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He looked up, one brow arching over a green eye. “What?”
“Sex,” I replied. “Good sex. I’m not used to it. I didn’t fool around in college, Ethan, even though that is what you’re supposed to do. I forced myself to go to parties and got stupid drunk because I didn’t know any better. I had boyfriends, one for three weeks, two days an hour, another for six months, and a third for a year. All of them were like me, head in the books instead of…well, a man ho.”
Ethan sat back in his chair and twiddled a pen. “So…what are you telling me?”
I was getting red right down to the tips of my toes. “The…orgasm you gave me was the best one I ever had, and then….it wasyou. I still cannot figure out how we got… how I got from getting angry at you to allowing you to…”
“Eat you out,” he said plainly.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Are you trying to make my head explode…but yes.”
“So, you’re more upset that it was me who gave you the orgasm than anything else,” he said calmly.
“I’m not upset,” I replied. “I’m confused, conflicted, whatever you want to call it. Ethan, you must have felt something when you did it. I’m from the family yours hates the most.”
“That’s the thing, Mia,” Ethan's voice was a frustrated growl that twisted something in my belly. “My family hates you for one very direct reason, that of them being all superior and looking down on others, but I don’t hate you. I never did. Sure, I thought you would grow in your dad’s footsteps and try to demean and degrade us, but did not.”
“How—how do you know that?”
“You came to apologize even when you didn’t know the whole story,” he replied. “It told me you’re not… despicably evil.”
“So…what if I am just moderately evil?” I teased.
“I can deal with that,” he shrugged. “Evil needs moderation.”
I wasn’t sure, but I felt like we’d come to an even keel. “For the record, I apologize for what happened between our families. Neither of our folks has been innocent in all this, but it makes no sense to keep it going. We both have good products, and there is no reason for either one of us to be nasty to each other.”
Ethan paused before he stood, went to a fridge, poured something out, and sat it in front of me. “Drink this, and I’ll believe you.”
I looked at the cup. “What’s that?”
“Arsenic,” he deadpanned. “It’s one of my signature mead flavors. The Shitkicker. Drink it.”
I took the cup and took a sip—and my mouth flared alive. The flavors were so strong but harmonious, and the name made sense; if I drank two cups of this, my shit would be kicked. “Its…” I blinked. “…good.”
He smirked. “One day, I want to let you taste every flavor we have. Be warned, it's over thirty-three, and half of those are alcoholic.”
“You want to get me drunk,” I sniffed.
“Completely shitfaced,” he replied. “I think you’ll be another person when you’re allowed, or well, forced, to let go.”
“I’ve been told I talk gibberish when I get drunk,” I replied just as my phone rang. “Excuse me…” when I plucked the phone out, I saw the winery’s phone number flash on the screen. It had to be Jackson. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mia. There is a little…well, the pest guys, while they were working on the vines, found something in the east field that I think you would want to look at,” Jackson replied.
I frowned, “What? What do you mean?”
“It’s a little chest that looks very,veryold, and I think you might need to decide what to do with it,” he replied. “Frankly, I don’t want even to touch it because it looks like it might crumple to pieces if I do. I don’t even know how the pest guys managed to carry it to the winery without it disintegrating into dust.”
“Oh, wow,” I blinked. “All right. I’ll be there soon.”
After saying goodbye, I looked at Ethan, but he was looking at me. “Emergency?”
“No.” My lips twisted. “I don’t exactly what it is, but I’ve got to go.”
“Next time,” he replied, and I left the Meadery for the winery.
When I stepped into my dad’s old office, Jackson gestured to the little chest covered in mud stains, resting on a towel on a small table. It was about eight by ten inches wide and seven high, made of wood with a rich, deep color—or maybe it was because it had been buried for over eighty years—offset by the brass corners, carry handles, and hasp lock.
