Page 33 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

"Cheers!" she answers before she takes a sip. "The food here is pretty damn good, too," she jokes.

My brows shoot up, loving this playful side of her. "I believe you." I bite into my hot dog and moan as the savory flavors of beef, ketchup, mustard, and relish explode on my tongue. "I don't know if this is really good, or if I'm just super hungry."

Sophie chuckles before she takes a small bite of her own. "Why not both?" she says around her first bite. "You definitely earned it after all the progress you made today."

That comment makes me sit back and blink. She is actually being nice to me.

Her lower lip pops out in a cute little pout at my pause. "You don't have to look so surprised. You did a great job today, which pushed my timetable up a couple of weeks. I didn't expect you to get it all done in one day. Now that those tanks are done, I can fast track the next batch of wine I have planned."

The warmth from earlier blossoms again in my chest, working its way through to my extremities—ALL of my extremities, which is awkward given our close quarters and how tight my jeans currently are. It’s a damned good thing I’ve got the hot dog tray and a napkin on my lap.

Just keep making eye contact and pray to God she doesn’t look down!

"Thanks for that, Sophie. I was serious when I said I wanted to learn from the best. I’ve studied your family’s wineryfor years, and I’ve read everything you’ve written about the industry."

She snickers. "I would assume so if you came all the way out here from Texas. Most wine people compete for an apprenticeship in California rather than Florida."

"Yeah, well…" I press my lips together, wracking my brain for a good way to phrase my next thought and hope I don’t insult her when I open my mouth. "I think California is a little overrated. Don't get me wrong—they produce amazing wines. But there are so many other places in the country—hell, in the world—that can do the same thing or better. Like Texas, Oregon, Washington, Michigan, Indiana, New York, Colorado… the list goes on and on. Great wine is made in a lot of places now, but many folks in California think if it doesn’t come from Napa or Sonoma then it’s bottom shelf crap."

"I completely agree. It's one of the many reasons why I accepted the job at Celtic Knot."

"I wondered about that. Your entire family and your legacy is in California wine country from what I could find online. Why would you come to Florida by yourself to take over a small winery in the middle of nowhere? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"I don't," Sophie says, her tone light and relaxed.

"My family is…" She sighs and is quiet for a moment, eyes losing focus as if she’s searching for the proper word. "Difficult," she finally finishes. "My father and brothers are like dictators when it comes to winemaking—the family way or the highway. They never let me experiment, always shooting down my ideas because they don't conform with the family standard. I love traditional wines and my family’s wines above all, but I also want to put something of myself into each bottle. Every varietal, harvest, and barrel—they’re all unique in small ways. I just felt like I had more to offer than doing the same thing the same wayfor no better reason than ‘that’s how we’ve always done it.’ The Celtic Knot Winery was desperate and at rock bottom when I got here. But it won't be a laughingstock for long if I have anything to say about it."

Her face scrunches, chagrin shining in her gaze. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get on my soap box there."

"No, don't apologize." I shoo away her concern with a flip of my hand. "I appreciate your honesty and understand wanting to branch out and do your own thing. My family in Texas is huge and very traditional. The men go into the military and the women get married and raise families." I shrug. "I chose a different path, and they didn't take it well. Still haven’t if I’m being honest. Coming out here was a blessing, and I'm grateful for the opportunity."

Sophie's lips flatten, and she exhales sharply through her nose. "I owe you an apology for the way I reacted when you arrived. Brennen had walked in only an hour earlier and told me about you. I had no idea about the scholarship and had zero time to digest it. If you haven’t already guessed, I hate surprises."

"Again, no need for apologies. I got the impression that Brennen has his hands full, so that doesn't concern me in the slightest."

Sophie snorts. "Yeah, you could say that. The man is so stressed out he looks like his head will explode at any minute. I don't know what's going on with him, but I think it's about way more than just the winery."

My antennae twitches at the information. "Maybe it's something personal, rather than work," I reply, keeping my tone light to draw out more.

"Could be." She lifts a toned shoulder. "As long as he leaves me alone to make wine, I don't really care."

I grunt and take another huge bite of my hot dog, thoroughly enjoying myself. The pregame activities commence, and Ichuckle as several kids dance in a competition with the mascot, a large blue rocket, in the infield.

An hour later, the game is in full swing, and the Rockets are up by three. It's the fifth inning, and I’m enjoying the way Sophie is fully engaged in it. Many couples around us are engrossed in their phones, barely watching the action on the field or talking with each other. But not us—we're both absorbed; commenting, and heckling the visiting team with vigor.

As the game progresses, Sophie smiles more and more, laughing at my lame jokes and cheering like a teenager at a high school championship game. She’s shifted in her seat toward me, now shoulder to shoulder and the warmth of her skin seeps through the thin sleeve of my T-shirt. Her sexy legs are on full display with the pair of shorts she’s wearing, and the evidence of hard work on her feet all day is right in front of me. Her thighs are long, lean muscle that screams athlete, and I’m having a tough time paying attention to the game when they rub against mine on occasion. It's totally innocent on her part—at least I think it is—but I can't help the way my body responds.

I'd noticed how very attractive she is throughout the afternoon as we worked on separate tasks. She is quite literally my ideal counterpart: just the right height with the top of her head reaching my chin, long legs that would easily tighten around my waist, a nicely sculpted ass that begs to be cupped or spanked—her choice— perky, full breasts that fill out her work shirt nicely, and those luscious lips that I instinctively know would feel amazing on mine.

In fact, I’ve been fighting the urge to lean over and kiss those lips all night. Her smiles are fast and furious as she relaxes, and she trades barbs with me in a playful tone. She isn’t shy at all with her opinions, which I find infinitely appealing.

Sophie is the full package, and I send up another thankful prayer that Ryan chose me for this task.

The crowd around us lets out a roaring laugh, and I glance at the huge screen across the field. I chuckle as I watch the kiss-cam land on a random couple a few seats away, the woman blushing and waving away the man's attempts. Poor guy.

Then Sophie gasps beside me, and it takes a moment for my brain to register that we're front and center on the screen now. The spectators around us urge us on.

Fuck it. I'm going all in!

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