Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (5 page)

“Only if you admit that the whole ‘Sorry I’m late, I hit some guy’s car’ story the other night was really code for doing the backseat tango.”

“It was not.”

“Then explain why the driver looks just like Sexy Italian Guy who came into the studio last night looking for you.”

That was news to her. News that made her shiver with delight. “He was just checking to make sure I was okay and to tell me that his car had no damages.”

Heather snorted. “That must have been some checkup, since you stopped answering your phone like an hour and a half ago.” Heather shot Sara a knowing look. “Especially since Sexy Italian Guy happens to go by the name Trey DeLuca.”

Oh my God.
“You know Trey?” The idea made Sara’s stomach sour because her sister-in-law was tall, willowy, and endowed. One glance at her centerfold body sent most men to their knees in awe.

“Sara, every available woman in town knows Trey. Or at least knows of him. He is like the Jedi master of panty whisperers.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “You make him sound like some kind of urban myth.”

“According to the ladies in my yoga class, the word you are looking for is ‘legend,’ not
‘
myth.
’
Apparently, he can talk his way into a pair of panties in under two minutes, and his way out of a commitment before breakfast.” Heather waggled a brow. “So…your panties—”

“Are still intact, thank you very much.”
Although he could work a button like nobody’s business,
she thought, remembering her raincoat
.

“Mommy!” Cooper squealed from the top of the stairs.

“Hey, honey.” She stood, thankful for the interruption.

Trey was sexy and gorgeous and so far out of her comfort zone that just thinking about seeing him again made her nervous. It shouldn’t matter that he was a shagging legend. But for a moment there, Sara had felt like they’d shared something—something real and special. A connection.

Or maybe they just shared a kiss and some wine and she wasn’t experienced enough to know the difference.

Refusing to overthink the afternoon, she put out her arms just as Cooper came tearing across the rug, not bothering to slow down as he launched himself at Sara. Arms wrapped around her waist, legs locked around her ankles, and his head firmly butted into her stomach, she managed to hold back a grunt. The kid might be small, but he packed some serious velocity.

Hugging him as tightly as she could without crushing him, she placed a kiss on his head. He smelled like Jell-O and bath time.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered.

And that, right there, was all she needed.

“Missed you too, kiddo.”

He nodded and then let go. Sara dropped to one knee and gave her full attention to her entire world, who was dressed in a San Diego Chargers ball hat, a matching jersey that hung to his knees, and nothing on the bottom except, she’d bet a million dollars, Batman undies. “What happened to your pants?”

“Don’t need them,” Cooper explained.

“He said pants slowed him down too much,” Heather clarified, with a look that said she’d drop the subject of Sexy Italian Guy. For now. “And we also learned today that warm glue and excited hands are a bad combo so I got him in a bath. When it came to getting him dressed for bed, well, the pants weren’t happening.”

Sara was surprised Heather managed to get him in the jersey. Cooper was going through his tough-guy phase, which translated into walking around the house in his underpants and not much else.

“Pants are for babies,” Cooper said. Lately anything he didn’t want to do was because it was for babies.

A knock sounded at the door and Cooper’s face went flush with excitement as he yelled, “I’ll get it,” and took off.

“Don’t open the door until I get there,” Sara reminded him but he was already swinging it wide open.

“Roman!” Cooper squealed and started jumping up and down. “Mom, look. It’s Roman. At our house!”

“I see,” Sara said, coming up behind her son and resting a hand against the door. “Hey, Roman.”

“Hey, Sara,” he said and flashed a flirty smile.

Roman Brady was good-looking, everybody’s friend, and a single dad who had an honest way about him and a killer body that made women melt.

“Is Matt here?” Cooper poked his head around Roman’s legs and scanned the front porch for his best friend.

“Sorry, buddy. Matt’s at his mom’s tonight,” Roman said, extending a paper bag with Cooper’s name scrawled in crayon across the front. “But I found this by the garbage can after pickup and I knew that you spent a lot of time picking it out, so I wanted to drop it by.”

