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Drew glanced over at her and frowned. “What do you have against massages?”
“A stranger’s hands all over me? Not my usual thing.” She leveled him with a stare. “You were not a total stranger the night of the reunion, so shut up. And what happened that night wasn’t usual for me either.”
Drew laughed. “I’d offer to give you the massage if you’re opposed to a stranger touching you, but I highly recommend letting the professionals handle it. At least the first one. I can take over tonight.”
“You sound like a pro,” she said with a laugh. “Just how many massages have you had?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t kept count. But I try to get one every week.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”
“Stressful career, remember? Massages reduce stress.”
“For a workaholic, it sure sounds like you treat yourself to a lot ofmetime,” she said, making finger quotes.
“I didn’t always,” Drew admitted. “And I learned the hard way what can happen when you don’t take the time to slow down and…well…live.”
“The burnout you mentioned?”
Among other things. But he wasn’t ready to talk about his mom and the regrets over time lost with her that were carved into his very soul. It was going to be hard enough to step into her house tomorrow. Drew wanted to steer clear of any of those thoughts until avoidance was no longer an option.
“I made a promise to myself that I would take the time to stop and smell the roses, because roses aren’t always guaranteed in this life, and neither is time,” Drew said. “As you will discover later this afternoon, having a trained professional’s hands massage the kinks out of your muscles is one of life’s true pleasures.”
“This is after wine, right? I have a feeling I’ll need to get myself liquored up so that I don’t freak out.”
“I’ll be right there with you,” he said. “It’s a couples massage, remember?”
“A threesome,” she murmured. “I figured you were into that kind of stuff.”
His shoulders shook with his laugh.
As they continued toward the winery, Drew found himself wishing it were a little closer to spring. In a couple of months the highway would be flanked by millions of Texas bluebonnets. Drew had usually tried to time his occasional visits to his mom so that he’d be in San Antonio during wildflower season. He smiled, thinking of how he would pull onto the side of the road and pick a few bluebonnets and yellow daisies for her.
A familiar ache settled in his chest. He should have prepared himself for this. Even though he’d vowed not to let these memories take up space in his head until tomorrow, he should have known better than to think he could travel this road and not be pummeled by a cascade of mixed emotions.
Why hadn’t he brought his mother more flowers while she was still alive? Why hadn’t he visited her more often? The unmitigated arrogance in assuming that he would always have time with her still took Drew’s breath away. There was not a single thing on this earth that was promised. It was a brutal lesson, but a lesson learned nonetheless.
His phone’s navigation app indicated that their destination was three miles away. Though highway 290 wasn’t nearly as clogged as the city’s roadways, traffic had thickened the closer they approached the turnoff to the winery.
“Oh!” London pointed straight ahead. “It’s the party bus. My girlfriends and I were supposed to take one of those wine tours. They bring you to about a half-dozen wineries, and you don’t have to worry about not getting drunk because you don’t have to drive back. It’s perfect.”
“Well, I never get drunk, so you don’t have to worry about that,” Drew said.
She shifted slightly in her seat, turning to look at him. “I noticed that you never have more than two glasses of wine. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but your pour is pretty stingy, so it’s more like one and a half glasses.”
“I thrive on being in control,” he answered with a shrug. “The more alcohol I consume, the less in control I feel. So I tend to back off after a drink or two.”
At least that was part of it. The truth was that he trusted the science behind alcoholism and heredity, and he was determined to never turn out like the man who’d sired him. Elias had shared stories of how scary Drew’s biological dad was when he drank, how he would sit at the kitchen table and consume beer after beer after beer until he either passed out or unleashed his drunken fury on Drew’s mother.
Even as his hand tightened on the steering wheel, Drew banished those thoughts from his head. He wouldn’t allow that faceless bastard to ruin his weekend with London.
“If you want to drink more than usual, you’re more than welcome,” Drew said. “It sounds as if you can use it.”
“I’ll enjoy myself, but I promise not to get too wild.”
“Go for it,” Drew said. “You’ve earned it.”
Five minutes later, they turned in to the gravel parking lot in front of a limestone building.
