Page 27 of Love You Always

“Oh no, you don’t. Not falling for that. You drink it first.” I put the glass down so there’s no chance of additional hand interaction.

He picks the glass up and takes a sip, rolling the liquid around on his tongue before swallowing. My insides nearly melt watching him. All thought is funneled to the image of his tongue sweeping across my skin, and it’s all I can do to suppress a moan. My eyes briefly drift shut, and I find him watching me intently when they open. “You okay there?”

I nod, unable to find words, and carefully take the glass from him. I move it to my lips, pressing them to the exact spot where his were only moments before. I don’t know what possessed me to do that, but I don’t regret it. I also don’t regret that I’m suddenly sweating in a chilly room. I take a sip, then another one. “I like this one. It’s the opposite, very alcoholic, not at all sweet.”

Archer takes the glass back from me and takes a sip. I stare as he swishes the liquid inside his mouth, moving his tonguearound. It’s the most sensual thing I’ve ever experienced. I feel the urge to videotape him to preserve this erotic moment. Then I come to my senses, remind myself I’m here to taste wine before mywedding, and talk my hormones down. It’s just wedding jitters, surely.

Right. Keep telling yourself that.

While it’s true that Callum has never made me feel even a smidgeon of the heat that’s radiating from Archer, I tell myself that’s unimportant in a future husband. What I need is rationality, a partner who doesn’t make my skin heat, my pulse pound, or other parts of my body flood with a tsunami of pheromones.

Again, keep on perpetuating lies.

I look longingly as Archer pours the remains of his wine into a trough beneath the vats. I need something to cool me down, and almost like he senses that, Archer takes the bottle of water from his pocket and hands it to me. I accept it gratefully and drink down about half of it.

“Better?” he asks.

“Parched,” I say lamely, listing to the side. His hand reaches out to prop me up as though we’re mentally connected and he knows where my body is headed before I do. I feel a zing of electricity along the surface of my skin where he’s touching me, and my eyes drop to his hand.

“I think I’m steady now,” I say. My throat suddenly is dry, despite the ample flow of wine. “It’s a little warm in here is all.”

He looks down as well but doesn’t move his hand. Pulling out his phone and tapping the screen, he nods. “Yeah. It’s a toasty forty-eight, princess.” His chuckle lodges inside my bones. This is where I get myself into trouble—not reading the signs of what men want, not having a firm enough grasp on what I want. I wobble again and he holds tight.

“I’m good. Really.” I take a step back, forcing him to let go. I immediately wish he hadn’t.

“Want to try another?”

I nod enthusiastically. I can’t possibly be drunk from the little tastes of wine, so maybe it’s the proximity to this lumberjack winemaker making me feel like I’m walking on clouds.

We taste a few more, some sweeter, some more acidic, none ready for bottling. “How do you decide when it’s ready?” I ask, leaning against a cool metal tank for its cooling properties. I also need it to hold me up because of all the wine.

He taps on the side of a tank. “It’s like a watermelon. If it sounds hollow, it’s good.”

“Seriously?”

He studies me, maybe gauging whether I’m a serious enough wine student to merit information. “Why are you so interested in this?” His deep voice reverberates in the cavernous space.

It also reverberates in me, and I wish it didn’t.

It can’t.

It still does.

This is why my reputation was in shambles when I met Callum. Flitting from one man to the next, never finding what I wanted, letting one relationship die after a few dates and picking up with the next tempting man a few weeks later. None of it spelled stability. None of it made it seem like I was holding out for love. None of it made anyone think I’d make a very good mother.

But that is all in the past. Now I have goals, real goals, that stretch far beyond a fling with a hot guy. I want to raise a child and pour everything I have into the health and happiness of someone else. There’s no room for distractions that will take me off course.

Distractions like Archer.

And despite my vague suspicions about Callum’s fidelity, they’re just suspicions. Things have been good between us, and my adoption lawyer seems optimistic that we’ll find a match sooner rather than later.

I need to stay focused on that.

Archer guides me to a different building that’s filled with what look like big green eggs. And by “guides,” I mean that he holds on to my elbow and I hold on to his forearm as I totter across the gravel and focus on not falling. I cock my head, unsure what I’m looking at, even though stacks of wine barrels throughout the space should give me a clue.

“The eggs are a different look but same process. They lend a different flavor profile—we mostly use them for the small-batch, higher-end wines we produce.”

“Ah, and now we’ve come full circle. Maybe those are the ones I should serve at the wedding. With a bespoke label. Is that at all doable?”

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