Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
The winemaker smiles approvingly. “Exactly. All the time. Every day,” she says with a serene smile, clearly doing her best to prevent an influx of people moving to her state. I rein in a grin as she plays him.
She continues on, explaining more about the process as I steal glances at my travel companions. Dev’s like a large cat, shifting his legs in a languid rhythm, his attention lasered in on his movements, his body able to handle anything he throws its way.
Ledger’s confident, too, in his repetitive steps, but his gaze is fixed on Isabella as he tosses out curious questions about the vines, the amount of sun they need, then rain, then drainage.
I furrow my brow as he goes, trying to assess his interest. Is he a wine connoisseur? But he barely asks about the grapes. Then I remember when he spouted off facts about oleander a few days ago.
His plant daddy-ness runs deep and wide. I smile privately at this little detail about him.
When Isabella spins around the other way, I wince since I just stepped on another stem. “I swear they’re trying to get me,” I whisper to the guys.
“Pain, honey, pain,” Ledger says, like he loves getting hurt. Well, he is a hockey player.
Dev shoots me a devilish grin. “You get used to it.”
I roll my eyes. “Great. Just great. I’m grape stomping with two hockey players who love pain.”
“It’s all part of the game,” Ledger quips, but there’s no joking in his tone. He sounds legit.
Dev seconds him with, “It’s proof you’re alive.” But then, he tilts his head my way in concern. “You want to stop?”
His tone is so sweet, full of genuine concern. “I’m no quitter,” I say before I realize that’s not entirely a compliment. I should have quit my relationship with Aiden well before my wedding day. But I try to shove that bad decision away and focus on this choice—grape stomping was mostly a good decision. “And this was on my adventure list.”
This honeymoon is definitely an adventure, too, and I’d better savor every second of it since it’ll be over before I know it. It’ll end, taking its place in the memory banks, and I’ll return to cutting hair and reading books and dealing with the pity looks from everyone in Duck Falls when I return to town to see my mom.
On those sobering thoughts, I glance down at the squishy substance oozing through my toes. “Too bad you can’t punch grapes. That’d be fun,” I say.
“Maybe add that to your entrepreneurial list, along with the breakup champagne,” Dev says, then mimes punching.
But Isabella Valenti is unamused. With a stern glare, she stops in front of him. “Please be careful. If you fall and crack your head, I’ll be liable. I don’t like being liable,” she says, then looks to me. “Make sure your partners behave.”
Whoa.
Partners.
That’s a first. Not the word partner, because everyone uses that term now. But the plural, the assumption she made is all new, and I don’t want to look like I’m overstepping my role with them. “Oh they’re not—” I begin.
She’s already walking away though. As she goes, I have to wonder—do we come across as partners? All three of us?
As we finish and hop out from our barrels, I’m stuck on that word.
And the way it felt sort of nice to hear.
After we hose off our feet by the side of the bungalow, Ledger asks, “Was it what you wanted?”
Not entirely. I thought it’d be more of a wild time. Silly, outrageous, a little goofy. In reality, it was harder and less pleasant. But they’re such good sports that I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, especially since it was my idea.
“Sure,” I say brightly as I dry off my feet, then hand the towel to Dev. We’re sitting on the wooden steps, and everyone else has straightened up already, so it’s just us and the morning sun rising over the mountains. “It was a blast.”
As he rubs the towel down his calf, Dev arches a dubious brow my way. “A blast?”
“Yeah. It was great,” I say, even peppier as I pull on my sandals. Then, I adjust the buckle, making sure it sits just so. “Look. No stains.”
But then a gentle hand on my chin draws my attention. Dev turns me to face him then drops his hand to my thigh. “It’s okay if you don’t like something,” he says, reading my mind.
Is it okay though?
I didn’t like it when my parents were icy to each other years ago. I didn’t like it when they fought like cats either. I’m not sure it’s okay to dislike something. It’s better if everyone gets along.
“I liked it,” I say again right as Ledger finishes putting on his sneakers, then parks himself next to me, setting a hand on my other thigh.