Let It Breathe (13 page)

“You’ve done that for as long as I’ve known you,” Clay said.

“Done what?”

“Fidgeted with something when you’re uncomfortable. Rolled it around between your palms like that. It always used to be a pen—back when we were in college, I mean. The letter opener is a change.”

Reese stared at him for a second, then set the letter opener down. “So moving from the pen to the letter opener is a sign that I’m growing and maturing?”

Clay raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Reese shook her head. “Nothing. Just seems like I’ve been hearing a lot lately about how I haven’t changed.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

She shrugged. “Being stagnant isn’t a good thing, is it?”

“I wouldn’t say stagnant. Just consistent. Consistently charming.”

“Or lacking growth and maturity, one or the other.”

“Growth and maturity aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Neither is change. Take it from a guy who’s had to do a whole lot of that.”

She gave him a look that was somewhere between sympathy and uncertainty, and Clay felt his chest tighten. He kicked himself for driving the conversation down a dark path and tried to think of a good way to steer them back on course.

“For what it’s worth, I think your rolling habit is endearing.”

“Thanks. I think.” She stayed quiet a moment before picking up the letter opener again, this time rolling it more slowly in her palms. “You know, the old Clay would have made a dirty joke about my palm-rolling habit being a sign of my fixation with hand jobs.”

Clay gripped the clipboard tighter, willing himself to keep breathing so he wouldn’t pass out or lunge across the desk to kiss her. He honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“I wasn’t aware you had that fixation,” he replied evenly.

Reese laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I guess I just meant that’s one of the ways you’ve changed—you no longer seize every opportunity to make dirty jokes.”

“Pretty sure that
is
a sign of growth and maturity.”

“Mmhmm,” Reese said.

Clay sat still for a few more seconds. There was something on her mind. Was it the kiss at Vineyard Grill the other night? That had been dumb.
Really dumb
. Talk about a stupid risk. With only a handful of friendships left, should he really be jeopardizing the two most important ones in his life?

Or maybe Reese wasn’t thinking about that at all. Maybe it was the other thing. The issue they’d been avoiding.

“Thanks for last night,” Reese blurted. “For not drinking during the whole
I’ve never slept with anyone in this room
thing.”

Clay swallowed hard, not sure what to say now that the words were out there on the table. “It seemed like the respectful thing to do, under the circumstances.”

She laughed. “Like things weren’t awkward enough last night.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded. “Right. It was. Look—”

The phone rang, and Reese glanced down at the caller ID. She frowned. “Shit, it’s the bank. I’ve gotta take this. So we’ll talk again later?”

“Absolutely,” Clay said. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He stood up, part of him wishing they’d had a chance to finish the conversation.

But most of him damn glad they hadn’t.

Reese was reviewing a draft of the Sunridge Vineyards e-newsletter with Larissa late that afternoon when her phone rang for the millionth time that day. Larissa leaned across the desk, spilling cleavage as she peered at the readout.

“Who’s Wallace O’Brien?”

Reese looked down at the phone. “That’s Dr. Wally. He’s the vet who took care of Leon yesterday.”

“A vet, huh? Cute? Single?”

“These are the criteria I should use when selecting a veterinarian now?”

“What do you mean
now
?” Larissa grinned. “They’ve always been the criteria.”

Reese rolled her eyes and picked up the phone. “Sunridge Vineyards, this is Reese speaking.”

“Reese, this is Wallace O’Brien. We met yesterday after your alpaca ate—”

“Right, right—I remember,” she said, leaning back in her chair as Larissa leaned forward to eavesdrop. “Thanks again for everything. For coming out on short notice and all.”

“Of course. How’s he doing?”

“Perfect. He seemed a little hungrier than normal last night, but other than that, he seems fine.”

“Good. That’s good.” Wally cleared his throat. “Look, I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to say that I’m going to the Friday Art Walk tonight in Newberg. I was wondering if you might like to join me?”

“Tonight?”

“I’m sure you’ve been before—it’s the first Friday every month, and all the shops and galleries have art and wine and cheese.”

“Oh—well—”

Dr. Wally laughed. “Sorry, is that dumb to invite a wine pro on a date where wine will be served? Too much mixing business with pleasure?”

“No, actually, it’s great,” Reese said, her brain sticking a little on the word
date
as she tried to decide how she felt about that. “Um, I think I’m free tonight.”

Across the desk, Larissa perked up. She mouthed the word
date
? and made a kissy face while Reese tried to ignore her.

Dr. Wally rattled off details about the artists and galleries and shops, and Reese wondered if she should be writing down the information or feeling her heart go pitty-pat in her chest. She couldn’t seem to muster up the enthusiasm for either one, so she settled for grabbing her letter opener.

“So can I pick you up around seven?” he asked.

“I was thinking I’d just meet you there, but—”

Larissa shook her head vehemently. She grabbed a piece of paper out of Reese’s recycle box, then snatched a pen and scrawled something in big, block letters. She shoved it across the desk at Reese, who was still trying to focus on the conversation with Wally.

Let him drive! Car sex is fun!

Reese rolled her eyes and shoved the note back at Larissa.

“Sure, go ahead and pick me up,” Reese said. “Not for car sex, but—”

“What?”

Reese squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. “I was talking to my cousin. I mean—never mind. I’ll see you at seven.”

Reese hung up the phone and set down her letter opener, not sure whether to kill her cousin or herself.

“You have a date!” Larissa squealed.

Reese shook her head. “No. You don’t get to dress me this time.”

“Please? No front-clasp bras, I promise.”

“Larissa—”

“I’ll be good, I swear. Pretty please?”

Reese sighed. “Fine. But nothing slutty, okay?”

“Your version of slutty or mine?”

Reese stared at her.

