin framed by the soft knitted vest.She was otherworldly.A temptation, and yet he caught a whisper of warning.
Dangerous.
Jump.You’ll never be the same.
He could almost hear Cam’s voice egging him on.And for a moment, he felt Cam beside him—hand on his shoulder like he did when he was explaining something.Encouraging.Telford rarely thought about souls or spirituality since after his mother and grandfather’s murders when he’d been eight.He’d cried and prayed and begged for them to visit so he wouldn’t be alone.Or for God to take him too.Anything to not be alone.
And now Cam was gone too.Just as unexpectedly.And in violence and a cruel randomness that Telford couldn’t grasp.
Was this why he’d invited her to lunch?Hadn’t told her Cam would never come to meet her?That Cam was dead, and he was weak enough to want to keep Cam alive an hour longer?
She ordered asparagus and red pepper risotto.He ordered the salmon.He could feel the clock tick down so reality could reassert the natural order.
“You seem to embrace being unique,” he commented, thinking how Cam would have been charmed by this woman and would have wantedto know her story.Then he would have looked for the financial gain if there was one.Or talked her into bed.
The server had quickly left them after taking their orders and depositing a breadbasket and olive oil and fig balsamic vinegar.Likely he was attuned to nuance and even he felt the atmosphere of conflicting signals and motivations charging between them in an uneasy dance.She moved like a dancer, fluid and aware of her body and of being watched.
Like being in a show.
Cam had loved to be the center of attention.The life of every party.
