Page 27 of Taken With You
She returned her scattered attention. She scrolled through the invites twice before she could speak with any authority. “You should attend the business owner’s brunch, put on by the tourism bureau. But the rest you can put off. Be effusively regretful. It’s a small community. They’ll remember if you show a cold shoulder.”
“Done.” He typed his acceptance of the Duchamp invitation and then slapped his laptop closed. “There’s something else I want to show you before you trudge back to the crush pad.”
He shot off his chair and was half out the door before she scrambled to her feet to follow. Damn if he wasn’t wearing biking shorts again. She struggled to keep her attention away from his tight, flexing butt as he strode through the hallway and flung open the door to the cellar. Flicking on the light, he pounded down the stairs.
She followed more slowly, descending to a low-ceilinged finished basement. Built-in shelves sported trophies and medallion prizes for wine vintages past, and a full wall was covered in framed certificates of former Cedar Ridge accolades. The Brunichelli children really did sell the place as-is, as full of artifacts as a museum. Garrick walked straight to a foosball table standing in pride of place in the middle of the room.
“I came down here just to rustle up a box cutter and instead I found this under a tarp. You play foosball?”
She paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Not during harvest.”
“Make an exception. I’ll be the blue team.” He took his place at one end, pulling levers so the players were lined up. “You be red.”
What the hell? “Garrick—”
“One game.” He shot her a warning look. “Consider this a partner’s directive. My goalie is sticking, help me confirm.”
She crossed her arms. Really? Foosball right now? Not only did she have too much work to do, but she didn’t like being alone in this small, cluttered room with those tremendous shoulders. “This partner,” she said pointedly, “has a fermentation tank that keeps leaking. I need to get back to it.”
“And I need to be on the phone with New York.” He pinned her with an unflinching gaze. “You’re lucky I’m not insisting on a rock-climb. You need to lose yourself in something other than work, Amanda. Just for ten minutes. Trust me on this.”
The siren call of the lab pulled at her, but not as fiercely as her curiosity. She was sure that if she refused him, she’d spend the rest of the day wondering what this strange turn of attitude was all about, and that would distract her attention from what had to be done.
“Ten minutes,” she said as she crossed to the foosball table and took two handles in hand.
Garrick set a timer and dropped a small black ball into the middle of the table. She startled at the loud buzz as the game began. She fiddled with the levers, trying to figure out the physics of the movement. He’d scored a goal before she’d mastered the spins.
“No mercy, I see.” Wrinkling her nose, she fished out the ball and dropped it in the middle of the table. “Game on.”
She leaned in, holding him off as best she could, playing defensively as she sought an opportunity to go on the offensive. She hadn’t played this game since she was a kid, against her sisters, but the old moves came back. Garrick played with a bated intensity, flicking the handles with an efficiency of movement. She wondered if he’d be so expertly deft in everything he did with his hands.
Stop.
When the goal buzzer went off, it wasn’t the only thing vibrating on her side of the table.
He lifted his head with a slow, dangerous grin.
“Third period,” she said, then played more aggressively than before. One of the handles didn’t turn with as much alacrity, and she became increasingly aware of the disadvantage as the buzzer went off to signal the end of the game.
“I’m the one with the sticky goalie,” she said, pushing away from the table. “But you knew that all along, didn’t you?”
“I forgot which side.” He shrugged and strode around the table, his grin a spark amid tinder. “Switch sides with me. We’ll do a rematch.”
She stepped back. “You got your ten minutes, Garrick. Now I have to get back to work.”
“That’s the problem.” The teasing seeped out of his voice. “You really don’t know why I brought you down here.”
The mask of cool professionalism dropped from his face. The prickling awareness between them intensified. Her breath stilled in her lungs as the Garrick she’d spent the last week dreaming about appeared before her.
Didn’t she want this? Hadn’t she been hoping for this?
She took a single step back, though he hadn’t made a move at all. “We talked about this.”
“We didn’t. Not aboutthis.” His jaw hardened. “This conversation isn’t aboutus,Amanda. It’s about you needing to learn to manage your workload. To delegate.”
“I would love to delegate.” The muscles of her neck tightened. “But you hired me a week before harvest. I’ve been scrambling ever since.”
“Then let me pick up a shovel again. I’ll keep my shirt on this time.”
