Page 24 of The Vineyard Crush

I frowned slightly, not following where he was headed with this. “We’ve hosted ceremonies and receptions on the grounds before, though. What makes Emma’s idea so novel?”

“Well, little sister has this whole ethos-driven vision of creating lush, intimate nuptial experiences beyond just basic location rental,” Ethan explained with a trace of unmistakable pride lacing his words. “Environmentally sustainable set design and decor, ethical food sourcing from local organic providers, sustainable farming and eco-conscious practices integrated into the whole damn fairytale extravaganza. You know, capitalizing on the rustic romanticism of this place while staying true to those crunchy green values the young’uns are so gaga about these days.”

Despite myself, I couldn’t help the tiny curve tugging at the corners of my mouth as he spoke. Leave it to Emma to find a way to inject her passionately idealistic spirit into even the most traditional of conventions. I could picture exactly the kind of blissfully quirky magic she’d weave for brides and grooms seeking a truly unique destination experience…

Ethan’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he shot me an apologetic look before stepping outside to take the call. I waved him off dismissively — these interruptions from investors and partners had become so frequent they barely even registered anymore.

I settled back on the work I was doing before Ethan started talking business. Outside, the last dregs of twilight were fading, plunging the cluttered shed into a soupy orange-tinged gloom. Avery woke up and I carried her in one arm as I worked.

The creak of the shed door opening broke the silence. I glanced over my shoulder, assuming Ethan had wrapped up his call already. “Back already, hotshot?” I quipped, a teasing smirk playing across my lips as I rolled my eyes dramatically. “I figured you’d be off self-aggran—”

Because instead of my longtime bro standing there fixing me with one of his familiar shit-eating grins…it was Emma herself.

Time seemed to crash to a shuddering halt, the remaining dredges of twilight suspending between us like some kind of delirious, fractured dream. Hair tumbling in feathery disarray past her collarbones, lips slightly parted as if she’d just emitted the smallest gasp, and those whiskey-hued eyes staring straight into me with inquiry and disarming openness.

For a long, disorienting heartbeat, I found myself utterly spellbound. Lost amid the mesmerizing flow of her effortless loveliness and the equally staggering awareness that she was here. Standing in my inner sanctum after inundating my every thought for what seemed like lifetimes on end.

“Hey,” Emma said simply, her voice a hushed breath that seemed to caress some deep, untapped part of my soul. It carried through the dimness of the shed and washed over me with all the resonant force of a tidal wave. The single hushed syllable seemed to reverberate in the marrow of my bones, leaving fissures of awake in its path.

My throat constricted as I drank in the sight of her standing there. Emma. Dressed in jean shorts that hugged her curves with a baggy Harry Potter t-shirt she was the cutest sight I have ever laid my eyes on “Hey,” I managed to rumble back, impressed by the relative steadiness I’d mustered despite feeling anything but calm and collected on the inside.

Emma stood framed by the doorway’s honeyed light like some uncovered Renaissance masterpiece, soft floral sundress and tumbling waves of chestnut hair appearing more vivid and radiant than should be naturally possible. My gaze traced the gentle slope of her shoulders, and the tantalizing dip of her clavicle, hungrily cataloguing each tiny detail as if gradually emerging from a long drought.

“I…made some brownies,” she continued at last, seeming to gather herself after that loaded pause. “Thought you guys might like them.”

Only then did I register the tupperware container clutched in her hands, opaque sides concealing the homespun contents she was proffering. Squaring my shoulders, I crossed the short distance separating us, boots scuffing through the earthen floor in a series of deliberate strides.

Up close, Emma’s floral perfume and clean, uninhibited scent enveloped me completely - the kind of nostalgic fragrance you could happily get lost inside forever. My fingers brushed against hers with undisguised intent as I relieved her of the baked goods, reveling in the unmistakable spark of contact.

“Thanks,” I murmured simply, distracted by the flickering dance of her lush lashes and the enticing flush that had started blossoming across those exquisite cheekbones. Was it just my imagination, or did a tremor of awareness seem to race through Emma at the same moment our fingers met and held?

Taking a steadying breath, I allowed my free hand to linger perhaps a beat too long against the soft skin of her knuckles as I accepted the container. The charged interim stretched out between us, loaded with unspoken tensions and unvoiced longings that felt at once unfamiliar yet profoundly instinctive.

Had any other woman appeared here unannounced, encroaching upon the solitary inner sanctum of my private ranch world, it would’ve raised all manner of territoriality and masculine bravado. A territorial reckoning of dominance and propriety demanded before opening the space to a disruptive feminine presence.

But with Emma…there was no such automatic reflex towards defensiveness. No subconscious shorthand instructing me to proceed with guarded reserve and ingrained emotional barriers fully reinforced. Quite the opposite, in fact – her arrival in my midst conjured a sense of bone-deep rightness and completion, as if she’d been a dimension sorely lacking in my life all along without my conscious realization.

Perhaps it was the memory of our starlight-soaked communion from last night still exerting its spectral hold on my psyche. Or the persistent intrusive fantasies that had hounded me relentlessly ever since our reckless act of personal candor on the rooftop. Either way, I found myself utterly disarmed in this woman’s presence, wounded by the lightest grazing brush of her hand against mine.

Twelve

Emma

Ifelt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as our fingers brush as he takes the Tupperware from me. Fumbling backwards I say “I-I should get going.”

I turned to leave but my foot caught on a rock and I lurched forward, bracing for the impact. But before I could hit the ground, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me.

I looked up, breath catching in my throat, to find Ridge gazing down at me, his brow furrowed in concern. The little girl on his hip giggled, seemingly delighted by the near-disaster.

“Careful there,” Ridge murmured, his voice low and rumbling. His gaze flickered to my heels then back to me. “Wouldn’t want you to go tumbling especially with those shoes you’re wearing.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine at his proximity, my heart racing. “T-thank you,” I whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth of his hand on my waist.

Avery squirmed to get closer to me effectively breaking the spell. “Here, Emma, can you hold her for just a sec?”

Before I could react, he deposited Avery into my arms. Our bodies brushed together as the little girl settled against me, and that now familiar shiver of awareness danced along my spine. I swayed slightly at the tingling contact, feeling almost dizzy being this close to Ridge.

Warm chuckles rumbled from his chest as his hands shot out to steady me, curving around my waist again. “You need to steady yourself there, sweetheart,” he murmured, the unexpected endearment sending my heart lurching.

---