Page 70 of Sweet Escape

Slipping one foot out of my sandal, I lift it slightly so he can see the new polish.

“That is quite the color.”

I laugh. “I figure it’s a little bit wild and a little bit sweet.”

“Sounds like you,” he offers, slipping a bookmark into his book and setting it down on the table next to him, giving me his full attention.

“Ha! You don’t know me well enough to say if I’m sweet.”

He grins at me. “Something tells me that you are, even if you don’t always like to give off that impression.”

A pleasant thread of surprise laces its way through me at his words, ones that make me think he has a fairly good picture of who I am, even though we’ve only had a few interactions.

I tuck my hair behind one ear. “Look, Errol. If you’re going to keep giving me these lovely compliments, I’m going to have to start paying you.”

Errol chuckles, shaking his head. “If I remember correctly, you’re checking out soon, right? What fun things are you going to do with your last days in town?”

I blow out a breath, the reminder that I’ve only got two more full days in Rosewood a sad reality I’m not so sure I’m ready to face.

I booked my room at the Firehouse for two weeks, figuring it was a good starting point and not sure how long I was planning to stay. Now that my time in town is coming to an end, I’m starting to wish I didn’t need to go so soon.

But even as I think it, I’m sure it’s unrealistic to assume I could have stayed longer. I have a life to get back to. Studio time to get to. Responsibilities. And a cat that is probably not missing me at all.

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll probably go hang out with my friend tomorrow at her family’s vineyard. You know the Hawthorne family?”

“I do.”

“Murphy and I are besties, so ... probably gonna head over there and bug her a little bit. Maybe go on a drive.” I shrug. “I might perform at the open mic night tomorrow.”

Errol’s eyes light up. “I love open mic night.”

“Really?”

He nods. “My wife used to play the keyboard and sing, and she’d sign up to perform every so often. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to one.”

I try to imagine cutie pie Errol at The Standard, sitting in his little sweater vests with an Arnold Palmer, and suddenly I want it more than anything.

“If I decide to perform, will you be my date?” I ask him.

He claps his hands together, joy alighting on his face.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Chapter Fifteen

Memphis

I frown as the text pops up on my phone.

Vivian:Busy tonight. Sorry!

Setting my phone aside, I get back to work, reviewing the report from yesterday’s harvest and comparing it to the same day from the past few years. The first week of the harvest’s yield has always been a strong indicator of what we can expect from our crop. Typically, it’s about comparing the percentage of grapes that have been cut from the vine to the weight of how many grapes are considered underripe, diseased, or damaged.

Things are looking promising as I compile the handwritten notes from the staff and enter them into my database.

But instead of reveling in those good numbers and what they might mean for this batch of wine, I’m still focused on Vivian’s text.

Obviously, she doesn’t need to be available just because I’ve asked her to be. She made it clear that she’s working on this trip, and I’m definitely a person who understands prioritizing work.

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