by Melody Grace
“So did I… ” Jules looked around, thrown. Reeve had been making it sound like he wasn’t going to lift a finger for the event, but the lodge was clean and airy, practically sparkling in the sun. There was no sign of the dust and gloom that had lingered the last time she was there, and when they walked into the tasting room, the French doors along the back wall were already thrown open, letting the warm breeze waft inside, scented with jasmine and lavender from the patio beyond. There were glasses set out on the bar, polished and gleaming, and even a box of balloons and streamers waiting to be hung up.
She immediately tapped out a text. ‘You cleaned!’
The reply came back: ‘Of course. I’m not an idiot.’
Jules scowled.
“Is that coffee enough for you, or do you want to get an early start on the wine?” Rose asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jules exhaled, tucking her phone away. “That wine is sounding pretty good to me right now. Did you ever meet someone who’s so damn stubborn, they can’t even see what’s right in front of their face?”
“Yes,” Rose looked pleased. “But then he did, so it all worked out.”
“That sounds an awful lot like juicy gossip,” Jules said, glad of the distraction. “Does it have anything to do with that Nick guy, by any chance?”
Rose snorted with laughter. “Lord, no. This is someone else.”
Jules was about to ask more, when her phone buzzed. “The cupcakes are here,” she said, relieved. “And Noah’s bringing his audio setup for music.”
“Then we better get moving,” Rose said. “These balloons won’t blow up themselves.”
* * *
They got to work transforming the patio, and by the time the first guests started to arrive, it was a colorful wonderland, full of party favors—and plenty of wine.
“Oh my god, I didn’t recognize the place!” Cassie exclaimed, hauling an armful of gift bags with her. “This looks incredible!”
“What have you got there?” Jules asked, helping her set everything down on a side table. Cassie gave a wicked grin.
“Fun and games for later. Natalie made me promise not to hire a stripper, but she didn’t say anything about bringing a few fun props, if you know what I mean.”
Jules laughed. “I can guess. Wait until the wine starts flowing, she won’t mind the games.”
“Speaking of… ” Cassie looked hopefully around. “Can we get some welcome drinks poured?”
“Of course. Reeve set out some bottles to get you started,” Jules said, steering her over to the patio tables. “When he shows his face, I’m sure he’ll tell you all about the floral notes, or the berry aftertaste.”
“Where is the man of the hour?” Cassie asked, glancing around. “I should warn you, there are some single ladies coming today—and Aunt June. So, if you’d like me to let them know he’s off-limits, just say the word.”
Jules flushed. “He’s not spoken for,” she said quickly. “At least, not by me.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow, but Jules was saved from any follow-up questions by a group of guests arriving inside, weighed down with party favors, balloons, and cake boxes. Cassie went to welcome them, as Jules wondered if she should have answered differently.
No, she scolded herself immediately. Reeve was off-limits – to her.
“Not bad.”
Jules whirled around. The man himself was standing in the doorway, surveying the scene. She gulped, wondering how much of that he’d heard.
“Not bad?” she echoed, noticing he’d scrubbed up for the occasion like she’d suggested, and was wearing a crisp white button-down with his dark jeans. His hair was damp, pushed back from his face, and he was freshly shaven for a change.
Utterly delicious.
She blushed, remembering all the filthy things she’d done with him in her dreams.
“I’ve worked a miracle, no thanks to you,” she added, trying to pull herself together. “And where have you been, anyway? You could have helped set everything up.”
“I figured you had it handled,” he said with a casual shrug.
“You mean, you figured you would let me do the work, and then waltz in and take all the credit.” Jules rolled her eyes. “Typical.”
Reeve looked amused. “I was actually just about to say you’ve done a great job, and that I couldn’t have pulled it off without you. But if you’d prefer not to take the compliment… ”
“No, I’ll take it!” Jules stopped him. “As long as you appreciate my genius.”