“Thanks,” Cooper mumbled. “Hunter took it and wouldn’t give it back.”

Sara shot Roman a worried look. Hunter Lock was a bully of the worst kind—mainly because his parents refused to see him for what he was. For whatever reason, he’d selected Cooper as Target of the Year.

Sara was about to ask him what transpired today, when Cooper opened the bag and, with an enthusiastic
yes,
pulled something out and waved it in front of Sara’s face. “Look, Mom! It’s not broken.”

“What do you have there?” she asked, moving her head and narrowly escaping a collision. “Is that a block of wood?”

He frowned as if truly surprised no one else saw the true awesomeness of the block.

“It’s a car.” He ran the block of wood down Sara’s knee. “Well, it will be. It’s for the Mighty Mites Pinewood Derby.”

“Pinewood Derby?” This was the first time she’d heard of it.

Mighty Mites was an after-school program and Cooper’s time to hang with his buddies, learn how to tie knots, identify bugs, and make farting sounds with his armpit. It was also how Sara was able to manage her studio without sending him to day care. Something she refused to do.

“I sent a flier home last week,” Roman explained. Not only was he the St. Helena fire chief, he was also Cooper’s Mite Hive Commander. And as of recently, Sara’s friend. “The qualifier race is next Saturday.”

“We have to turn that hunk of tree into an actual car that rolls? By next Saturday?” Sara asked, wondering how she was supposed to accomplish that task.

“Yup.” Cooper gave a decisive nod. “I’m going to win.”

“There are directions in the bag,” Roman said softly, leaning in close. “They’re pretty detailed. I also put in an extra flier about the big swarm race that is held at the end of the month. The top five winners from the qualifier square off against the best Lady Bug racers. It’s a pretty big deal for the kids.”

“Cuz everyone who goes gets a trophy.” Cooper’s little arms stretched as wide as they could, the block of wood dangling from his fingers. “A big one.”

“Garrett did it when we were kids,” Heather said, coming to the door. “I used to watch him and my dad slave for weeks over it. We’re talking top-of-the-line pine-car engineering and aerodynamics. A real testosterone, mine-is-bigger-than-yours competition.”

“It’s a wood car with detailed instructions. How hard can it be?”

Heather snorted. “Although it was made really clear at pickup today that this is supposed to be a ‘parental supervision project
’
”
—she made exaggerated air quotes and shot Roman a pointed look—“the dads were already grunting their engineering superiority.”

“Great,” Sara said, watching the excitement in her son’s eyes as he raced his hunk of wood across the carpet.

“We got to pick out our own wood and I picked this one cuz it has a dark line right here. Built-in racing stripe, see.” Cooper held it up and, sure enough, it had a dark grain cutting right through the middle. Getting that stripe to go up the middle of a car was a whole other problem. “Like Daddy’s car.”

Heather shot Sara a sympathetic look and, just like that, she felt her heart drop right to her toes. She saw how excited her son was, knew how important getting the car perfect was going to be, and yet she couldn’t even park a car correctly, let alone whittle one.

“And we got our own piece of sandpaper. But I’m not allowed to use a saw unless an adult supervises, right, Commander Roman?”

“Right, kiddo,” Roman said, but she could hear the apology in his voice.

Did they even own a saw? And wasn’t five too young to race wood cars chiseled from semiautomatic tools?

Born the only child to a single mother who ran a ballet company, Sara’s experience with men was limited. Which was why she’d fallen so hard and fast for Garrett. Her husband had been smart, funny, and 100 percent military-grown male. Everything that her world as a dancer was not.

When Garrett was alive, Sara never had to worry about Cooper getting in his “guy-time.” Now that her son had turned five and was better at identifying sickled feet during a pirouette than a good football pass, she was getting worried. Which was one of the reasons she’d put him in the Mighty Mites to begin with. The other was that Garrett had been a Mighty Mite.

“It’s a nice piece of wood,” Heather said, tapping the bill of Cooper’s cap. “Now, say thank-you to Roman and then you and I will go brush your teeth and pick out a bedtime story.”

