Page 20 of Twisted Collide

“Think the grapes are ripe yet?”

I purse my lips, knowing the answer to that question. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Everyone around here knows grapes are harvested at the end of summer, early fall. I don’t think they’re even edible yet.”

“Only one way to find out.” She takes a step forward, her free hand extended.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Even in the dark, I can see her smile. Her lips tip up into a mischievous smirk.

“You’re a hellfire. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Hellfire? No. Trouble? Yep.”

I narrow my eyes, not that she can see. “Who says you’re trouble?”

“My mom and she would know.” She groans. “But again . . . we can’t talk about that.” She looks up at me and smirks. “On that note.” She reaches forward and picks a grape right off the vine.

“I don’t thi—”

“That’s your problem, grump. You think too much.”

Before I can say anything else, she pops the grape into her mouth. A second later, she’s spitting it out.

I smother my grin, watching as her face twists up at the bitterness. “Not what you expected?”

“Not even a little. That was gross. It’s like . . .” Her shoulders shiver, and she raises her hand, putting the open bottle to her mouth to wash out the taste. She makes a sound, smacking her lips together. “Better. Want some?”

I take a deep breath, knowing I should pass, turn around, and head home. But that’s not what I do.

“Might as well.”

I raise my arm and grab the bottle, taking a swig of the wine. The smooth liquid travels down my throat, pooling in my belly. It’s not exactly what I wanted, but it still does the trick.

“Guess winemaking won’t be the job for me,” she murmurs.

“No talk of jobs, remember?” I infuse enough teasing into the words.

“I’m not talking about my current job; I’m talking about what I want to do. Totally different.”

“Looking at changing career paths already? You made it sound like you haven’t even started yet.”

She turns to me. “That’s an awfully personal question.” One side of her mouth lifts.

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two, if you must know,” she says, placing her free hand on her hip.

“Have you even finished college?”

She purses her lips. “Yes. Just. This will be my first job, and I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Winemaking is an interesting first job,” I muse.

“It’s something, but apparently, it’s not for me because I already seem to suck at it.”

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