Page 71 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

The living room and kitchen have ceilings so vaulted it’s like they’re two stories, making the space seem even larger. I walk to the huge wall of windows that overlooks a picturesque grassy park-like area below.

The door opens behind me. “Nice place,” I say. “Sorry I’m dripping on your floor.”

“Not a problem. Hold on a sec.” He disappears down a hallway and returns a minute later with a sweatshirt. He hands it to me. “There’s a bathroom down there. You can change into this.”

“Thanks.”

I almost ask what the point is. Aren’t we about to getridof our clothes? But the part of me that’s curious about his penthouse keeps me from saying it.

On the way to the bathroom, I peek into two rooms. One is a home gym, the other looks like a wine cellar. I’ve never seen so much wine. Rows and rows of it. There must be hundreds of bottles in here.

“See something you like?”

“Why do you keep all this here? Don’t you have room at the winery?”

He chuckles and passes me in the doorway. “This is nothing, just my private collection. The winery has room for much more. We produce over three hundred thousand cases of wine per year.”

My jaw drops. I knew they made a lot of wine, but I had no idea it was that much. “How many in a case?”

“Twelve.”

“That’s… I can’t even count that high.”

“Well over three million bottles.”

“Holy shit, Lucas. How do the six of you manage?”

“It takes a lot more than just the six of us. We have a full staff. You should come by sometime. I’ll give you a tour.”

I snort. “As if that wouldn’t have rumors spreading.”

“Okay, after everyone knows. Come by then.”

I laugh. “When I have absolutely no use for wine?”

“I’ll have you know we make some of the best non-alcoholic wine in the country.”

“You mean grape juice.”

His head shakes. “A common misconception. Grape juice is simply the unfermented juice of grapes. Non-alcoholic wine goes through the full winemaking process, including fermentation, but then has the alcohol removed. It gives you a more developed taste profile and it’s much less sugary than grape juice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Want to pick a bottle?”

I shoot him a hard stare. “Not a date, Lucas.”

“Neither were the others, but we still drank wine. Come on. Any bottle.”

“Okay, fine.” I close my eyes, spin around twice, then walk forward, carefully extending my arm until my fingers touch one of the racks. I wrap my hand around the first bottle I come to. “This one.”

He takes it from me. “I’ll open this. You change.”

The bathroom is across from his wine room, so I don’t get a chance to see what’s behind the other two doors at the far end of the hall. I know there’s another hallway at the other side of the penthouse, too. That one must lead to the master bedroom.Are there really two more bedrooms over here? And if so, what on earth does he need them for? A home office perhaps. I can just imagine it—a desk packed with lists, calendars, and Post-it notes—all organized and not looking the least bit messy. There would be some sort of ultra-tech high res monitor for video conferencing. Tasteful artwork on the walls. A custom-built desk and ergonomic chair that he drapes his suit jackets over after a long day.

Oh my god, why am I standing here imagining his home office?

I glance at the fourth door, wondering if maybe that room holds even more wine. To impress the ladies? I doubt it. With what he’s got below the belt—and I mean both in his wallet and in his boxer briefs—he hardly needs anything else.

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