Cooper’s face fell. Fun over. With a mumbled thank-you, he picked up his block of wood and slowly made his way to the bathroom. Apparently bedtime was for babies too.

When the sound of water hitting the sink sounded, Roman tucked a piece of hair behind Sara’s ear. “I didn’t mean to make tonight hard on you.”

“No, it’s not that,” she admitted, taking a sudden interest in her shoes when Roman’s gaze strayed to her lips. “Just sometimes being a single mom sucks.”

“Yeah,” he smiled down at her, which made Sara smile because he got it. His ex-wife might have Matt tonight, but Roman had primary custody and was the main parental influence in his son’s life. He was in this all alone—just like Sara. “If you need help with the car or the saw or whatever…” Roman’s eyes darted to her lips and hung there, letting her know that
whatever
was still on the table, she only had to give him the go-ahead.

Sometimes Roman popped in for one of her ballroom dancing classes at the studio. And sometimes they’d talk afterward, about their kids, school, parenthood, the Mighty Mites. They’d flirted once or twice, but whenever he’d pressed for more Sara had backed away.

She hadn’t been ready.

Understanding as ever, Roman had shrugged and said maybe another time. Apparently another time was now, and Sara was ready—only not with him, because all she could think about was a sexy Italian with way too much swagger and experience.

“Thanks for dropping this by,” Sara said abruptly.

Roman just smiled warmly. The man was stable and thoughtful and loved her kid. That should count for something. Yet she just stood there, awkwardly grinning and having no idea what direction to go in.

“No problem. Tell Cooper I’ll see him tomorrow.” He gave a small wave and walked backward down the porch steps, never taking his eyes off her. “And I’ll see you at class this week.”

Sara felt herself blush as he winked while climbing into his minivan. After he pulled out of her driveway, she closed the door and turned around—to find Heather standing at the top of the stairs grinning.

“So, are you going to see him again?” Heather asked, making her way down the stairs, and Sara had a bad feeling she’d just been set up.

“My guess is Tuesday night. At Swinging Singles.”

“Not Roman.” Sara followed Heather into the living room where Heather took a seat and waved her hand dismissively. “Trey.”

“Oh,” Sara said and felt her face heat—but for a whole different reason this time. “I don’t know. I think it was just a one-day thing.”

Although today was exactly what Sara had needed—her lips still tingled from that kiss—Trey was apparently some kind of smooth-talking panty whisperer. And even if Sara’s panties were whisper worthy, which they were not, she wasn’t sure if getting horizontal with a guy who had more nurses on call than the local ER was the kind of adventure she was looking for.

“That. Right there,” Heather waved her palm to encompass Sara’s entire being, “is terrifying proof that you have been sniffing the Play-Doh too long. I mean, have you not seen his ass? It’s incredible. A solid ten on the squeeze-scale. And don’t even get me started on those eyes. He could wink and my clothes would melt off.”

Trey was a ten bazillion on the squeeze-scale. He scored even higher on the best-first-kiss-ever scale. And she hadn’t stepped back.

Instead, she’d dug her nails into his hair and pressed her body against his.

Heather crossed her arms in challenge. “We made a deal that if I started following my dream of dancing on Broadway again, you’d start dating.”

“We were drunk, and I said I’d be more
open
to dating, which I have been.” Sara sighed. “It’s just hard.”

“I know it’s hard,” Heather said softly. “And I know my brother broke your heart when he reenlisted, and then shattered it when he never came home, but it’s been two years. Two years of spending your Saturday nights watching Cooper snore. You moved to St. Helena to start a new life. When are you going to start living it?”

She wanted to argue that she was. Nine months ago, she’d taken the first huge step toward living. She packed up eight years of memories and her five-year-old, and moved her family to St. Helena for a fresh start. Admitting that Garrett was really gone had been difficult. Agreeing to get back out there in the dating pool was terrifying. Taking off her wedding ring had nearly killed her. But she’d done it. For Cooper and for herself.

And she was ready—she just wasn’t sure if she was ready to take on a guy like Trey. “I’m taking things slow, to make sure that I’m ready.”

