Page 25 of Let It Breathe
She stopped talking when she saw the man’s eyes glaze over. “Just spray,” she said. “Nice job so far.”
She headed back to the winery barn with her gloves tucked in her pocket and a peaceful feeling in her soul. She wasn’t a morning person, but she loved mornings like this. The soothing hum of tractors vibrated the low-slung clouds in the still and cool air, with the chirp of the birds rising above the background noise.
She pushed open the door to the winery barn and made a beeline for the coffeemaker.
She didn’t see Clay until she tripped over his legs.
“Clay?” she gasped, recovering her balance as she looked down to see him sprawled on the floor. “What are you doing?”
He looked up from where he was lying on the floor beside a wine barrel and gave her a funny smile. His eyes were too bright for so early in the morning and, oh, God—what was he drinking?
“Morning, Reese,” he said. He swayed a little as he sat up and grabbed an orange sippy cup. Reese watched his Adam’s apple move as he drank. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was still there, looking scruffy and wild in the same shirt he’d been wearing the day before.
He’s fallen off the wagon.
Again.
He smiled at her then, and Reese wanted to kick her traitorous libido for responding when he was obviously so—so?—
“Clay.” She stared at the sippy cup.
Seeing her eyes on it, he lifted it in a mock toast to her. “Couldn’t find any mugs, but I made coffee. You still like it black?”
“Coffee,” she repeated like a very dense toddler learning to talk. He was drinking coffee? On the floor? From a sippy cup? She tried to regroup. “What are you—Why are you?—”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, standing up slowly. He braced himself on the edge of the wine barrel and lifted himself to his full height—which, frankly, was pretty impressive. Reese took a step back, trying not to stare at his hands.
“There wasn’t anything good on TV,” Clay said. “I figured I might as well come here and take care of your wine bar before someone breaks an arm and sues you.”
He sipped from the cup again. He hadn’t shaved yet, and a faint sheen of sawdust and sweat clung to his arms.
Reese swallowed. When she finally found her voice, her words came out in a croak. “You fixed my wine bar?”
“Built a new one, actually,” he said, thumping a fist on the large wooden shape Reese had somehow failed to notice in her panic over finding him drunk on the floor. “I hope you don’t mind—I found some scrap wood out behind the barn, and I had my toolbox in the truck and?—”
“You built me a new wine bar?” Her voice came out shriller than she intended, but she suddenly had very little control over her vocal cords. Or any other parts, judging from the way her body was responding to the sight of his arms in that snug T-shirt.
“Thank you,” she finally stammered. “I can’t believe you did this. How long did it take?”
Clay shrugged and set his cup down on the rough-hewn plywood. “Couple hours, give or take.”
“You’ve been here since three a.m.?”
“More like two a.m., I guess. Took me awhile to find the wood in the dark.”
The old Clay would have made a joke about finding wood in the dark, but this Clay just pulled out a wrench and began tightening bolts. Then he gripped the edges of the bar and gave it a firm shake. Everything held steady, a vast improvement on the old bar.
He looked back up at her and smiled. “It’s a little rough, but it’s sturdy. You can throw that tablecloth thing over it like you did the other one.”
“I can’t believe you did this,” Reese stammered. “Let me get my checkbook—What do I owe you?”
Clay frowned. “Reese, cut it out. We’re still friends, right? You don’t have to pay me for work you didn’t ask me to do.”
“But—”
“I did it because I wanted to. And because I didn’t want you to maim anyone with that other bar.”
Reese pressed her lips together, unsure how to handle this. “At least let me give you something. Can I make you breakfast?”
