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“Hallie . . .” he called to her again, no clue what to follow up with.
Jesus Christ, he was nauseous.
“I’ll be over sometime tomorrow to plant some dusty miller to really accentuate the lavender,” she sang on her way back into the tent, thanking Owen for holding the flap open for her. “Thanks again for leading story time.”
With a smirk for Julian, Owen followed in Hallie’s wake.
Julian stared after the swinging canvas, winded. What the hell just happened?
And would anyone actually miss Owen if he disappeared?
When Julian reentered the tent, it took every ounce of his self-control not to pluck Hallie out from behind the donut booth and carry her back outside. To finish their discussion in a way that would end in her smiling. Why? It would only confuse this thing between them more. But it was a hell of a lot more preferable than leaving . . . their thing unsettled. This mental bedlam came part and parcel with Hallie, and yet, he couldn’t stop going back for another helping.
Julian was just about to approach the donut booth when he spotted Natalie across the room. Since he’d gone outside for story time an hour earlier, his sister had clearly put the pedal to the metal on wine consumption and was now flirting with one of the wine vendors, a giant linebacker of a man in a Kiss the Vintner apron. As Julian watched, she made an attempt to boost herself onto the man’s table in what she no doubt believed to be the ultimate seductive move. Until she slipped off—and would have landed on her ass if the linebacker’s arm didn’t shoot out from behind the table to steady her.
In Julian’s periphery, he watched a photographer weave her way through the thinning crowd, her expression one of single-minded focus. The last thing the winery needed was a picture of drunk Natalie ending up in the gossip section of some wine blog. With a final frustrated glance toward Hallie, he hastened his way across the room, hoping to intercept his sister before she became internet fodder. But apparently his worry was all for nothing. The vintner noticed the photographer, too. At the last second, he maneuvered Natalie so his gigantic self was blocking the journalist from getting a decent shot.
“I’m telling you, August, it’s impossible to hum while you hold your nose,” Natalie was slurring when Julian reached them. “Try it.”
Julian assumed this man would say something to humor or distract her, so he was surprised when the man actually pinched his nose and attempted the feat, flashing a navy tattoo in the process. “Son of a bitch,” he rumbled. “Can’t hum a note.”
Natalie laughed long and loud. “You will remember this moment the rest of your life, August Cates.”
“Yeah.” Lopsided smile from the navy man. “Pretty sure I will.”
His sister stared up at the man for an awkward length of time. “Are we going to make out?”
A flash of white teeth. “Cancel all my calls,” he shouted over his shoulder to an imaginary secretary.
When Natalie took a step in the vintner’s direction and the photographer finally found a better vantage point, that was Julian’s cue. “Time to go, Natalie.”
“Yep,” she agreed without missing a beat, allowing herself to be dragged away by her brother. Although, Julian lost count of the number of times she looked back over her shoulder at her would-be make-out partner. “Forget gas-station guy. That man is the perfect rebound.”
“Make that decision when you’re clearheaded.”
“I don’t make good decisions when I’m clearheaded. That’s why I’m in Napa, remember?” She pulled him to a stop while they were still out of Corinne’s earshot. “How did things go with Hallie, for whom you would sacrifice your life but will not date?”
“Not well, if you must know.”
She mimicked him, employing a British accent while doing it. Then she just kind of deflated all at once. “God. We are dysfunctional people, aren’t we? Who unleashed us on the world?”
With perfect timing, their mother’s most diplomatic laugh rang out while she raised a wineglass to the couple standing at the Vos booth. As soon as they departed, her smile dropped like an anvil from a ten-story building.
Natalie snorted. “I guess we have our answer.”
Julian watched his sister rejoin Corinne behind the table, his attention straying back to the other side of the tent before he could stop it.
We are dysfunctional people, aren’t we?
Perhaps Hallie was a wrench in the engine of his mental well-being, but was Julian the same to her? Or worse? He thought of the first afternoon they met, when he criticized her placement of the flowers and she’d lost some of her glow. Just minutes ago, she’d been soft and flirtatious, and he’d somehow ruined it. Again. Maybe he should be staying away from her because of the damage he could inflict. Because as much as she drove him crazy with her lack of plans and organization, he liked her. A lot. Definitely too much to be leaving letters for someone else.