“That lie stopped working when you kissed Sexy Italian Guy.”

“Who said I kissed Trey?” Her cheeks went even hotter.

“You have lipstick smeared all over your face.”

Sara touched her lips, feeling her face burn up, as she realized that was what Roman must have been staring at.

“And I know it wasn’t Roman since I was standing right here. My money is on the panty whisperer.”

CHAPTER 4

E
xhausted and covered in pink and red glitter, Sara sat down and dropped her head on the bistro’s table. It was only ten forty-five on Tuesday and already she needed a nap. Or a pick-me-up. She’d sucked down a large pumpkin-spice latte. It hadn’t helped.

“I need a Cupid’s Arrow, double shot. Pronto,” Sara said.

“I’ve been telling you that since you moved to town,” Regan DeLuca said.

Sara lifted her head long enough to glare. Regan was drawing little pink hearts on a piece of vinyl that stretched across six tables. Strings of hot glue draped from her hair and pink Sharpie stained her fingers.

“The drink,” Sara clarified, although the idea of a little romance in her life didn’t sound as terrifying as it had last week. She remembered the smoking-hot kiss she’d shared with Trey, felt her palms start to sweat, and reminded herself that she had to tread especially carefully around Trey’s sisters-in-law. “Make that light on the Cupid and heavy on the arrow.”

“Don’t you have a Tiny-Tappers class in fifteen minutes?” Alexis DeLuca asked, screwing the cap on the cotton candy–colored glitter.

Dressed in custard-speckled jeans, an apron that read G
ONE
I
TALIAN
, and an enormous baby-bump, Lexi co-owned the Sweet and Savory with her grandmother Pricilla. The locals-favorite bistro was famous for rustic French fare, to-die-for pastries, and Cupid’s Arrow, a drink with one shot espresso and two shots homemade chocolate liqueur and strong enough to knock you on your butt.

“No, I’m covering a private lesson for Heather,” Sara said. “Then I’m meeting a woman at town hall to ask about getting on this summer’s recreation calendar to hopefully drum up new students,
then
I have my Tiny-Tappers class,” Sara mumbled into the vinyl cloth, a piece of arrow-shaped confetti sticking to her lip.

“I forgot that Heather had that audition today,” Lexi said with sympathy lacing her voice. “You’re stuck covering all of her classes?”

Sara nodded against the table. “And if she doesn’t make it home tonight, I have to cover her Waltz and Rumba class with Handsy Harvey.” Sara looked up. “Which is why I need something to get me through until bedtime.”

Sara’s day had started at the crack of dawn, which wasn’t unusual since Cooper liked to rise with the sun. Unfortunately, she had passed out on the couch last night before she’d managed to finish stuffing and sealing all of next month’s billing reminders, and was dreaming about death by paper cuts, when Cooper woke her up by spilling a carton of OJ on the floor while trying to make Mommy a special breakfast in bed.

They cleaned up the mess, the kitchen floor good as new, just in time for Cooper to accidently flip his syrup-coated pancake off the plate and, two-second rule in full effect, shove it in his mouth.

She dropped Cooper off at school, ten minutes after the bell and, since she was still short a car, walked back to the studio where she went straight into her Mommy and Me Scoot and Shake, followed b
y her Pre-School Promenade class. Then she locked up her studio and headed over to the Sweet and Savory for a pick-me-up.

“If you get one, I get one. And since that isn’t going to happen …” Regan’s voice trailed off as she smoothed her hands over her swollen belly. “I know things can get crazy when Heather’s gone, so thanks for helping with the banner for the Gala.”

“No problem.” Sara stood and, reaching for the finger paint, poured a thin layer of pink onto one paper plate and a pile of match
ing glitter on another. Fisting her hand, she sank the side of it into the paint. “Where do you want Cupid’s little footprints?”

“I was thinking along the bottom of the banner, right under the word
‘
Gala.
’
”

“Speaking of the Gala,” Lexi said. “I heard that the sexy fire chief is looking to pin himself a dance teacher this year.”

