Page 82 of Sweet Escape

“I’m supposed to come by to have breakfast with Murphy in the morning,” she offers.

“You could stay here tonight, instead of the hotel.”

I say it before I’ve thought it all the way through, and part of me is embarrassed at how vulnerable it makes me feel. Like I’m begging her to stay, somehow.

Vivian tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking out toward the highway.

“Wouldn’t that be weird? Me staying overnight?”

When she asks, something settles in my chest.

Because she’s asking a question that’s making herself vulnerable, too.

“It doesn’t have to be. You’re leaving tomorrow, right?” I shrug. “And if you feel weird because of Murphy, well ... She stays out at Wes’s cabin most nights anyway.”

She nibbles on her lip for a second, thinking it over.

“All right, I’ll stay.”

I don’t realize how much I want her to say yes until she does. That’s when my mind races into overdrive, sorting through the things I need to get done and the things that can wait until tomorrow.

“Go pack up and do whatever you need to,” I tell her. “And then come back whenever works for you. You can practice literally anywhere on the vineyard or in the house. And then tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast with Murphy before you go.”

Her lips tilt up at the side, her eyes searching mine.

We’re walking into murky water, here. I can feel it.

But it also feels right. For whatever reason.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

I tug her forward and bring my lips to hers, kissing her like I’ve wanted to since she first showed up this morning.

The truth is that I don’t know how many more times I’ll get to do that. So I need to take advantage of it while I still can.

I bust my ass while she’s gone, trying to get through as much work as I can.

I update reports. I review our data. I make notes on the paperwork Micah left me with my own ideas about how the restructure might work, mostly leaving it as he’s laid it out, but with a few adjustments.

But my ear is always listening for a knock at the door or a text to let me know that she’s on her way.

So when I head to the kitchen to grab a quick dinner and spot Vivian out at one of the tables on the patio, chatting with my aunt Sarah and some of the temporary hands, I can’t help the surprise that ripples through me.

Or the little bit of hurt that she didn’t tell me she was here.

I step through the patio doors, prepared to give her a hard time, but then her eyes connect with mine. And the smile she gives me is nothing short of magical. It stomps out that modicum of irritability. I take my plate and drop into a seat at the end of her table.

She gives me a grin, but then she returns her attention to my aunt, who is telling her a story about one of Murphy’s earliest performances, a talent show back in junior high where she sang some pop song with her friend Quinn.

“It had choreography and everything, and she was such a little performer, even back then.”

“Murphy is incredibly talented,” Vivian offers, her elbows on the table and her water cup dangling loosely in her hands. “She’s going to be getting songwriting credits on several of the songs on my album.”

“Oh, how nice. She mentioned before that she loves writing music with you. Did you guys work on anything together while you were in town?”

“Unfortunately, no. It didn’t work out. But my writing style is pretty independent, so I don’t know that we would have done more than sit with our guitars in our laps and just talked, you know?”

“Well, I’m sorry we didn’t get more time to chat while you were in town. But I hope you enjoyed your time in Rosewood, and safe travels, sweetie.”

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