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“Yeah, well, it was more out of desperation than anything else.” He was in the right place at the right time, and as I recount my story of my messy relationship with Tripp, Emily’s jaw drops open to the point I’m worried it’s locked in place.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Pen. Why didn’t you tell me?” She reaches out a hand, giving mine a squeeze when I finish divulging my shame.
“Because I’m ashamed and absolutely mortified. If I’d known about Tripp’s duplicity beforehand, none of this would’ve happened. I got scared when I saw him at the wedding. He wanted to talk, probably to try to weasel his way back into my life, but I ran away to avoid him.”
“And kissed the nearest guy.”
“And kissed the nearest guy,” I repeat, cradling my glass of water. Memories of that night flash through my mind. “The worst part is that he’s the grandson of the woman I’m interviewing. And for some reason, she wants him to show me the sights of Autumn River. As if I haven’t lived here for most of my life.”
“No way.” Emily’s face lights up with a grin. She claps her hands together. “This just gets better.”
Only my best friend, who is the crazy to my sensible, would think there was anything better about this situation.
Linc
“Your grandmother is really sweet.” Penny glances across the car and smiles before turning her gaze out the windshield.
“That’s one way to put it.” I chuckle as I pull to a stop in the parking lot of the Autumn River Estates. Sweet. Kind-hearted. Brave. Mischief maker. I don’t know what Gran’s playing at by asking me to show Penny around the vineyard, but here we are. It’s not like I’m familiar with the place. Sure, I’ve seen the plaque with Gran’s name and achievements in the foyer, but that’s about it. I’ve spent most of my life living in various parts of Southern California, moving wherever the next job offer took my father, and visiting Gran on vacation. I’m not an expert on things in Autumn River.
So it surprised me when she insisted I play tour guide for Penny. Surely a reporter can look without a chaperone. But my protests fell on deaf ears, and here we are. The fifteen-minute drive along the winding roads was filled with small talk, and I think we’re both wondering how we allowed ourselves to be manipulated by an old woman with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Penny steps out of the car before I can get to her door, and it relieves some of the awkwardness about her expectations from me. If I open her door, does that imply this is more than two acquaintances spending an afternoon together? Now I know she’s not overthinking this any more than I should be. I tuck my keys into my pocket, and lead the way along the stony path toward the building that houses the site of our first meeting.
Avoiding the bar, we walk through to the large foyer, past some wine barrels and down another path that opens up to a stunning vista where long rows of green vines greet us. Acres and acres of vineyard stretch out toward the horizon. Purple globes glisten in the sun, and the air is heavy with a sweet, earthy scent.
“I’ve lived here most of my life, but I’ve never been this close,” Penny says, trailing her fingers along the vibrant green leaves as we walk between the rows.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” I slide a glance her way. She looks just as good in jeans as she did in the pantsuit on the night we met, and I’m sure she would still look good in a burlap sack. It’s refreshing. She has a natural beauty that leaves the plasticity of LA women behind.“I’ve been to a couple of wineries, and it’s interesting to see what goes on behind the scenes to produce a bottle of wine.” In one of my novels, my main hero is a vintner. Once, on a vacation to Tuscany, I included a vineyard tour as part of my research.
“I’ve never really thought about it before.”
She steps in front of me as we walk around a couple taking some selfies. The seclusion in the rows, combined with the heady scent of the grapes, makes it a great place for romance. My mind wanders, thinking how easy it would be to steal some private moments if we were dating. I’d grab Penny’s waist and spin her around to face me. Cup the back of her head and run my fingers through her hair…
“This way, I guess,” Penny says, breaking through my daydream as we reach the end of the row. She walks ahead and I pause, running a hand over my jaw, thankful she can’t read my thoughts.She’s a reporter.I need to remember that.
We make our way to one of the two tasting rooms on the property. The temperature is cool as we step inside and Penny shivers, rubbing her arms. I don’t have a coat to offer her, so I move closer, hoping that she will feel some of my body heat, but not so close that she’s weirded out by invasion of her personal space. Stools surround several upright wine barrels. Along one wall is a bar with cheese platters and bottles of wine ready to be served.
The server, dressed in black, asks for our preference, and I choose a Cabernet Sauvignon, while Penny declines.
“I don’t like the taste of it,” she says, as we sit at a barrel near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Majestic oaks rise above the crest of grass overlooking the rolling hills and vineyard. Out of sight, flowing through the distant valley, is the river the town is named after.
It’s a peaceful and relaxing sight, and I could easily sit here for hours admiring the sweeping mountain views in the distance, sipping wine with a beautiful woman sitting beside me. I take a sip of the locally produced wine and take the chance to observe Penny more closely as she gazes out the window. Sunbeams glint off her auburn hair as she rests her chin on the back of her hands. A peaceful glaze descends over her features, and I wonder what she’s thinking about. If I were a photographer, the blend of sunlight and shadows across her porcelain skin would make a frame-worthy portrait.
The wine is smooth as it runs down my throat. The ambience of the setting, along with the company and the knowledge that I’m tasting something made on the very site we’ve walked on, fills me with a sense of nostalgia for the present moment. As though I’ll look back in months or years to come and reflect on this time with a longing that will be hard to replicate. We’ve moved past our awkwardness at Gran throwing us together and have settled into a comfortable companionship as we enjoy a lazy afternoon. I’m still aware that she’s a reporter digging into Gran’s life. But whether it’s the atmosphere, Penny’s company, or the wine numbing my senses, my guard of self-defense to protect Lucy Landon’s name is slipping.
Penny drums her fingers on the table. “I don’t like the taste of any alcohol. I wish I did, at least to give an impression of sophistication in my line of work. Every function I attend, everyone’s standing around with their beer or wine, and there’s me with my glass of sparkling water.”
“You don’t need to drink to be sophisticated,” I reassure her. “Too much of the stuff usually turns people into horrible versions of themselves.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Isn’t that the truth? I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had second-hand embarrassment from people losing their inhibitions. Then again, people can do silly things with no alcohol being involved.” She sighs and darts a glance my way as a delicious flush of pink creeps up her neck, and I know immediately she’s thinking about Saturday night.
I’m about to ask her what caused her to throw herself at me when a commotion near the doors draws my attention. Our moment of peace is about to be destroyed by a busload of retirees descending on the tasting room.
“Shall we go?” I raise an eyebrow before downing the last drops of wine in my glass. I don’t fancy our moment being overrun by a group of senior citizens.
“Yes, let’s.”
A quick tour through the halls of the winery spits us out near the scene of our first meeting. Soft music pipes through the speakers. The oak paneled bar looks different with the afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. The natural lighting sets the scene for families and tourist groups. In a few hours, the recessed lights will create a warm ambience, setting the mood for romance.