“Pin?” Sara asked.

“At the Winter Garden Gala. It’s tradition,” Regan explained. “Everyone shows up with a flower to pin on their sweetheart. Kind of like staking their claim.”

“Only with class,” Lexi pointed out. “And Roman was asking what kind of flowers you liked.”

“That’s thoughtful of him,” she said, plunging her hand back in the paint and focusing on making more baby Cupid feet.

“Maybe she’s just holding out for someone else,” Lexi mused.

“I wasn’t planning on going with anyone,” Sara said truthfully. Going on a date was one thing. Going on a date to a Valentine’s celebration was a whole other ball game.

“Really,” Lexi said with a casualness to her voice that sent Sara’s pulse skyrocketing. “I thought you were holding out for the youngest DeLuca, who I heard you ran into the other night and swapped all kinds of personal info—”

“It was more of a sideswipe,” Sara said.

“—then he helped you out of your clothes and offered to look under your hood.”

Regan froze, her eyes going wide. “Why is this the first time I am hearing about this?”

“There is no
this.
I hit the man’s car, he helped me out of my raincoat, and I gave him my card in case there was any damage. No big deal.”

Both women raised disbelieving brows that, combined with the crossed arms and pointed looks, had Sara squirming in her dance pants.

“Then why are you blushing?” Lexi asked.

“I am not blush—”

Sara touched her face and felt cold paint drip down her heated skin.
Great.
Releasing a big breath, she rubbed her cheek off on her shoulder. The cotton sleeve came away with pink, glittery smudges.

“Fine. He came to see me Friday to make sure my car was okay. I happened to be having a bad day. So he took me wine tasting.” Where Sara had the pleasure of tasting a very special vintage of DeLuca. “He was sweet and…what? Can you two stop doing that sister-in-law silent conversation thing?”

“You’re just the first woman who has had a
run-in
with my brother-in-law and described him as sweet,” Lexi said.

“Well, maybe you’re just talking to the wrong women.”

“Apparently,” Regan said and they both laughed.

Sara ignored them and dusted glitter over the wet footprints. “He was sweet and charming. And just being nice.” But she was talking to herself because the pointer sisters were back to their non-verbal discussion. “And, okay, he kissed me.”

Everyone at the table froze, even Sara, who was wishing she could take back her last admission because just thinking about that kiss had her face flushing and her lips tingling and—
oh my God—
would they stop staring at her like she’d lost her mind?

“End of story,” Sara said firmly. “Now, if you two are done talking about me in front of my face, Cupid’s feet are finished and I have to get ready for my eleven o’clock.”

Sara spun around and walked right into a solid wall of muscle that smelled like warm, yummy man. Her hand rested on his pecs. His were on her hips, steadying her and—
whoa
—pulling her closer.

Reminding herself to breathe, Sara slowly looked up at Trey, and
whoa
was an accurate statement—there was nothing sweet about the way he was looking back.

“For the record,” Trey whispered, the gravel in his voice sending zings of anticipation racing through her body, and something much more primal south, “I think you kissed me.”

“Really? I wasn’t sure. It happened so fast,” she said, remembering just how
fast
it had happened and how thrilling it had felt.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “me neither.”

Dressed in a crumpled suit, yesterday’s stubble, and an epic case of bedhead, Trey looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. The ridiculous part of Sara hoped it was his own bed. A warmer part, the part she’d shut off when Garrett died, noticed that he looked tired—and a little lost. Almost like he needed a hug. So she gave him one.

Sara knew that she was in trouble, because he hugged her back.

Christ, what was he doing?

Trey wasn’t a hugger, but he couldn’t make himself let go. The way she smelled, like paint, a hint of something spicy, and all woman was almost as good as the way she felt pressed against him. So he pulled her closer, all the tension of the past few days fading. One touch and, for the first time since he’d walked into that hospital, he wasn’t itching to leave.

“What was that for?” he asked.