“I do.” Reeve’s eyes met hers, and Jules felt that now-familiar swooping sensation in her stomach. It really wasn’t fair, what this man’s smoldering blue eyes did to her sense of balance. “Thank you, Jules.”
She cleared her throat. “You’re welcome, Reeve.”
Suddenly, she was painfully aware that they were surrounded by lush flowers, with the afternoon sun in a cloudless blue sky, and the perfect vista of the vineyard spread out in front of them. It was peaceful. Beautiful.
Romantic.
Then a burst of laughter came from inside, and the music started. ‘It’s Raining Men’, blasting at full volume as Aunt June’s voice boomed out.
“Now, where’s our bartender? I’m in the market for husband number six!”
She and Reeve exchanged a look. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he asked with a wry grin.
“Not at all,” she lied. “It’s going to be fun!”
Reeve hadn’t seen the vineyard this busy since… He couldn’t remember. As the afternoon wore on, the bachelorette party crowded the patio and the tasting room, eating cake, sampling wines, and gossiping at every turn.
“Now, tell me about this one… ” Aunt June said, holding out her glass for a refill.
“That’s one of our vintages from ten years ago,” he explained, pouring her friends glasses too. “It’s a full-bodied red, with an oaky finish.”
“I’d say.” Aunt June gave him an admiring look, and Reeve had to laugh. “I’ll take one.”
“The bottle?” he asked, playing along.
“Better make it a case,” she said. “I’m hosting book club next month, and we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Reeve blinked. “A case,” he repeated in disbelief. “Sure, I’ll set one aside for you.”
“I’d love to take a couple of bottles, too,” one of the other women added.
“And me.”
“What was the fruity one you were pouring?”
The orders flooded in, until Reeve had to go grab a napkin to make notes. “I’ll have these ready by the time you leave,” he promised. “I can even deliver the bigger orders tomorrow, if you like.”
“Well, aren’t you helpful?” June beamed. “And you best bring some more for right now,” she added. “We’re running low.”
Reeve headed back inside, pleased. At this rate, he might be able to keep the bank off his back for another month or two; long enough to see about finding a buyer, at least.
And all because Jules had gone ahead and interfered in his business.
He watched her, helping serve cupcakes to Natalie and her friends. She had a smile on her face, and an infectious charm about her as she laughed and joked with the crowd. She had a way of making everyone feel like they were part of a big adventure, like anything could happen.
Anything… Like kissing him in the middle of the town festival, and then acting like it had never happened.
Reeve could still feel the burning imprint of her lips on his, and the way she’d swayed closer, reaching up to grab his collar and draw him near. He’d thought about nothing else all week, while she’d driven him half-crazy with her endless texts and messages about the party.
He didn’t care about silverware or serving platters, all he’d wanted to know was: When was she going to kiss him like that again?
Sometime never, he would guess, from the breezy, casual way she was acting around him now.
He couldn’t really hold it agai
nst her; hadn’t he done exactly the same thing? Reeve knew well enough the kind of fever that sparked to life when he was close to this woman, how everything seemed to draw him into her orbit. He should be grateful she was keeping things friendly and businesslike when his big plans to do the same seemed to have fallen by the wayside.
“You know what time it is?” Cassie announced loudly, interrupting through his thoughts. The women were all gathered now out on the patio, with Natalie in the middle of things, wearing a sash and floral crown.
“Time for our entertainment?” June asked, giving Reeve a speculative look. “A little dancing, perhaps?”
Reeve grinned. “You couldn’t afford me. But that’s my cue to make myself scarce,” he added, eyeing the gift bags. Whatever toys they held, he was guessing he didn’t want to be around for the great unwrapping. “You ladies have fun.”
Their chorus of laughter followed him as he strode away. Reeve shook his head, smiling. He wasn’t a bashful guy, but he drew the line at a Chippendale routine—however good the tips may be.
