Page 19 of Taken With You
Ducking by the crowd, she strode into the building that held the fermentation tanks, where they would pour the pressed harvest after filtering. Leaning over an industrial sink, she washed her hands all the way up to her shoulders and then splashed her face with cold water to shock herself to alertness. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flicker of lights beyond the canopy as the caterers turned on the strung lanterns as the evening deepened. Laughter drifted in with the cooler air. The lights, the laughter, and the smell of the harvest triggered old memories. She still couldn’t believe she was here, that this dream was happening.
“I come bearing food.”
Garrick strode in, carrying plates, startling her. He’d pulled on a clean T-shirt, but it clung to the muscles she remembered, the shape burned into her brain. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t hungry—to verbally push him away—but then she got a whiff of the roast chicken, garlic-whipped potatoes, and fresh green beans. Her stomach growled so loudly she knew she couldn’t wiggle out of a shared dinner, even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t, really.
“Thanks, I am hungry.”For a lot more than food. His thick, dark hair was wet and finger-combed back. Balanced on one arm were two laden plates. He’d woven the stems of two glasses of wine between the fingers of his free hand. “Wow,” she murmured, drying her already-dry hands again. “You’d be a great waiter.”
“I worked for a caterer through high school and college.” He headed toward a table against a wall under a huge whiteboard covered with numbers. “I served at a lot of first-communion parties, bar mitzvahs.”
It took a minute for that to sink in. Garrick Kane hadn’t always been rich, then? It would seem so, by the dexterity by which he unloaded his burdens.
“Is harvest always like this?” He pulled two napkin-wrapped packages of utensils out of his pocket and tossed one to her side of the table as she approached. “I’m sure we’re breaking California work-hour laws.”
“There’s a carve-out in the law for farms,” she said, sinking into her seat.
“Everyone is still in a good mood.” Hooking his foot around the leg of a chair, he pushed it out and folded himself into the seat. “I didn’t expect all the cheerfulness.”
“Old tradition.” She unrolled the napkin. “In France, whole villages volunteer their labor to help at the local castle’s vineyards for the grape harvest. It’s a big block party, except with gourmet meals.”
He tilted his head toward the gathering outside as he tucked into dinner. “So this is happening all over wine country right now?”
“Kind of.” She took a bite of the mashed potatoes and suppressed an urge to moan in delight. “At Windsor, the harvest is an industrial process. They put people on shifts, mechanize a lot of the testing, factory-like.”
He glanced up from his plate, a laser shot of dark blue eyes. “But this is more like a Massachusetts farm.”
She nodded. Sharing her past with Garrick triggered a sense of danger for some reason. Maybe it was the hush of this room. Or the brush of the evening breeze sifting in, curling around her ankles. It would have been wiser to join everyone at the communal table and avoid being alone with this complicated man when she was too exhausted to keep up her guard.
Stick to business. “You’re making quite an impression.” She scooped up more potatoes. “We’re not used to seeing owners wielding shovels.”Especially not with arms like yours.
“Just doing my part. You’re everywhere, doing everything, all at once.”
“Production’s my responsibility. You’ve been a good sport, staying all afternoon, but everyone will understand if you have more important things to do.”
He stilled his fork halfway to his mouth. “Are you putting me off?”
Shouldn’t I?
“Of course not. It’s your winery. You can stay for the night shift if you want—”
“It’s our winery.” He put down his fork and laid his forearms on either side of his plate. “Do you want me to stay?”
She leaned back, unsettled by the intensity coming off him. What had she said to trigger this keen attention? She couldn’t think of anything that might have offended him.
“Of course you should stay. If that’s what you want to do.” She shifted in her seat. “You’ve been a great help.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“Whatareyou asking?”
“Something I probably shouldn’t.”
She scraped her fork among the string beans, grappling to follow what he was saying.
“Something,” he added, with a raise of brows, “that I’ll probably regret later.”
“Garrick.” She rubbed her forehead, weariness catching up to her. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Hell.” He flexed his hands on either side of his plate, his head dropping so she could see the tracks of his fingers in his wet hair. “I’ll be blunt, then. You were watching me today.”
