Page 38 of Wine or Lose

I had just turned thirty and was ready to settle down. Amie had been the ideal woman—intelligent, sexy, one hell of a business mind. We’d never run out of things to talk about, and the sex had been fantastic. I could easily picture living life with her at my side. I could imagine getting married, having a few kids, and setting roots deep into this northern Michigan soil.

Unfortunately, I’d been so blinded by whatIwanted, and by the contentment I felt when I was with her, that I hadn’t realized she’d grown more miserable by the day. The tighter I clung to her and our relationship, the further away she pulled.

I hadn’t noticed until it was too late—when I was down on one knee.

Thankfully, my proposal had been a spur of the moment thing and not the elaborate public plan I’d initially concocted. I’d managed to spare myselfthatsmall bit of embarrassment.

We’d been on a day trip to Sleeping Bear Dunes, on a hike up above the sparkling expanse of Lake Michigan. It was a perfect early summer day. Not too hot, not too cold. The slight breeze blowing off the lake had ruffled our hair and dried the sweat on my brow. Amie had been hiking ahead of me, her long legs eating up the terrain. At one point, she glanced at me over her shoulder, her short, ice-blonde hair brushing the bare skin there and the nape of her neck. The smile she’d given me had been so damn pure—complete and utter happiness. Happiness over being in nature that I’d mistaken as happiness with me. My heart had swelled in my chest, and I couldn’t think of a more perfect spot to ask her to spend our lives together.

I’d closed the distance between us and clasped her wrist, pulling her around to face me.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I just…there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while, and I think it’s time.”

I reached into my pocket and withdrew the small black velvet box I’d taken to carrying everywhere with me.

A grin split my face as I knelt onto the sandy ground, gripping one of Amie’s delicate hands in my own.

“Amie Fulton,” I began, keeping my gaze on our joined hands until I got the words out. “These last two years with you have been the best of my life. When I moved here, I wasn’t looking for anyone or anything like this. Then you walked into my life, and everything changed. I want everything with you—a house on the water, a massive wedding, a few kids running around. More adventures. More love. More sex,” I said with a smirk. “I want it all. Will you marry me?”

I glanced up at Amie then, expecting to see joyful shock.

Instead, I found a frown, the skin between her brown eyes puckered in confusion.

“Cal…” she started, and a lead weight settled on my chest. “That’s not what this is.”

I blinked slowly. NowIwas the one who was confused.

Amie shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “Look…I care about you, but I thought we were just having fun.”

“Fortwo years?” I asked, incredulous. "You told me you loved me!"

Fuck, I sounded like a teenage girl having her heart broken for the first time.

“I thought you knew…” she said quietly.

I hadn’t known. She’d completely blindsided me that day. With stiff, jerky movements, I’d risen to my feet and stalked away from her. I’d practically sprinted back to the parking lot, where a kind elderly couple had taken pity on me and driven me back to the city.

I hadn’t spoken to Amie since.

Amara had no way of knowing my history with Amie, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a bit. That was three years ago, and I hadn’t been in a serious relationship since.

It was difficult to get back on the horse when my heart had been trampled.

And, unfortunately for me, lately my thoughts—and dick—had been drawn to the last woman on the planet I should want. Hot makeout sessions in the wine cellar were as far as we could take things, and even that had been grossly inappropriate.

Even if my cock still perked up at the memory of her body under my hands, of those tits flush against my chest and her long, curvy legs wrapped around my waist.

Fucking hell, Ryder. Get it together.

At thirty-three, the thought of settling down and starting a family was on my mind pretty much all the time, but Amara Delatou would not be the mother of my children.

“Boss?” A quiet voice broke into my reverie, and I blinked several times, clearing the cobwebs of my memory.

“Sorry, Jeff,” I said, scrubbing a hand over my face. “You were saying?”

“I was just telling you she’s also got a meeting with Brie and Ezra in about ten minutes to finalize the summer menus for the restaurant.” He glanced pointedly at my stomach, which once again emitted an impressive grumble. “Maybe you should join them.”

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