Page 101 of Let It Breathe
Should he go after her? Try to say something to make it right?
There’s not a damn thing you can say to make it right.
He opened the door and stepped out into the damp dirt. He stared out over the vineyard for a moment, watching a bird flit between the wooden posts at the end of each row of grapes. Off in the distance, he heard the field hands shouting to each other in Spanish as they pruned the rows of plants.
He slammed the door of his truck. Dammit.
He’d screwed that one up big time. Why hadn’t he figured it out earlier? Surely Reese had dropped clues, given him some hint something had happened between them in the past. It’s not like this was the first time he’d been confronted with a story that began “remember when?” and ended with him staring blankly at the storyteller, having no recollection of the events.
But it was the first time it had mattered. The first time he desperately, urgently wished he could remember.
He’d been telling the truth about the kiss. He thought he’d remembered something like that, but he’d never been sure. It had always seemed safest just to forget about it, to be thankful he’d never acted on his fondness for his buddy’s wife.
She wasn’t his wife then, the voice told him. You could’ve done something about it then instead of pining away for her all these years. You could’ve had a chance.
Not anymore. Any chance he’d had was out the window. Then and now, his fault both times.
But you’ve changed since then, the voice said.
It didn’t matter. Not now, not to Reese.
God, he wished he could remember. Last night had been amazing, no doubt about it.
But what he wouldn’t give to remember the first time. The smell of her hair, the scrape of her nails down his back, the throaty murmur of her voice against his ear for the first time.
You can never get that back.
“Dude, you just gonna stand there with your thumb up your ass?”
He turned to see Eric approaching from the other side of the barn.
“Just enjoying the view,” he offered weakly.
“Whatever. Your crew isn’t here yet, and I need a hand. Help me move some of the cases out of the way so I can get the damn forklift up to the barrels.”
Clay turned and followed him into the winery barn, grateful at least that his best friend was a guy, and therefore not inclined to ask questions about his buddy’s sullen demeanor. Clay dared a glance at Reese’s office as they trudged past, but the door was shut tight and he couldn’t see inside.
“You do something to piss her off?” Eric asked.
Clay pulled his eyes off the door and looked at Eric. “Why?”
“She came stomping in here like someone spit in her Pinot. Figured you might’ve given her more bad news about the construction project.”
Clay shook his head and dared one last glance at the door. “Nope. No bad news on the construction. The ball’s in her court right now.”
“You said balls.”
Clay looked at him. “It’s nice how you’ve matured in your old age.”
“Maturity is overrated. So is politeness. You can still make dirty jokes, too, you know.”
Clay shrugged and eyed the pile of boxes stacked against one wall. “Sure.”
“What is it with you, anyway? You’ve been prancing around here like Miss Manners since you got back to town. Please this and thank you that and God help me if I ever fart or belch or have a dirty thought I happen to say out loud.”
“Whatever, man. I just don’t want to be a jerk anymore.”
Eric frowned at him and shoved an empty barrel out of the way. “It’s just us here now. The only way I’ll think you’re a jerk is if you tell me my Gewürztraminer sucks. Since you won’t be tasting that, I think we’re safe. Grab a box.”
