Page 57 of A Taste of Chardonnay

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I had a shitty day and normally I’d just go home, make a fire, and read, but all I could think about was you.” He extended his arm to me, and I went to him willingly. I kissed his forehead and stroked his beard, wishing I could fix him.

“Want to tell me about your day?” I asked. “I know you were getting Ron from the hospital. Did that not go well?”

“It went fine. I guess. The nurse gave me a list of meds he has to take. Ray picked him up and is going to stay with him tonight. I have to be there tomorrow by nine, then Albert said he’ll switch off with me at two so I can get to the distillery. I need to get a nurse. I can’t expect Ray and Albert and the rest of the vets to take care of him.”

“You can’t expect that of yourself, either. What do you need me to do?” I asked, my fingers itching to dive into paperwork and get this all figured out for him so the tight lines around his eyes would ease.

“It’s not your problem.”

“I already offered, so stop being a stubborn ass, and let me help.”

“You’re sexy when you’re bossy.” He kissed my neck, and for a second, my brain shut off.

“You used to call me she-devil.”

“You still are. You’re just wicked in other ways.”

“I know what you’re doing,” I said, and with the strength of all those Pilates classes, I pushed off him and rounded the counter.

“Hey.” He tried to grab for me, but I was still pretty spry for my thirty-eight years. “You’re getting distracted, and this is important.”

He inhaled and let it out slowly, his big shoulders shrinking in on him with the exhale. “You’re right. I could use your help.”

“Great!” I grabbed my emergency kitchen notebook and plopped it on the counter. “Let’s make a list.”

“Did you just pull a notebook out of your silverware drawer?”

“Yes, it’s my emergency kitchen notebook.”

“Kitchen notebook. Does that mean you have one in every room?”

My immediate response was yes, but the way he looked at me with one eyebrow raised and a smirk tugging at his lips made me pause. “What’s wrong with being prepared?” I asked almost defensively, clutching the notebook in my fist.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Just trying to decide if I should check under couch cushions and rugs.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t mock the system until you’ve tried it. This notebook has saved more dinners than I care to admit, and it’s now going to help you get organized.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he replied, his grin widening.

“Just you wait until I get my color-coded Post-it tabs.”

He laughed, the tight lines around his eyes easing. He might have been mocking me, but at least it was helping with the tension he was carrying.

“Color-coded Post-it tabs? Now I’m scared,” he teased, leaning against the counter, his grin softening into something almost… affectionate. “You’re not gonna alphabetize my spice rack next, are you?”

I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please tell me you’re not gonna turn this insurance paperwork into a flowchart?”

I smirked, grabbing a pen. “Don’t tempt me. A good flowchart could solve half your problems.”

“If it were only that easy.”

“It could be. But we have to start somewhere. Okay?”

He nodded.

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