“Now, come on,” he says as he releases me and places a kiss on top of my head. “These cinnamon rolls won’t sell themselves. Where are we headed first?”
I turn as I watch him head toward one of the trays. “We?”
He snickers as he picks it up. “Uh, yeah. We. You think you’re driving and delivering these things by yourself?”
I can’t help but smile. “Thanks, Knox.”
“Anytime, Sunshine. Now, come on. Let’s grab that other tray and get these settled in the truck.”
Walker
Ihave never envied a man before today.
The sound of Lia earlier, breathless and wrecked and undone, has followed me through every corridor of this building. Through every line of this vineyard.
I tried burying the memory of her sound in paperwork. I tried burying the sight of Knox’s hand disappearing beneath her skirt in harvest reports. I tried splashing my face with cold water at every sink I passed by, just so I could get through my day.
Not even rubbing one out worked to get the echo of her desire out of my head.
Even after stepping outside and forcing myself to breathe through it like a civilized Alpha, her cries of passion clung to me like her scent clings to that kitchen she works in every day.
What a show those two put on.
Mine.
The thought is instinctive, and territorial, and irritating. I have to focus on tonight. It has to be perfect.
It has to convince her to stay.
I unbutton the cuffs of my sleeves, rolling them up as the vineyard closes down for the day. I nod my farewells while I maneuver throughout the hallways with automatic precision.My shoes click against the stone floors of the main vineyard building.
Already, my brain plans out the menu I’m going to be whipping up tonight for Lia. I hope she likes fish.
“Hey there, Mr. Boone,” my head chef says.
I finish rolling up my sleeves and look over at her. “Go on home. I’ll close up tonight.”
Three of her kitchen hands stick their heads around various corners, looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
Which is fair. Whenever Lia’s on my mind, it is lost to her.
“You sure, sir?” the chef asks.
I just nod and head over to where the cleaned pans are. “Yep. Leave me a list of what has yet to be done, and I’ll make sure it gets done.”
Her sous chef speaks up. “Just sanitizing and drying before we head out.”
I bend down and open the cabinet that houses the pots. “I’ll get it done. Enjoy your evenings.”
I’m glad no one else argues or gives me anything else to talk through because I have a candlelit dinner to prepare. Lemon-and-herb-crusted salmon with a kale-amaranth mixture, a nice lemon-butter sauce, and mashed sweet potatoes.
“There we go,” I grunt as I reach for a massive pot in the back.
As the door swings shut behind the rest of them, I stick the stock pot into the sink to fill with water so I can get the potatoes boiling. While that’s filling, I take off my watch and check the time before setting it off to the side so it doesn’t get dirty or wet with my efforts.
Two hours.
I’ve got two hours to prep and clean myself up before I need to go pick up Lia.