It was a beautiful afternoon, so he headed down the hill, walking the well-worn path that skirted the vines all the way down to the hollow. Even though his father had let the main buildings fall into disrepair, Frank had clearly been tending carefully to his beloved crop: the grape vines were set in long, neat rows, and looked surprisingly healthy, lush with green and the first hint of color on the grapes. Reeve paused, checking the canopy and berries in places, assessing the soil and water levels: shade and sun, just the way he’d learned in these same fields as a boy. The grapes were beginning to ripen, with the green of the fruits deepening to red and black in places. In a couple of months, they’d be ripe enough to harvest, and then the proof of all these tiny decisions would be right there to taste in the sweetness of the grape.
Near the edge of the property line, the vines grew more straggly, and Reeve saw a few fence posts that were loose and in need of mending. They kept the whole property ringed with a barrier of thick wire mesh, but it was always a battle to try and keep out the local wildlife. He got to work clearing the dead roots and overhanging canopy, feeling an unfamiliar ache in his shoulders as he moved. It had been a long time since he’d been out in the fields, working the land; those days, he sourced his clients’ grapes from the comfort of climate-controlled tasting rooms, working in offices and on airplanes to consult on their blends. But these were the chores he’d had to work to earn an allowance, and to use the old truck to get to school, and he could have done them with his eyes closed.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been working, but he’d worked up a sweat by the time he heard footsteps behind him, and looked up to see Jules making her way down the hill; balancing a glass of wine and a plate of something in her hands.
And just like that, his pulse kicked back up a notch.
“I brought a slice of Summer’s famous peach cake,” she said, arriving in the hollow. “I figured you might be getting hungry out here.”
“You don’t mind missing the fun?” he asked, trying not to notice the way her denim cut-offs hugged her curves, and how the ribbon trim on her lacy tank fluttered at her chest.
Jules grinned. “Glad for the escape, actually. I don’t really know those ladies well enough to stick around for that kind of gossip.”
He smiled, and accepted the glass of wine. It was sweeter than he expected, with a cherry finish. “Is this one of ours?” he asked, surprised.
She nodded. “Why?”
“Nothing, it’s just drinking sweeter than I thought.”
Jules laughed. “You’ll have to translate that into English for me,” she said, leaning against a fence post. “Despite all my research drinking it, wine is still just ‘good’ or ‘bad’ as far as I’m concerned.”
Reeve paused. He forgot sometimes that wine was a language of its own. “A lot of things affect how a wine tastes,” he explained, “The acid in the soil, the amount of sun, how late you choose to harvest them... ” He picked a couple of the unripe grapes from a nearby cluster and held them out to her. “Try one.”
Jules took a bite, and winced. “These don’t taste like the grapes in the grocery store.”
“That’s because they’re not ripe yet,” he said. “The sugars are still developing. Pick them early, you get bitter fruit, leave them later... ”
“It’s sweeter, like this wine.” Jules finished for him, nodding. She produced two forks, and offered one to Reeve, digging into the cake to cover the bitter aftertaste. “So you can always predict how a wine will turn out, just from the way you grow the grapes?”
“In theory,” Reeve said. “But in real life… It’s more unpredictable than that. Putting the pieces together, balancing every element to get the right finish... It’s like a dance, between the grower and the grape. At least, that’s what my dad always said,” he added.
And time and time again, Frank Hastings wound up getting the steps wrong.
“So when do these ones get harvested?” Jules asked, looking around at the sea of green, lush vines.
“Not until September, maybe,” Reeve replied, rolling an unripe grape between his fingers. “Then it’s all about the rainfall and temperature. You have to check them every day, even twenty-four hours can make the difference. Sometimes my dad would sleep out here, to keep an eye on them.”
Jules laughed in surprise. “You’re serious?”
He smiled. “We all would. He’d bring a tent out, to make sure the frost didn’t come early. One time we had a cold snap and he insisted we had to start picking, right then in the middle of the night.”
