Page 15 of Let It Breathe
“I know, I know.”
Larissa made her way toward the winery, and Reese stared after her for a moment. When she turned and looked at him, Clay felt the full force of those blazing green eyes like an electric jolt to the spleen.
“Still sure you can handle this?” she asked.
It took him two beats to realize what she meant. “You mean being surrounded by alcohol, drugs, and possible illegal activity conducted by members of your crazy family?”
“Right.”
“I think I’m safe.”
Reese smiled, not a huge smile, but enough to make Clay want to make her do it again.
Dude, get a grip, he reminded himself. Your best buddy’s ex, remember?
As if hearing his thoughts, Reese cleared her throat. “Shall we get down to business?”
As they strolled the site of the new tasting room and event pavilion, Reese watched the careful way Clay jotted notes and took measurements. Several times they stopped so he could ask a question or pace off an area. She studied him as he bent down to rub the red clay soil between his fingers. The sleeve of his T-shirt rode up, exposing the tattoo she’d glimpsed earlier. She leaned closer, trying to make out what it said.
“You read Latin?”
Reese jumped at the sound of his voice. “What?”
He smiled. “The tattoo. It’s Latin.”
“Oh. No. I mean—what does it say?”
He looked at her for a moment, then stood up. “Come on, let’s go review that materials estimate.”
Flushing a little, Reese turned and headed back toward the winery. She led him to the back door where the tiny office held all the paperwork and blueprints for the new facilities.
“Coffee?” she offered, clearing a stack of books off one chair so he could sit down. “Or there’s juice or water or?—”
“How about two shots of Irish whiskey and a beer chaser?”
She frowned. “Can you really?—?”
“I was kidding.”
“Right. Well, I have Cran-Apple juice and?—”
“I’m fine, Reese. Let’s sit. Please.”
He hesitated, and she realized he was waiting for her to take a seat first. How gentlemanly. She sat, feeling like a moron, not sure why she was so rattled. It was just Clay. It’s not like she hadn’t seen him on the floor in his boxer shorts hugging the toilet in her guest room.
Needing a distraction, Reese retrieved the bottle of formula in the small warmer on the corner of her desk. “Give me just a second to screw on the nipple,” she told Clay.
Reese winced as the words left her mouth.
Screw? Nipple? Seriously, Reese?
She waited for the dirty joke, but Clay just cleared his throat. “Need help?”
“Would you mind grabbing Oscar out of the cage there?”
Clay nodded and gently unlatched the wire door. She watched his work-roughened hand scoop the warm bundle from inside. The baby opossum wiggled as Clay handed it to her, and Reese brought the bottle to the tiny creature’s mouth.
“So you’re still saving the world’s wayward creatures,” he said.