“Fine,” Larissa said, rolling her eyes. “Nothing slutty. I can do that. I can do your hair, too, right?”

Reese smiled in spite of herself. “Sure. You can do my hair. You want to come to my place, or should I come to yours?”

“Yours,” she said. “I have a date tonight with this new guy, but I’m afraid Joey might try to stop by my place to see me again.”

“How the hell do you manage this?” Reese asked. “Seriously, I get hives just thinking about the one date.”

Larissa beamed. “It’s talent.”

“It’s something, all right.”

“This will be fun,” Larissa said. “Don’t you feel better now that you’re dating again?”

“I’d hardly call the thing with Bob the Boob-man a date. More like a visual assault.”

“Good point.” Larissa shrugged. “Okay, so Bob is out. Really, you can’t rely on your ex-husband to set you up with a quality man. I have a good feeling about this vet guy, though.”

“You’ve never met him.”

“No, but he came to rescue Leon, didn’t he? Must be a nice guy.”

“He’s a recovering drunk.” The second the words left her mouth, Reese felt a rush of shame. Still, it was something she couldn’t overlook. “I mean, I assume he’s an alcoholic. Clay found him through AA.”

Larissa stared, her smile fading into something a bit darker. She folded her arms over her chest. “Since when did you get to be a judgmental snob about that?”

Reese reached for her letter opener, then stopped. She pressed her palms against the desk, weighing her words. “Look, I just think it would be irresponsible for someone who makes a living hawking alcohol to get involved with someone who nearly ruined his own life drinking it.”

“We still talking about the vet here?”

Reese looked down at her hands. “I need to get out in the field to check the nitrate levels. You okay with coming over around five?”

“Sure,” Larissa said, standing up and striding toward the door. “But don’t think I didn’t notice you failed to answer that question.”

Reese sighed but couldn’t think of a clever comeback before Larissa had disappeared down the hall. She finished editing the newsletter and printed a copy while she dialed her mom’s cell phone.

“Hey, honey,” June answered in a chirpy voice. “What’s up?”

“Larissa and I just finished up the e-newsletter. She also put together a little direct-mail piece for the wine club to explain the whole wine-down-the-drain thing.”

“Did we lose any more members?”

Reese looked at the spreadsheet on her laptop and tried not to feel grim. “Three more today. They were all really pissed about the Pinot.”

“Well, these things happen.”

Her voice was upbeat, but Reese could hear the tension. They were all worried—about money, about the vineyard’s reputation, about the event coming up next week. She sighed and forced herself to adopt a business-as-usual tone. “Do you want to see the newsletter and the direct-mail piece before they go out?”

“You know I trust you, sweetie.”

“I know you do,” Reese said. “You still want to see it, though, right?”

“If it’s not too much trouble. We’re down at your grandfather’s old house right now doing some cleaning. Could you bring it over here?”

“I’ll be there in five.”

Reese hung up the phone and shoved the papers in a file. She closed her office door and passed Eric as she made her way past the stacks of barrels in the winery. “I’m heading out,” she called. “Can you lock up when you leave?”

“No sweat. So you’ve got a hot date?”

Reese rolled her eyes. “Are there families where relatives don’t inform ex-husbands about every detail of the ex-wife’s love life? Because if there are, I’d like to join one.”

“I think it’s great,” he said as he clapped her on the shoulder. “It’s about time you got out of your rut and got serious about dating again.”

“Have you always sounded like a self-help book or is this a new thing?”

“You know you love me.”

“Not especially, but that didn’t stop me from marrying you.” She grinned to show she was teasing but stopped grinning when Eric regarded her with a serious expression.

“It’s not just about love, you know.”

Reese stopped walking. “What isn’t?”

“Marriage.”

She snorted. “Since I don’t ever plan to do that again, I don’t see why it matters.”

“I’m just saying. Relationships are a lot of work. Look at me and Sheila. Not a day goes by that we don’t work at it.”

“Please don’t feel you need to share the details of how you work at it.”

Eric laughed. “Have a good date, Riesling.”

“Piss off,” she replied without venom. She headed out the door and down the hill toward Axl’s old place.

The front door stood wide open, and Reese could hear voices near the back of the house. The smell of popcorn drifted from the kitchen, and Reese hesitated in the doorway.

“Mom? Dad?”

“We’re back here, honey! You’ll never guess what we found in a box in Grandpa’s old linen closet.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” she muttered, moving through the entryway past a long row of photographs. There were several shots of Axl as a young man working at a vineyard in Italy, followed by one of her grandparents on their honeymoon in Mexico sporting matching tattoos. She kept walking, her gaze drifting past images of Larissa’s parents in Bali and some shots of June as a young girl.

Toward the end of the hall her mom had grouped another set of images, these more recent—one of her parents on a beach in Maui, arms wrapped around each other as the sun set over the ocean; another of her mom perched on her dad’s shoulders plucking apples from the orchard; another shot showed June and Jed beaming at each other as they twirled jump ropes in double-Dutch fashion while Larissa and Reese spun in giddy circles between them.

Reese ran a finger over the frames, wondering what it would be like to collect a lifetime of memories with the person you knew with absolute certainty had been put on the Earth just for you.

“We’re in the family room, honey,” her mom called, and Reese tore her gaze off the photos.

She moved toward the back of the house where the scent of fresh popcorn and citrus furniture polish was heavy in the air. Stumbling over something in the hall, she looked down to see her old tricycle there. She toed the front wheel, remembering her parents walking hand in hand behind her as she pedaled as fast as her chubby legs could go trying to keep up with Axl on his motorcycle.

She stepped around the trike and halted in the doorway to the family room. Her parents were curled up on Axl’s old sofa, a shared blanket and a bowl of popcorn between them. The flicker of the TV drew her attention to a grainy video that was all too familiar.