“Well?”
This wine has captured the entire essence of my journey with this man in a single sip. “It tastes like…”Everything I want but am afraid to reach for.“Determination. A lingering storm.”
His lips twitch. “We’ll turn you into a winemaker yet.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”
He takes my glass out of my hand and captures both of my hands in his. “If it were up to me, I’d ask you to stay as long as you want. I’d teach you everything I know.”
My lips part. Before I can say yes or no to his offer, he grins. “Come on. There’s more to see.”
But I don’t move right away. I savor the wine on my tongue, and my heart beats rapidly with his words reverberating, wondering if he meant them.
Or if I should just be prepared for another kick to my heart when it’s time to say goodbye?
33
FOURTH-AND-SHORT: FOURTH DOWN WITH ONLY A YARD OR TWO NEEDED.
Troy, being the smart ass he is, had a barrel and grapes delivered to the kitchen in time for dinner.
I leaned over, plucked one, ate it, before asking him, “Do you plan on delivering this to my room in the event I get hungry later?”
He wrapped his arms around me, roared with laughter, and then said, “If you want a midnight snack, I’ll come out and get you some so your feet don’t get cold.”
I place my arms around his neck and lean back, trusting him not to drop me. “Awfully presumptuous of you, Mr. Walsh.”
“I’d like to presume much more than that, I assure you.”
“Oh? Do share.”
“First, we eat.” He gestures to the reserve wine bottle. “I didn’t plan on making you push out our wine for supper.”
I fling a hand to my forehead. “Thank goodness. We might be here for a few decades. Since we both know I’m deplorable in the kitchen?—”
“Understatement,” Troy mutters.
I ignore him. “What do you need me to do?”
“Can you get the place settings ready? Also, pour us a few glasses so they have time to breathe?”
“Consider it done.”
Together, we’ve drained the last drop of wine from the bottle. I’m feeling warm and content from that and the delectable butternut squash ravioli, but neither compares to the look Troy gives me over the rim of his glass. He’s been staring at me like this for most of the meal.
Courtesy of the liquid courage I have pulsing through my veins, I blurt out, “What is it?”
“How did you know there’s something I wanted to ask you?”
Instead of answering him, I reach out and run a finger along his chin. “Have I mentioned how incredibly expressive your face is?”
“Umm…no?”
“It is.” Warming to my topic, I trace his eyebrows and pause at the corners of his eyes. “Right here, when you really laugh, your eyes crinkle.”
“What else?”
I drag my finger down to the base of his jaw. “When you’re angry, your jaw locks. Your face turns fierce. Protective.”
