Maybe Nora hadn’t just helped Lark to settle down.
Maybe she’d helped her grow up and take shit seriously.
By the time they arrived at the fairgrounds, Grayson was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t.
Lark hopped out of the truck, already scanning the setup area. The festival provided the tents and tables, so all they had to do was offload the wine and merchandise, preparing for the onslaught of tipsy tasters who would be jostling for position.
Just the thought of it had him scowling. While he was glad Lark wasn’t being fucking Lark, that didn’t mean he was any happier about being here and doing this.
“What should we do first?” she asked.
He pointed to the folding tables stacked near the tent. “You set those up, and I’ll start lugging cases from the truck.”
Lark gave him a jaunty salute, the first thing she’d done today that felt right. “On it, boss.”
Grayson started unloading cases of wine, placing them on the tables Lark set up, and they fell into an easy rhythm with her unpacking the wine, lining the bottles in neat rows. Once all the wine was off the truck, he helped her lay out the Lightning in a Bottle merchandise. Then she stacked the tasting cups, while he fiddled with the iPad and scanner they’d use if people wanted to purchase bottles to take home.
Once he managed to get the tech going, he called her over, telling her the password in case the iPad went to sleep, running her through the process for ringing up purchases. It was similar to the winery, but a couple steps were different.
“Got it?”
“Yep. Piece of cake,” she assured him, grabbing another box of wine and carrying it to the tables. “I figure we should set up as much as we can now, in case it gets as busy as you said.”
She made a good point, so Grayson moved to help her.
They worked side by side—unpacking more bottles, setting out tasting cards. There was no tension, no friction, no annoying banter. Just a steady, almost-instinctive flow. To onlookers, it probably looked like the two of them had done this together a million times before.
It was a pleasant surprise.
At one point, their hands brushed as they reached for the same corkscrew.
Lark stilled—and so did he.
Because…what the…
For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Grayson’s gut. Something sharp and unexpected.
He pulled his hand back. “You use that one. I’ve got another in the truck. We’re going to need two anyway.”
“Thanks,” she said softly, though her eyes didn’t meet his. For some reason, that unsettled him more than any of her sarcastic comments ever had. He returned to the truck, shaking off whatever the fuck that had been.
Because Jesus Christ.
This was Lark.
Annoying, loud, brash, in-your-face Lark.
She was not his type…at all.
God, she was exactly the opposite of his type.
Fortunately, he didn’t have more than a minute or two to worry about that touch, because the first wave of festivalgoers began rolling in.
Grayson slipped into his role, fighting like the devil to channel his inner Maverick. He was confident and knowledgeable. It was the charm he struggled with.
Or at least, he had in the past.
Today, it was coming more naturally. Because of Lark.
