Page 22 of Meet Me in the Vines
I shouldn’t be surprised at this. My grandparents are well-loved in this town; I’m sure her passing has touched many people here.
“Yeah, I am,” I answer, giving her a sympathetic smile. Her mouth opens wide as her hand goes straight to her chest.
“I am so sorry for your loss. Violet was the best. She and Noah would come here every Sunday morning to grab cinnamon rolls and hot chocolates together.”
I smile at the thought of my grandparents walking hand in hand down Main on their favorite Sunday morning tradition. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but I try to keep them at bay. I’m not trying to cry the first five minutes I get into town.
“Yup,” I say, popping the P. “That’s my gran and pop.” Pride swells in my chest, knowing everyone loved them together.
Josie pours the rest of my coffee into the cup and shuts it with a lid. She hands me a napkin and grabs a cinnamon roll from the display case.
“Here, Audrey. It’s on me.”
“Oh, no, Josie, that’s okay. Let me pay?—”
“For Violet.”
That’s all she has to say, and I shut my mouth, giving her an appreciative smile as I raise the contents in my hand as a thank you.
I turn to leave when a sign on the bar catches my eye.
Winthrop Wine Special Happy Hour. Friday 7:00–10:00 p.m.That’s tomorrow night.
“Hey Josie, where can I put down these cases?”
A raspy, masculine voice cuts through the air. I turn around to drink in a tall man sliding through the doorway. His face is blocked by the wine cases he’s holding, corded forearms straining from the weight. I scan his tanned arms down to his rugged hands — they grip the boxes as if they weigh nothing at all. My eyes trail down to a pair of faded blue jeans that hug his strong thighs, squeezing in all the right places.My god.I crane my head at an angle to try and get a good look at his face, but all I can glimpse is a peek of chocolate brown hair from behind the boxes.
“You can go straight to the back and put them on the wine shelf! I organized it all for you earlier,” Josie replies, raising her voice above the whir of the espresso machine.
He angles himself in the opposite direction, not letting me get a look. Jesus, his body is built like a god.
“You got it. Thanks, Jojo.” There he goes again with that sexy voice.
Who is this guy?He walks past me, his face hidden on the other side of the cases. His back muscles press against his white cotton tee, a trail of sweat beading down his spine. He’s been working hard today. Can the back of someone’s head turn you on? Because the back of his head isdefinitelya turn-on. His ass fills out the back of his jeans, flexing with each step he takes. His masculine scent lingers as he kicks open the door to the back room, filling the air around me with musk, teak, and sandalwood. I didn’t even see his face, but I want to bottle up his smell and bathe in it.
So this is how it feels to be horny. It’s been a long time.
With the sexy mystery man out of range, I come back down to earth and return to my conversation with Josie, who thankfully missed my peep show on the man with the perfect ass.
“Josie, what’s this Winthrop Happy Hour about?” I ask, setting down my coffee on the bar and leaning forward to rest on my forearms.
“Oh, duh,” she laughs. “You’re literally a Winthrop. Noah made a Cabernet Sauvignon dedicated to your grandmother before she passed. Violet’s Vintage, Noah called it. Then once the news hit, we decided to hold a happy hour in honor of her. And of course, we had to stock lots of Violet’s Vintage,” she beams with a megawatt smile.
“Huh. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from my grandfather when I get home. Violet’s Vintage…I love it.” I take a swig of macchiato. “Will you be there?” I ask.
“Yup! I’ll be playing some live music. Too young to drink, though,” she jests. We both laugh, and she turns around, wiping the equipment with a wet towel.
“Is that why you have the guitar pin? You’re a musician?” I point to her pins on her apron. Her face lights with pride. “Sure am. I’m a singer/songwriter, play guitar and piano, and I also teach lessons around town.”
“And you go to Oak Valley High?” I ask.
“I just graduated. I’m going to Berkeley College of Music in the fall. Just working this summer to save up.”
I already admire this chick. She’s driven, hardworking, independent. Everything I wanted to be at her age. Hell, everything I want to be right now.
“Wow. Congratulations. Getting out of Oakwood Valley is a big deal. And for music? I can’t wait to come to one of your sold-out shows one day,” I gush.
“Thanks, Audrey. That’s the plan!” Her dreams are so big they fill the entire room. Maybe, if I bask in her optimism long enough, my dreams will grow big and bold like hers.
