Page 25 of Blush
“But your parents decided together to sell that house. My mother doesn’t want this. She’s putting on a show of a united front, but I know she’s upset.”
“Vivian is a strong woman. She’ll be fine.”
Then he had to get in the shower. The conversation was over.
Steven emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He had some color from the past few days in the sun, though he had to be careful about that because he burned. The blue in his eyes was particularly vivid; he looked, in that moment, as he had the first time they visited her parents, six months after the night of the Cooler. They had already said “I love you.” And the sex—good lord, the sex.
They had been late for dinner that first visit, too—but for entirely different reasons. After an early-evening swim, she’d gone into the bathroom to shower, but before she could peel off her wet bikini, Steven followed her in and closed the door.
She smiled at him in the mirror. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer her, but stepped forward, kissing her neck. A shiver ran through her, a combination of her damp skin and the thrill of anticipation. She protested feebly, murmuring about her parents expecting them. But he slid her bathing suit bottom to the floor, along with his own. She didn’t move—barely breathed—still facing the mirror. She leaned forward just enough to reach out and brace herself against the vanity, and when he was inside her, their eyes met in the reflection. It was the most thrilling moment she’d ever experienced.
Now, standing in front of the full-length Chippendale mirror in the bedroom, she wondered if he was thinking about that first visit, too.
“Can you zip me up?” Leah asked. As his fingers brushed the bare skin of her back, she wondered if he would try to take her dress off instead of getting it on. And if so, would she be able to respond?
“There you go,” he said, closing the seam with one swift motion before crossing the room to retrieve his pants and shirt from the armoire. “I’ll be ready in five,” he added, his back to her.
Okay. It was just as well.
They wouldn’t be late to dinner after all.
Sadie looked around the dinner table. The tension was thicker than the humidity. No one except her uncle Asher and his girlfriend was talking. There were long silent gaps, the only sound the uncorking of more wine bottles.
The picnic table was set with a spread of farro salad, corn, roasted chicken, French bread, and tomato and mozzarella drizzled with olive oil. Sadie had worked up a huge appetite spending the entire day outdoors, but the introvert in her was screaming for relief. Not only that, it was clear that something wasup.
She poured herself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Sadie had been sipping wine with her family since she was an older teenager. They were very European in that way. Still, she had always been careful to temper her consumption. But now she was twenty-one and no longer had to act like a kid invited to the grown-ups’ table. And so, after perhaps one glass too many, she blurted out, “Why is everyone so quiet?”
“Weelll,” her mother said, and Sadie could tell by the looseness with which she dragged out the word that she, too, was a little tipsy. “Since I know what it feels like to be left out ofimportant family news, I’ll tell you.”
Vivian leaned forward. “Leah, please—”
“Your grandparents are selling the winery,” Leah blurted out.
Sadie’s jaw dropped. Selling the winery? What a buzzkill. She’d been busy the past few years and probably hadn’t visited as often as she should have. But she never even considered the thought that someday it would be gone. She hadn’t considered a lot of things: like the fact that Mateo Argueta was incredibly hot.
They’d never hung out that much before. Still, how had she not noticed? Maybe she hadn’t lifted her face out of her books long enough to take in his intense dark eyes and the five-o’clock shadow that made her want to run her fingers along his jaw. He had leading-man bone structure and lips that belonged on a Kardashian. Plus, he knew things.
“When grapevines flower it’s called an inflorescence,” he’d told Sadie. “Microscopically, it was formed the previous year in the bud.”
Inflorescence. Sadie loved the word. She would use it in her fiction writing someday.
“This type of trellising is VSP—vertical shoot positioning,” Mateo had added, adjusting the metal wire holding the vines in place. His hands moved with certainty, twisting the metal and adjusting the leaves, speaking the fluid and foreign language of the grapes. “We tie the plants down so that when the new shoots come up with fruit, the foliage is standing straight up. That way the fruit has optimal sun exposure.”
The previous vineyard manager, a grizzled old dude, had always seemed pestered by Sadie’s presence in the field. And while her mother told her stories about how her father, Grandpa Leonard, had taught her everything she knew, Sadie found that hard to reconcile with her aloof grandfather. So this tour with Mateo Argueta was, remarkably, her first real tour from a viticulture standpoint. Sadie was fascinated, though she didn’t know if it was the wonders of the grape growing that had her so captivated or the wonder of Mateo Argueta’s fine body poured into those jeans.
It was a nice distraction from the fact that Holden still hadn’t texted or messaged her. Breakup or not, she had been sure that time apart would show him how irrational he was being.
“But in happier news, we’re engaged,” Bridget said, beaming.
Sadie turned to her uncle. “Wow—congratulations.”
“So, Sadie, do you have a boyfriend?” Bridget asked as Asher murmured his thanks. “I still remember my college boyfriends.”
“Babe, please. You’re almost a married woman,” Asher teased.
“I would imagine you do remember,” Vivian said mildly. “That was just a few years ago.”
