Page 37 of The Fine Art of Faking It
From: Davis
Subject: Gas mask on
I’ll bring him back for snack time. If no one lights a match in my office between now and then.
There. See? They could communicate without fighting. Without sniping at each other. He drummed his pen on the desk. He needed to move, needed to think.
The newsletter could wait, Davis decided. He wanted to get out and stretch his legs. “Come on, Chewy. Let’s take a walk.”
He led the way down the back hall of the building that housed the main tasting room and the event space and pushed open the door. There had been a time when he’d thought he and Eden could be the end to this ridiculous feud. That they could be friends, or dare he hope, something more. Buttoning an olive green wool jacket that smelled vaguely of mothballs, he signaled for Chewy. The dog trotted outside, a pile of yellow fluff and lolling tongue. “Let’s walk the vines, Chew,” Davis suggested.
Together they wandered down the slope to the neat rows of grapevines. They were coming up on Thanksgiving soon, which meant winter. The bulk of the harvest was already over. They had a small plot of late harvest grapes to deal with next month for ice wine, another experiment he’d yet to discuss with his father. Work had moved indoors for the winter. And while wine fermented and fined, Davis would focus on operations. Marketing and community outreach and the never-ending tasks that fell between operations and wine-making.
He’d been ready to come home to Blue Moon long before his parents gave him the go-ahead. This was home. And these sloping acres were where he belonged. California had been one long, fun adventure, but he’d never viewed it as more than a stopover. While he’d lived there, tended vines there, built a career there, his thoughts had always been of Blue Moon and, occasionally, the dark haired beauty he’d disappointed.
Chewy dashed ahead of him and trotted down the first row of vines. Davis took his time, breathing in the crisp air. There’d be frost tonight and snow soon enough. The winter was when he focused on planning. Last year had been a banner year for Blue Moon Wines, and he hoped to continue the trend.
He’d had several irons in the figurative fire before the actual fire. He was expanding his distribution to restaurants and scheduling weekend events in the summer that would bring people out for a night under the stars between the vines.
And now that he and Eden were on speaking terms—sort of—he hoped they could discuss a partnership of sorts that would benefit both businesses.
They weren’t so different, he and she, Davis mused. They were both single-minded entrepreneurs who loved what they did. Who lived and breathed work. He admired that about her. And if she could forgive him for being eighteen, maybe someday they’d get their second chance at more than just a partnership.
She was still as beautiful as ever with that short dark hair and those wide blue eyes. Still had that edge to her. She still gave him that thrill in his blood when he caught her laughing. He’d spent a very large portion of his years since high school regretting that he’d hurt her. Unfortunately, she’d spent those same years remembering that he’d hurt her.
He and Chewy walked the vines until his cheeks were pink and his hands were cold. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go home,” Davis suggested. Chewy’s lopsided ears perked up and he pranced off in the direction of the inn.
* * *
Davis and Chewyfound Eden frantically stripping bed linens from a suite on the third floor. “Wow, great room,” Davis said, admiring the carved molding that circled the interior of the turret. The walls were a deep slate blue, the furniture heavy and masculine. There was an oversized chair angled to take in the view. The perfect spot for reading or daydreaming.
Judging from Eden’s constant full-steam-ahead pace, he guessed that she rarely attempted the latter. He turned to admire her, in fast forward as she bent over the mattress. That view was even more spectacular.
“Thanks,” she said dryly and dumped the pillow sham on top of the growing pile on the floor. Chewy jumped up on the bed and flopped down in his favorite napping position. “Chewy, I love you, but if you don’t get your furry ass off this bed, I’m going to sell you to the gypsies,” Eden threatened.
Davis snapped his fingers and Chewy cheerfully hopped off the bed. He wasn’t sure why that pissed Eden off, but she was glaring at him like he’d just punched her grandmother in the mouth. He searched his memory, wondering if any of his relatives had done such a thing.
Seeking to ease the tension he grabbed the first pillow on his side of the bed and shucked off the fabric casing.
“You don’t have to help,” she snapped, hurrying into the bathroom and returning with an armload of damp towels.
“You don’t have to do it all yourself,” he pointed out, moving on to the next pillow. “Is there a linen emergency I wasn’t made aware of?”
Eden dumped the towels on top of the sheets and returned to the bathroom. “No, just a husband who forgot his anniversary and desperately needed this room for the night. I have to get it turned over with fresh everything in the next two hours. Oh, and have a bouquet of baby pink roses waiting. And a gift.”
She moved like she was the prima ballerina in a high-speed ballet. All grace and efficiency.
“A gift?” Davis asked, eyebrow cocked.
“Just anything I think a wife might like on her tenth anniversary to make it look like her husband hadn’t completely forgotten,” Eden said grimly.
“You’re saving this guy’s marriage,” Davis pointed out.
Eden used her foot to shove the lump of laundry toward the doorway. She swiped an arm over her brow.
“Where are the fresh sheets?” Davis asked.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
