Page 22 of Sweet Escape

Errol gives me a wave as I walk through the front door of the Firehouse, but thankfully, he’s on the phone and I quickly pass him by and jog up the stairs. My bright and sunny mood from earlier has been officially soured by all these thoughts of Theo and our relationship, and I’m not in the mood for chitchat.

Instead, I flee to the privacy of my suite and crawl into bed.

I haven’t had much time to really grieve. I’ve mostly oscillated between rage and irritation or shock, clinging to this good riddance kind of attitude.

Right now, though, I feel less resilient than I’ve been since I found him naked in our bed five days ago with another woman. A bed I had promptly removed from the condo with the rest of Theo’s things.

We loved each other once. In the beginning, I know we did.

Or at least, I thought we did.

But now I can’t help but wonder if that was ever really true.

Maybe that’s the actual hardest part of breaking up.

Dissecting that love, and facing the fact that it was never as real as we believed it to be.

Chapter Five

Memphis

The crowd outside the restaurant makes me smile, and I slip through the couples and families waiting to be seated. Saturday nights have been our busiest nights since we opened, but I can feel the difference as we begin to creep into harvest season.

Every year as we begin to pluck the grapes—first the whites, then the reds—the vineyard gets an influx of visitors. More tours are scheduled. We do a handful of those foot-crushing sessions, catering to those wanting to recreate that oldI Love Lucyepisode. We sell more bottles during September and October than we do during the entire rest of the year.

Even though I hoped for that business to translate to the restaurant, I wasn’t sure what would happen. So it’s encouraging to see that the wave of guests wanting to visit the property are interested in spending time dining with us as well.

When I walk through the front door, everything looks clean and organized. The hosts are seating new guests, and the servers are bustling around with trays of food. Not wanting to get in anyone’s way, I only poke my head into the kitchen for a second. The hustle and bustle looks like the controlled chaos I’ve come to expect as several chefs move about with efficiency. I spot Wes in the corner, arranging plates on a tray, then giving directions to a server as she hoists it on her shoulder.

All in all, it seems like a smooth operation tonight, and I slip back into the dining room, tucking my hands in my pockets, just watching.

Until my eyes lock on the redhead at the wine bar.

I huff out an irritated breath as she smiles and says something to Mira.

Does she really plan to be here every day? Because two nights in a row is too much.

Too much of her little smiles and her sass and her distracting laugh.

Before I can think better of it, I stride toward the bar without a clue as to what I intend to do once I get there.

It’s evident when Vivian sees me. Her eyes flash and her chin tilts up in obstinance, bringing my attention to her long, graceful neck.

The same neck that I placed a long, wet kiss on less than twenty-four hours ago.

She’s sexy as fuck, and it’s infuriating.

“I’m surprised to see you back here,” I say, coming to a stop next to where she sits at the end.

“I don’t know why,” she replies, a smile on her face that is nowhere near as genuine as the one she was giving Mira seconds ago. “I told you I was in town for a couple of weeks.”

“Yes, youdidsay that. But I didn’t think that ‘in town’ meant you’d be setting up a tent in our restaurant. Surely there are other places far more interesting for you to spend your time.”

My eyes briefly connect with Mira’s. She’s standing completely still, frozen in the act of uncorking a bottle, watching us with curiosity.

“Mira, I think the gentleman in the green jacket needs a top-up.”

She blinks, then gives me a sheepish grin before stepping away toward the other end of the bar and giving us at least the false impression of privacy.

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