Page 36 of Twin Babies For The Grump

“Are you putting me on delivery duty?” Tess asks.

She sounds truly miserable about it. I make a note to ask more about delivery duty later on. We’ve put a temporary halt on them until after the contest, but it sounds like the sort of thing that might make for a good punishment. Like turning a businessman into a temporary intern and sending them off on a coffee run when he’s really fucked up with a client.

“No, not quite.” I grab the spare helmet from the back of the motorcycle and toss it toward her again.

Tess fumbles it. The very tips of her fingers catch on the helmet and pull it up against her chest. There’s an almost pink flush to her cheeks. “Seriously?”

“I’m going out for a while on my lunch. You’ll come with me,” I tell her.

Tess tucks the helmet under her arm and reaches around to adjust her hair, lowering the ponytail so that it won’t be crushed flat by the helmet. She sounds almost hopeful when she asks, “Do I get to go back to work afterward?”

I make a face. “Not a chance. You look like you’re running a fever.”

“I’m not running a fever.” Her cheeks grow pinker. Alright, not a fever. But it does make me wonder what she’s flustered over. This is hardly the first time that I’ve recruited her for a ride out through the country.

I grab my own helmet and pull it on, then swing my leg over the center chassis of the bike. “Come on. Helmet on. If you aren’t running a fever, we’ll discuss things when we get back.”

Like whether she’s going straight to her house, or if she’s going to come up to mine for dinner.

Tess narrows her eyes at me like she knows exactly what I mean by that, but she does pull on her helmet and joins me on the motorcycle. There’s always something about this that feels more intimate than I’m expecting.

It’s the way that she curls her arms around my middle, the way that her head settles next to my own as she leans forward. Tess becomes a long line of soft heat at my back and one that I’m eager to keep close to me.

A strong wind blows in. It carries with it the sweetly familiar scent of Napa Valley, the wine that’s being made, the oaken casks, the grapes on the vine. This place was home when I was younger, and it’s getting to be home again.

Having Tess around has been surprisingly helpful when it comes to that.

I rev the engine twice, just to prove a point. I’m showing off. Not just to Tess, but to everyone on the staff that might hear the sound and look my way.

Tess laughs. Her helmet knocks against the side of my own. “Why do I get the feeling we aren’t going to discuss it when we get back?”

“Hold on,” I tell her, instead of answering. “And don’t let go.”

Chapter Sixteen

Tess

Theaircatchesonus as we rip down the long, winding road.

The hills and valleys stretch out on either side of us, nearly endless in their greenery. The patchwork colors that makeup Napa Valley bleed together at the high speed we’re traveling along.

There’s no time to think about much.

That must be why Owen likes motorcycles so much.

On a car ride, you can’t do anything but think. Especially considering that Owen’s got someone to drive him around. But when it comes to a ride on a bike like this, you have to put your whole attention on keeping the bike up, keeping it level, keeping it even.

There’s something about it that just feels different.

For a few blissful hours, I don’t have to think about anything. Not work, not the Grapefest, and not the pregnancy. I wonder what it is that Owen’s trying not to think about.

Whatever it is, the ride comes to an end eventually. We hit the road leading back up to the estate. It’s late in the day, but there are still a few cars parked in the employee lot. We pass them by, and Owen stops in front of the stairs to the estate, hitting the kickstand and letting me get off before getting up himself.

I take off the helmet and pass it back over to him, well aware that my hair has turned into a frizzy mess.

“I like that look on you,” says Owen, reaching out and catching hold of the scrunchie. He pulls it out of my hair and then uses both hands to ruffle it up. “It’s very windswept.”

“Is that what we’re going with?” I laugh and do the same thing, though I think that it’s a bit of a lost cause. My hair is nothing but tiny little wind knots at this point.

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