He felt her shrug and out of the corner of his eye watched the wide scoop neck of her shirt slide down her shoulder, exposing a lot of silky skin and a single black, lacy strap. Even with pink paint smeared across her cheek, he found her ridiculously hot.

He was about to bury his face in her neck and maybe take a little bite, when she cleared her throat and pulled back. “You looked like you needed a hug.”

What he needed was a hell of a lot more than a hug. Like her, beneath him, panting his name for the next few days.

He took in her lithe body, the way her black leggings hugged her hips and how nicely, he imagined, they stretched across her exceptionally toned butt, and changed his mind. Top, bottom, standing up, he didn’t care as long as they were both naked and moaning.

“Trey,” she whispered, her mouth moving sensually as she formed his name. She had a great mouth.

“Yeah.”

Then she hit him with those warm hazel eyes. “I am so—”

Into you…Horny…Turned on…

“—sorry.”

Not the word he was hoping to hear.

She took a small step back and, sadly, her hands were no longer on him. In fact, they were palms up and—
what the hell?

He looked from her hands to his shirt where two very pink, very dainty handprints stained his coat, one on each pec. When he turned, the light hit it, and…
oh hell no.
He sparkled. His six-hundred dollar, tailor-made, Italian tweed overcoat looked like one of Holly’s art projects.

But instead of being mad, he found himself grinning—like an idiot. Because she was staring at his mouth, and he knew she was thinking about their kiss.

“It’s still wet. Here, let me see if I can—” She reached out to help him then looked at her paint-coated palms and stopped. “Give me two seconds to wash my hands and let’s see if I can get that paint off.”

Having had a particularly crappy weekend, one that he was certain Sara could’ve helped alleviate, he leaned in to her and lowered his voice. “I have a better idea. I’m staying at the Napa Grand. Right next door. It has a shower, a really big one with fluffy robes. We can get cleaned up, have one of the hotel’s famous oyster platters brought up with a bottle of wine, and finish,” he let his eyes drop to her mouth, “that tasting.”

Her mouth quirked up at the corners as though she thought he was an idiot and he wondered what the hell went wrong.

Most people thought he was charming. Especially women. One of his basic go-to lines delivered with his DeLuca smile was enough to make them hot and bothered. Not Sara. Nope, he just made her laugh—and not in the hot-and-bothered way. And he couldn’t figure out why.

“Actually, I have to go, but you can send me a bill for the coat.”

“Another bill?” His grin became a full on smile. He couldn’t help it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were,” she laughed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Your property clearly isn’t safe around me.”

They stood smiling at each other, before Sara broke the contact and looked at her watch. “I do have to go, though. I have a private lesson starting in a few minutes and I don’t want to keep my client waiting.”

“Lucky client,” Trey said.

“He’s a special client,” she clarified, her eyes going soft and dreamy, and Trey found himself wondering how to qualify for the special-person’s package. “It’s someone looking for a second chance at love.”

“So you’re a romantic?” Of course she was. Girls like her with those big trusting eyes had white picket fences and grand gestures built into their DNA. Yet here he was, trying to figure out how to get more time with her.

“It used to be easier for me.” Her smile turned unsure. “But I’m working on it.”

There was a vulnerability in her eyes that he felt all the way to his chest and the only honest thing he could say in that moment was, “Me too.”

She stopped smiling and that tug he felt every time he was with her tightened, because he could tell by the openness in her expression that he hadn’t totally blown it. Not completely. And more than anything, he wanted her to keep looking at him like she was right now. “Forget the room, how about a cup of coffee?”

She looked at his sisters-in-law—who were practically teetering over to listen in, something they picked up the moment their last name officially became DeLuca—then back to him and silently nodded. “That sounds nice. Why don’t you call the studio later and we can set up a time?”

He started to say that he’d already tried that when a leggy blonde entered the bistro and talking became dangerous. In fact, Trey stood perfectly still and tried to become one with the crowd. Too bad Tammy of Tammy’s Wine Country Tours had the same uncanny ability of picking out a former fling as she did a good Syrah, because her eyes locked on Trey’s and he knew that any hope he had for coffee with Sara—or anything more—was over.