Page 82 of The Sounds of Her

“Of course, that would be great, honey.”

I walk back and stand in front of Brooke. Fortunately, she isn’t angry, more amused than anything.

As we walk around, Daryl drones on. I may like to drink wine, and walking through the vineyards sounds appealing, but I’ve no interest whatsoever in how you make it, the history of grapes or Daryl’s life fucking story.

We end up in a darkened room, the walls are covered in rich wood panelling and all the tables and furniture are hand crafted. Probably by fucking Daryl. It’s cool in here and there is a wall of fridges and shelves where bottles of wine are stacked.

“Are you a red or white lover?” Daryl asks Brooke.

“She prefers champagne.” I insert myself into the conversation now we’re in this small tasting room, rather than out in the warehouse where the wine is made.

“Dry, white,” Brooke says. “But I’d love to try some reds too.”

“Let me go pick out a selection for you,” Daryl smiles at her, gives me a narrow-eyed stare and heads off to the fridges.

“Could he be any more obvious?”

“Could you?” Brooke lifts a brow. She wanders over to a wall where there is a large painting of the vineyard, together with a bunch of brochures on the table in front of it. “Enjoy yourself, Archer.”

“I will when Daryl gets lost.”

Brooke nudges her elbow into my side. It doesn’t hurt, but it surprises me. “Be nice.”

“I hate wine.”

“I’ve seen you drink it plenty enough to know that isn’t true.”

“Okay, I hate Daryl’s wine.”

“Perhaps you should try it before you come to that conclusion?”

I turn to see Daryl standing close behind us. I’m not embarrassed. I could give a fuck what this guy thinks of me, but Brooke’s cheeks flush. I’ve embarrassed her. Shit. I hold up a hand in apology. I’ll be damned if I actually say the words.

“I love wine, I love my vineyard and it always excites me when I get to talk about our little place,” Daryl says to appease me. This place is anything but little. He hasn’t recognised me, so doesn’t know I could buy his little vineyard three times over. But I’m not going to be pedantic.

One look at Brooke tells me if I keep being snippy she’s gonna get pissed, so I grin and bear it as we taste all the different wines. I swallow all of it, whereas Daryl spits it out after he’s swilled his mouth with it. He makes stupid faces talking about how it smells and tastes.

I’m not a complete idiot. I know how wine tasting works. I just find it gross watching him spit. Brooke doesn’t want to waste perfectly good booze either, because she drinks every small glass she’s offered.

We finish the tasting part of the day, and Daryl leads us back out of the main building. He walks us down a short pathway in a field at the back, towards a fence which opens out into the actual vineyard.

“There are signs for the paths that you can walk along. You’ll see some workers in the fields too, so if you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask them. Call in on your way out,” he takes Brooke’s hand and for a second, I think the asshole is going to kiss it.

“Thanks,” I say, moving around them to open the gate, holding it open for Brooke.

She says goodbye and steps through. I shut the gate and grab her hand. She doesn’t pull away, so that’s at least one positive. She only holds in the laugh for a few steps.

“What?” I ask.

She laughs louder but doesn’t answer me as she walks along the path that leads towards the rows of grape vines.

“It was like he didn’t even care I was standing there. And not in a ‘he didn’t recognise a world-famous rock star’ kind of way,” I add.

Brooke walks ahead of me and glances over her shoulder but still doesn’t acknowledge me. Probably because I’m being childish. Fuck knows why. We’re not even together. But that prick didn’t know that.

As I follow behind, I can’t help but stare at Brooke as she walks, noting how her hips sway. The dress isn’t tight and swings around her legs in the breeze but doesn’t hide her heart-shaped ass.

She pauses a few times as we get deeper into the vineyard, closing her eyes and tipping her face to the enjoy the warmth of the sun.

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