I hardly noticed that Kelly hadn’t tried on anything.
Later, when Kelly was working, I borrowed my dad’s keys and drove back to the thrift store alone. I scanned through the items again, looking for slacks that would collect every granule of dust on the vineyard and knit tops that would catch on the splintered wood but that made me look like a woman, not a girl.
The following Friday, I eagerly anticipated Dad’s usual invitation for Sam to stay for dinner and wine. Unlike the last time Sam pulled away from me, his cold front didn’t pass that week. He was as distant as ever as we stood around the new serving bar in the tasting room, discussing its progress.
“Do you still have reservations at Grey Mountain for tonight?” Dad asked Sam.
My ears perked up. Sam had plans?
“Yep,” Sam said. “Meet you there at six?”
“Actually, Elizabeth is getting off work early today and she wanted to have a date night.”
Sam held up his hands. “Enough said. We can do it next week.”
“Actually, I think it’s a great idea to check them out. Get a feel for how they present wine. They’ve got impressive ratings, so they’re doing something right. Besides, even if I went, I probably wouldn’t recognize what those things were,” Dad said with a laugh.
“Sure, sure,” Sam said. “I can check it out on my own.”
“Why don’t you take Mallory?” Dad suggested. I whipped around to face them. “Or did you have plans, Mal? She’s got great taste. Gets that from her mother.”
I looked to Sam to gauge his interest in having me. As much as I wanted to spend time with him again, to get past this awkward patch, I didn’t want him to feel forced, like Dad was saddling him with his little sister at prom. He looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time all week. It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but it was enough.
“I’m not busy,” I said.
“Perfect,” Dad said. “We’ll catch up tomorrow and you can let me know what you guys think.” With that, Dad swept out of the room, leaving muddy footprints behind him.
“We’re going to have to ban him from his own tasting room,” I said, grabbing the broom. Sam laughed, a salve to my soul.
“Pick you up at five forty-five?” he asked. I nodded, devil-may-care. As soon as his car disappeared into a cloud of dust, I dropped the broom and ran to the house.
Grey Mountain Vineyards was one of the most recognized names in Paso Robles wine. Their tasting room was top tier, which was why none of us had ever been there in all the time we’d circled around each other at wine shows and Best of Paso Robles lists. While Dad prided himself on his small-town, homegrown approach to wine, Grey Mountain was glamorous. There was no other word for it. They offered dinner and an evening tour through their vines, which were meticulously strung with lights for twenty-five acres. They were booked for weeks in advance.
I learned all this from the article that had been written about them in Food & Wine.
When I heard the sound of Sam’s tires crunching on the gravel, I gave myself one last look in the mirror, took a deep breath, and forced myself to glide down the stairs, rather than bound.
Sam met me at the steps of the back porch. He looked as breathtaking as ever. He’d put on a jacket for the occasion but left the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the smooth, tanned skin over his collarbone.
“You look...very nice,” he said. He seemed to choke on the words. I’d worn a lace cap-sleeved summer dress I’d been saving for a special occasion that fell just above the knees and was soft white. I’d knotted my hair up into a messy bun and wore the only heels I owned.
Sam’s eyes told a different story than his mouth. He wanted to say more and I wanted to reassure him that my parents had already left, that we were alone, but he cast his gaze downward and held out his arm. I almost didn’t take it, to prove the point that I was no one’s burden, but to touch him... I slipped my fingers over the crook in his elbow and tottered in my heels over the uneven ground to his car.
Sam drove us through the windy dirt back roads that led out of our vineyard and into Grey Mountain Vineyards at the north end of town.
As we parked in the parking lot, a nervous sweat stung my underarms like needles. I looked at the others emerging from their cars. The people who would be sharing our dinner table were dressed in suits and designer evening wear. Looking down at the outfit I’d so meticulously coordinated and had been so proud of, I’d never felt more like the child Sam thought I was.
Embarrassment welled up in my throat and I contemplated asking him to take me home but then he was opening the door for me and offering me his hand. I forced myself to take a deep breath and slipped my hand into his.
Dinner passed by in a haze of panic. All twenty guests for the evening were seated at a large farm table in the middle of the tasting-room-slash-barrel-room, Sam directly across from me. I sat on the hard wooden chair in constant worry that I would say the wrong thing, use the wrong fork, or drop a single morsel of food on my white dress and have to strategically hide it for the rest of the night. Worse, when the sommelier began to pour the wine, I had to admit to being underage, shame warming my cheeks so fiercely I thought they might catch fire.
Sam’s stilted moves proved he was just as uncomfortable, probably wondering how other people would feel about him bringing someone who wasn’t even old enough to drink to a wine tasting. I was grateful when he struck up a conversation about business with the man sitting next to him so I didn’t have to try to join the conversation. Instead, I sat quietly, watching him and how stiff his spine was, how overly polite his conversation. His laugh didn’t have that ring I was used to and it made me sad that he would ever dull it for anyone.
After dinner, I was grateful to disappear into the darkness of the vines. Sam offered his arm again and once we’d fallen away from the crowd, straggling at the back of the line, his shoulders relaxed.
