“Glad you like it. Want to go grab lunch and explore?”
“Sounds good.”
We walk to the main strip, order coffees and sandwiches at a spot called the Daily Brew, and share a warm cinnamon roll that melts in your mouth. Then we browse the local shops. Lot picks up fudge for her mom, a notebook with a vintage cover for Rayne, and a toy with a dangling mouse for Queenie.
I give her a knowing look.
“Don’t you dare say a word,” she warns.
“These lips are sealed, wildcat.” I slide an imaginary zipper across my mouth.
She side-eyes me and wanders off to the jewelry. She tries on a gold bracelet, checks the price, then puts it back.
“It looked good on you.”
“Impulse buy. I don’t need it.”
I let that go. But I manage to sneak back in while she’s in the restroom and get it, hiding the box in my jacket pocket for later.
We pop into a hat shop next. Lot tries on something fuzzy andridiculous, but she totally pulls it off. I take a few selfies of her. And some of us together. Pictures that will have to tide me over, somehow, when she’s gone.
At four, we arrive at the family-run winery. It’s quiet, mostly locals and one other offseason couple. Brad and Treena are celebrating their second anniversary.
“How long have you two been together?” Treena asks.
“We’re not,” Lot answers too quickly. “We’re just here as…” She pauses like she’s not sure what label fits. “We’re just here to try the wine.”
The question had thrown her. The uncertainty of what we are. The gray zone that exists between us. But a few minutes into the tour, she seems to relax again. They walk us through the wine-making process, and we sample whites and reds with names like Glory Vines and Ruby Goddess.
“They sound like porn stars,” Lot whispers, making me laugh.
I’m not much of a wine drinker, but she seems to appreciate them. The warmth in her cheeks, the looseness in her smile, I’ll take them.
On our way back, we stroll along the beach. The water moves in slow waves, and the sky welcomes the evening in vermilion streaks. I take her hand and link our fingers.
“Having a good time?” I ask, hoping to make the trip… memorable.
“Yes. Thanks for bringing me.”
“I’m happy to be here with you, Web.”
We share a smile. But even in the easy moments, that tightness in my chest lingers. Lot’s leaving in forty-eight hours. And the call from Damon still sits like a stone in my head I can’t toss. He hasn’t called again. But he will. I can feel it looming.
The first time, he almost gave up immediately. The second time, he stayed on the line longer, said his name. It’s as if he’s working up the courage… but for what?
That’s the part that troubles me.
Back at the inn, Lot hops in the shower and comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, skin dewy, locs piled high. Her face is one I could stare at and never grow tired of. Her eyes slide to mine before she turns to the dresser and opens a small tub of fragrant body butter.
I move off the edge of the bed, take it from her hands, and meet her gaze in the mirror. “Let me.”
Her lips quirk. “You’re obsessed with my body butter.”
“More like obsessed with you.”
Her hazel eyes narrow, but I don’t walk it back. Instead, I scoop a dollop of butter and warm it between my palms.
I start at her shoulders, slow and firm, kneading the tension out of her muscles. My thumbs sweep over her shoulder blades, down the top of her back, circling her arms, pulling deep sighs from her.
