Page 29 of Love You Truly

“Good, right?” I’m talking about the pasta, but my question could be generalized to this whole evening. I came here with an agenda, prodded by my siblings, but I’m finding it hard to focus.

“Mmm-hmm.” She swallows the bite and looks down at her plate of spaghetti Bolognese. “Want to try mine?”

“Yes, please.” Again, my words feel like they have multiple meanings.

Mallory twirls some strands of pasta onto her fork and holds it out with the handle facing me. As I take it, our fingers brush, and it feels like we both pause. I know what I feel—stirring ripples of electricity pulsing across my skin where it grazes hers. Her eyes dilate slightly, and I notice tiny flecks of gold in the gray.

Taking the fork from her, I keep my eyes fixed on hers. Somehow, this is even hotter than when she ate off my fork.

“Good,” I confirm, my voice a rasp. She nods. I pour the last of the wine into our glasses and swirl mine around before taking a generous sip. I need something to cool down the flames I feel licking the back of my neck.

“You like the wine?” she asks. I realize then that she’s been watching me each time I take a sip and gauging my reaction.

“I do.”

She turns the bottle so the label faces me, and I can’t resist running a finger along the inside of her wrist before she pulls it away. Her jaw goes slack, but only for a moment. She regains composure and clears her throat. I tell myself to knock it off—I don’t want to be a handsy jerk like her ex, but I can’t resist touching her.

Instead, I study the bottle. “I don’t know this wine. Is it a favorite of yours?”

It’s not unusual for me to come across a winery I’ve never heard of. Even living in Napa and surrounded by wine, there are too many upstarts in California alone to keep track of them all. Besides, that’s more Archer’s domain since he’s the one in charge of the wine making.

“It’s one I’ve been studying.” She picks up her glass and swirls the dark red liquid before taking a sip. From the way she blinks and smiles, I get the feeling she tastes more than grapes with a hint of oak barrel, which is all my unseasoned palate recognizes.

“Why’s that?”

She presses her lips together and looks around the restaurant, where other diners sit at similar tables for two and four, sipping their wine and eating Italian food from white ceramic dishes. No one seems the least bit interested in us or our conversation.

Once Mallory seems reassured, she continues. “I have a business idea for Autumn Lake.”

“Ah, are you thinking of expanding your wine production?” It wouldn’t surprise me since they have acres and acres of fertile land and a tiny winery. From the time I was a kid, people have talked about what a “crime” it was that the Rutherfords didn’t make better use of their land.

After a while, I stopped listening because broken-record conversations aren’t my thing. What’s the point?

“That’s one part of it. The other part is even simpler. I’m sure you know our property sits on prime acreage in an appellation lots of people want. With the demand from other wineries as high as it is, I could run a thriving business just…growing fruit.” She says the last part like it’s a dark secret. Like it’s blasphemy, and she might get hauled off to prison for it.

I laugh. “Kind of what people around here do with their land. I assume the fruit you’re talking about is grapes, not oranges. But no judgment if you want to water a hundred acres of strawberries every day.”

“That would be silly in this region, don’t you think?”

“I think we’re particularly well suited to grow grapes, so yeah.”

“Okay, then.”

If I was looking for divine signals from the universe, they’re falling at my feet left and right. I should use this opening in the conversation to suggest she lease us some land so we can grow the vines we need. All part of the conversational flow. Like I just thought of it this minute, rather than chewing a hole in the side of my cheek all night waiting for the right opportunity.

I hate this. If I just enjoy myself and forget about turning tonight into a power play, I’m the weak, pretty boy everyone thinks I am, and my family will be disappointed I couldn’t close the deal.

On the other hand, if I make a sweet deal to snag some land, I’ll feel like I’m using her. And right now, I like the way this evening is going. Just two people getting to know each other and enjoying each other’s company. I guess that’s why I date women instead of doing business with them. Only lately, I haven’t done either one.

“Okay…” I wait for the second part of the story. I must be missing something because I can’t figure out why she’s being so secretive about doing the obvious. The only thing I can’t figure out is what took her so long to get started.

“I assume this idea didn’t just occur to you. Your family has had that land for years.”

She looks around the room again, and I can tell this conversation is making her uncomfortable. And yet she brought it up.

Tipping back in my chair, I hold my wineglass and watch her. Her long dark hair frames her heart-shaped face, and her cheeks glow a pale pink as though she’s just run around the block in brisk air. She’s excited, but from the thrumming of her pulse beneath the pale skin of her neck, she’s also nervous.

I’m dying to know why. Dying to understand why she’s guarding a basic assumption of most land owners in Napa Valley like it’s a national security secret.

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