“So?” he asked me. “What did you think?”
He was a couple of glasses of wine in and, apparently, talking to me again. The correlation didn’t go unnoticed.
“It was...” I decided to be honest. “Snobby.”
To my surprise and the surprise of the woman a dozen feet in front of us, Sam laughed, loud and unbridled. The laugh I knew and loved. “Your dad was right to send you,” he said.
“Didn’t you find it uncomfortable?” I asked in a whisper, aware of people close by. “You seemed uncomfortable.”
Sam drilled me with his eyes, maybe shocked I’d seen through his act. After another moment of walking, he softened. “My dad would have loved it,” he mumbled.
I didn’t know what to say. He always avoided elaborating on his relationship with his dad.
It took us another forty-five minutes to walk the rest of the vineyard and when we were done, Sam bought a bottle of red and a bottle of white to take to Dad. When he parked back at home, Sam turned off the car and we sat there. My feet ached but I refused to reveal my lack of experience in heels by taking off my shoes.
“Are you going to stay?” I asked.
“I don’t think I should,” he said.
I nodded, expecting his answer. I wasn’t brave enough to ask him why. “Will you let me show you something before you go?”
We looked at each other across the small space, both of us questioning, doubting, worrying...and wanting.
“Sure.”
We got out of the car and Sam followed close behind me. His presence prickled the hairs on the back of my neck. At the porch, I said, “Wait here.” Sam narrowed his eyes but nodded. I walked into the house, but was so worried he would leave that as soon as I closed the door behind me, I mercifully slipped off my heels and ran upstairs to change.
He was still waiting when I returned in cotton shorts and a plain white T-shirt. He looked me over.
“What are you up to
?” he asked. I blushed but didn’t answer.
Midnight snorted when I entered the breezeway.
“Hey, girl,” I called.
I unlatched the door to her stall and saddled her quickly in the breezeway, lit by the moonlight. “C’mon,” I said.
Sam sighed but, gripping my thigh for support, pulled himself up and slipped into the saddle behind me.
I led Midnight out behind the stalls, onto the trail Sam hadn’t yet traveled. This trail was mine, one I kept for myself when I wanted to be alone. Tyler was the only person I regularly shared it with. Sam was hushed behind me, waiting to see what I had in store.
Once Midnight was sufficiently warmed up, I said, “Hold on tight,” and with a wicked grin he couldn’t see, I gave Midnight a nudge with my heel, a little click of my tongue, and she took off. Sam’s hands slipped around my waist.
We rode into the night with nothing but the bah-da-bum-bah-da-bum of Midnight’s hooves on the dirt and the wind in our hair to accompany us. I didn’t have to tell Midnight where to go. She led us through the desert landscape of the back acres, through dry bushes, over the hills, kicking up a trail of dust behind us. Sam held me tighter and tighter and maybe I should have pulled Midnight back a bit, but I couldn’t. I was addicted to the feeling of lightness, like if Midnight just kept running, my feet would never have to touch the ground.
She was forced to stop when she reached the pond, skidding to a sideways stop and prancing to show her excitement.
“You okay?” I asked over my shoulder. My voice echoed in the fresh silence.
“Yeah,” he said. He sat back, releasing me.
I slid off Midnight’s back and landed with a thud on the sand that surrounded the pond. The water glittered in the moonlight, equally magical and eerie. But it was not knowing what was beneath the surface that made it exciting.
Sam not-so-gracefully slid off next to me, gripping Midnight in a bear hug until his feet touched the ground. Midnight sauntered down the shoreline, drinking from the water, and I kicked off my boots to stick my bare toes into the water. Warm. I stepped in farther, the water reaching my knees, and looked back at Sam. He watched me from dry land.
“You’re going to have to take those shoes off,” I said with a laugh.
He was unusually quiet, not used to not being in control. But he obligingly took off his shoes and rolled up his pant legs, then he waded into the water until he reached me. The water lapped at the bunched-up cloth and I laughed.
“What exactly do you have in mind?” he asked. He was out of his comfort zone, and he liked it.
I slid my hands under the lapels of his jacket and shook it off him, tossing it back to the sand. I waited for him to wince away from me, but he didn’t. I held out my hand and he slipped his into it, and together, we moved in farther until the hem of my shorts was soaked and stuck to my thighs.
“What?” he urged, like a dare. So I did it—I yanked hard on his hand and we plunged into the water, which was so close to the temperature of the night air, I almost didn’t feel it.
We both came up laughing and gasping for air. He shook his curls out, sprinkling the pond and me with droplets of moisture.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” he said with a laugh.
“What are you going to do about it?” I splashed him.
He lunged for my wrist and pulled me to him. His hands guided my legs around his waist until we were closer than I’d ever been with a man in my whole life. With his face a mere inch from mine and the strength of his body holding me up, I felt like my chest would crack open.
And then he looked into my eyes like he couldn’t believe me either, couldn’t believe this moment. He kissed me, holding nothing back. We stayed out there, kissing, wrapped up in each other, like we were the only two people in the world.
