Page 68 of Let It Breathe
Clay bit back the urge to feel bitter about the kindly young vet and his date with Reese. It wasn’t his place to judge, and God knows he had no claim on Reese himself.
But that kiss?—
Patrick cleared his throat. “Is everything okay, Clay? You seemed a little shaky when you called yesterday.”
“I’m doing great. Really, everything’s fine.”
Patrick seemed to hesitate. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but the situation you’re in seems risky. Spending every day working at a facility that produces alcohol—it just seems like a lot of temptation to face.”
“You could say that,” Clay muttered, then regretted his words. He hadn’t been thinking about alcohol at all. He’d been thinking about Reese in his arms, Reese with her damp clothes and warm lips, Reese with her body pressed against his?—
He cleared his throat and tried again. “I really appreciate the concern, Patrick. I do. I’m glad to have a support system out here.”
“Good. That’s good. You know you can call if you need me, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Clay hesitated. He knew he should be more forthcoming with his sponsor, maybe sharing the history of his connection to Reese and the feelings he was having now. But something stopped him. Something made him bite off the words before they could form in his throat.
He’d never told Eric. He’d never told Reese. If he couldn’t be honest with his two best friends, how could he tell someone he’d known less than a week?
On the other end of the line, Patrick was quiet. Clay wondered if he was waiting for him to fill the silence, to share what was on his mind. Hell, maybe he should do that.
A phone call didn’t seem like the right way to handle it, so Clay cleared his throat. “Actually, what are you up to tonight?”
“Nothing much,” Patrick said. “Working on some bills, maybe reheating leftovers.”
“Maybe we could meet up at Finnigan’s for a couple Cokes and their halibut fish-n-chips.”
“That sounds great,” Patrick said. “Seven thirtyish?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Clay hung up the phone and set it back on the nightstand. He surveyed the room, taking in the bleak walls and neutral gray comforter on the bed. Was it just him or was the place looking smaller?
His HR contact at Dorrington Construction had called earlier that morning, apologizing for the delay in finding a temporary rental for Clay.
“It’s the damn college kids,” the guy had lamented. “They’ve rented up everything within thirty miles of Linfield and George Fox. Probably not a coincidence they’ve got a bunch of colleges right in the middle of wine country, huh?”
Clay was trying hard to remember why he didn’t want to rent Axl’s place out at the vineyard. There were plenty of reasons, good ones. Patrick was right—working at a vineyard was risky enough for a recovering drunk. Living at one? Bad idea. Very bad idea.
It’s not the wine you’re worried about, said a voice in the back of his head.
He heard Eric’s words again. Don’t shit where you eat.
“Shut up,” Clay said aloud, and went to take a shower.
But once he was naked and soapy, thoughts of Reese just intensified.
He drifted back to college, to the first time he’d met her their sophomore year. He’d been sitting there alone in the back row on the first day of class that fall, wondering if he should have bought pens instead of pencils to demonstrate his status as a mature, confident college student.
“Someone sitting here?”
He’d looked up to see her with the fluorescent lights of the classroom making a halo around her head. She wore her light-brown hair gathered in a low ponytail beneath her right ear, cinched with a red elastic that sent a cascade of sun-streaked waves over her shoulder and into the hollow between her breasts. She hadn’t been wearing anything memorable—not to anyone else, though Clay recalled she wore a flannel shirt over a yellow T-shirt that hugged her curves. But there was something in the way she carried herself that made him sit up and take notice. Her cheeks were flushed and lovely, and she wore a tatty canvas shoulder bag with a romance novel peeking over the top.
He tried to get a closer look at it, but she nudged the bag back over her shoulder, obscuring the book from his view. Then she extended her hand.
“I’m Reese. I’m studying viticulture. How about you?”