Reeve could remember the commotion, everyone out with torches, hurrying to get the fruit off the wines and inside in time. He and Margo had run riot, like it was one big adventure. It was only when he was older that he’d learned the stakes of those madcap nights, and how his father’s long-shot bets could mean the difference between good times and bad; keeping the lights turned on for another season, or his mom having to pick up extra shifts to make ends meet.
Laughter echoed loudly down the hill, and he looked back at the lodge. “Do I want to know what they’re doing?” he asked.
She grinned. “Probably not.”
Jules finished the cake, leaving a smear of peach frosting on the edge of her lips. Suddenly, all Reeve wanted to do was lick it off.
He cleared his throat, looking away.
“It’s nice, having people around again,” he said blandly. “My mom used to host this big potluck in summer, back when we were young. There would be music, and dancing. Everybody in town would come.”
“Sounds like fun,” Jules said.
“It was.” Reeve smiled at the memory, the vineyard full of life. “I had my first kiss at one of those parties, right… there.” He pointed to a shady lookout spot, halfway up the hill. “Marisa Sanders,” he recalled. “She was a sophomore, and I was only a freshman. It was a big deal,” he added with a grin.
Jules cleared her throat, and he could have sworn she looked a little flushed. “I better go check on everyone,” she said, glancing back towards the lodge. “Before things get too rowdy.”
Reeve watched her brush crumbs from her top, and finally wipe that smear of frosting away. It should have removed the temptation to kiss her, but instead, he wanted it more than ever.
“Go out with me,” he said without thinking.
Jules blinked. “Like on a date?”
“A date,” he repeated, feeling more certain than ever. Why was he fighting this connection so hard? Not everything in Sweetbriar Cove had to be buried in bad memories.
One kiss was an accident, two was a pattern, and three… ?
Well, three kisses with Jules Rivera might just be the best idea he’d had in years.
“We could go to dinner, a movie… ” Reeve continued. “Hell, there’s probably a mini-golf course around somewhere if that’s more your speed,” he offered with a grin. “Take your pick.”
Jules paused, looking over at
him, and he was almost certain she was about to say ‘yes’, when she suddenly shook her head.
“Thanks, but I’m not interested.” She plastered on just about the fakest smile he’d ever seen and grabbed their empty dishes. “Bye!”
She strode off, and Reeve had to laugh. Because despite her rejection, Jules wasn’t as cool as she was playing it. Not unless she meant to walk right into the creek.
“Um, Jules?” he called, stopping her just in time. “The lodge is that way.” He pointed back up the hill. “Unless you wanted to take a swim?”
Jules flushed pink, and turned on her heel. “Don’t hide out down here too long,” she said, heading up the hill. “Aunt June said something about raiding the wine cellar.”
Reeve smiled, watching her go. There was something between them, anyone could see it; but for some reason, Jules was determined to keep him at arm’s length. Well, he’d been doing the same thing, hadn’t he? But he’d come around. And something told him, she would, too.
With chemistry like this, it was inevitable.
6
Jules felt proud of herself for all of ten minutes after turning down Reeve’s invitation.
Then she just felt like an idiot.
“Why does he have to be so damn tempting?” she asked Evie in despair the next afternoon. They were at the Beachcomber Inn, enjoying a quiet moment on the back porch as the waves crashed against the shore nearby. Jules took another gulp of iced tea, wishing it could cool down her hot, fevered imagination when it came to Reeve Hastings.
“He just stood there, all sweaty and hot, telling adorable stories about his childhood like I wasn’t the one melting into the ground. If only he had bad breath, or an annoying laugh, or a bald patch,” she continued mournfully. “No scratch that,” she added with a sigh. “Knowing him, he’d make bald look hot.”
Evie grinned, stretched out on the porch swing beside her. “You know, maybe if you believed in signs and destiny, you’d pay more attention when the universe offers you up a hot guy on a platter.”