We rode Midnight back to the house, both of us soaking wet aside from his jacket, which he wrapped over my shoulders. My parents still weren’t home after we put Midnight back in her stall so we sneaked into the guest house, where Sam stripped down to his boxer briefs and undershirt, and we toweled ourselves off as best we could. I wanted dry clothes more than almost anything, but not more than this moment with him, which I feared would be broken by any hint of reality.
So we both curled up in bed, damp and happy. I felt gratified. I’d broken past Sam’s barriers, proven to him and myself that our first kiss wasn’t an anomaly, wasn’t a mistake, wasn’t just driven by alcohol. I’d proven I wouldn’t be ignored or brushed aside. And no matter what Sam said, his actions told me he wanted me, too. I only hoped it wasn’t just for the summer.
He wrapped my body around his again, and we kissed more, his hands exploring the shape of my body, until we both fell asleep.
TWENTY
NOW
I sit at the dining room table that afternoon with my mom’s laptop, feeling no more inspired than the day before. After annoying myself by arrhythmically tapping my pen on the table for several minutes, I open a new internet browser tab to search for boarding stables in upstate New York. Just out of curiosity. How long would it take to get there? How much would it cost? Do taxis drive out that far? Would my new salary cover it? I follow one link after another into the abyss.
“Horse yoga?” Sam reads over my shoulder sometime later.
I start and slam the laptop shut. When I look sheepishly up at him, he gives me a half grin, entertained by me as usual. It reminds me so much of the way he used to look at me that I forget about the possibilities of the future and focus on the possibilities of now. After all, it was Sam’s suggestion to find the old Mallory. Since he was the last person to see her, with him is the most logical place to look.
“Do you want to go horseback riding?” I ask him.
“Sure,” he says.
“Really?”
Sam laughs. “Yeah.”
While Sam changes into jeans, I saddle up Tiramisu for him, Tyler being the only one who can handle Rocket’s devilishness. Sam appears in actual boots, making me laugh.
“Did you buy those just for your visit?” I ask him. I picture him in the store, uncomfortable but determined. It’s adorable. The boots are excessively shiny, but so is everything else he owns.
He slips his hands into his front pockets. “I came prepared for anything.”
I smile, softening. “Good.”
I throw my leg over Midnight and cluck my tongue at her. I take it easy as we set out on the trail. A benevolent breeze cools our skin and billowing clouds cross over the sun occasionally, casting uneven shadows over the vines. It’s the kind of day I could disappear into like camouflage.
“So,” I say, “you don’t have anyone missing you back at home, do you?” If we’re going to entertain the idea of spending time together, I have to know I’m not being led on again. I’d like to trust the Sam I’ve seen since returning but I thought I could believe what I felt for him the last time.
Sam has settled into the saddle, more comfortable than before.
“You mean a girlfriend?” he asks. “You think I’d kiss you if I had a girlfriend?” He sighs. “Don’t answer that. No, I don’t. I’ve dated a few people. One serious. Nothing that was likely to work out.”
So neither one of us has had much luck in the dating department. I’d like to think that means something—that I’ve had as much of an effect on Sam as he’s had on me—but likely it just means that, as Kelly said, we’re more similar than I thought.
“They weren’t likely to work out,” I say, “and you dated them anyway? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“In work, all your choices are so purposeful.”
Sam purses his lips, contemplating like he hadn’t thought of it that way before.
“I suppose you’re right. I’ve never been very solid in my personal life. You know. You try th
ings out. You hope they’ll work. Most of the time they don’t.”
“But you thought it would work out with your fiancée?”
It’s time the two of us had everything out on the table.
When Sam doesn’t answer right away, I look back at him. His gaze is out across the hills, over the trees, hundreds of miles from here.
“Too soon?” I ask.
“No,” he says. He meets my eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about her actually. She’s the daughter of one of my father’s friends. He’s a doctor, too. They lived in Olympia, which is a couple of hours away, but they’d visit for events or if they were in town for business. Our families took a cruise to Alaska together once.”
It’s hard to imagine Sam’s life in Washington. The water. The green landscape. The passports and yachts and five-star dinners.
“So you grew up together?”
“Yes and no,” he says. “We saw each other so infrequently that I hardly remember her before we were sixteen.”
It’s no mystery what caught his attention at that point.
I pull Midnight back so Sam and I are riding next to each other. Midnight nudges Tiramisu and they prod at each other like toddlers, playing in the sun. Sam and I laugh, and I tug Midnight’s face away.
“Did you date as teenagers?” I ask him.
“No,” he says. “There was a kiss. On that cruise. But otherwise, the two-hour drive just didn’t make sense. And I was too caught up in my own life with school, my parents fighting, and my own friends to think of her that way.”
“When did it change?” I ask.
He exhales, the weight of remembering heavy. “She came to my college graduation party. It was just me and a few friends. My dad refused to attend the ceremony so my mom didn’t either. She walked on eggshells with him after they got back together. But she must have told Hannah because she Hannah showed up.”
Hannah. I latch onto her name, as if it’s significant. As if it tells me everything about their relationship, everything I need to know about what Sam wants in a woman.
Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard Page 22
