He was used to her being a one-man show back in Gracemont, able to entertain an entire counter of patrons while serving them wine. On the rare occasions he’d worked with her, she tended to interrupt or talk over him, always enthusiastically interjecting her own thoughts and opinions on the wine. While it drove him crazy, it never bothered Maverick, who fed off Lark’s energy until the two of them were playfully one-upping each other—much to the delight of the customers.
None of that was present right now.
Lark didn’t interrupt him once. Instead, she listened. And when she spoke, it wasn’t to overshadow; it was to enhance.
“This one has a really bright acidity,” she told a couple sampling the Sauvignon Blanc. “Do you taste that citrus note? It’s almost like fresh grapefruit.”
The woman lit up. “Yes! That’s exactly it.”
As the tasting continued, the air filled with the scent of wine—crisp whites giving way to deeper, richer reds. Dark cherry and plum notes lingered, hints of spice and oak weaving through the warm afternoon.
Grayson poured a Cabernet, watching as Lark guided another group through the experience.
“Take a second before you sip,” she said. “Let it sit. Breathe it in.”
They did.
“And now taste.”
There was a collective hum of appreciation.
Grayson liked the quiet, almost-sensual pleasure of wine. The way it could slow people down and draw them into the moment.
Sort of like Lark was drawing him in now. Because he realized with a start that he was watching her more than the crowd, observing the way she moved, how her smile was softer than he’d ever seen it. The way her eyes lit up whenever someone connected with what she was saying.
It didn’t make sense.
This wasn’t the Lark he knew.
And yet, he found himself wanting to know this version better.
Before he could question that desire, a trio of women approached the tent, laughing loudly as they clutched tasting glasses and festival maps.
“Well, hello, handsome,” one of them said to Grayson. “My friend was here earlier, and she said I needed to see the hottie from Lightning in a Bottle Winery.”
This was why Grayson wished Maverick was here instead of him. His brother thrived on charming the ladies—though, now that his brother had fallen in love and settled down with Ella, he wondered if that would still be the case.
Grayson didn’t do charm or flirting. When he was out on a date, he preferred quiet conversation and honesty.
The brunette woman leaned on the counter, bending forward in a move guaranteed to give him a bird’s-eye view of her cleavage.
Lark went oddly still beside him.
“You told her that she was drinking red wine wrong.”
Lark snorted softly. “That sounds like you.”
The women burst out laughing, and Grayson shot her a look. This was one of the few glimpses he’d gotten of the true Lark all day, though the comment didn’t bug him. It amused him, made him want to tease her back.
“Smart-ass,” he lobbed at Lark, winking at her.
One of the brunette’s friends shoulder-bumped her. “Looks like you’re out of luck, Tammy. The hottie is spoken for. You two are adorable together, by the way.”
“We’re not together,” Grayson and Lark said at the exact same time.
The women cracked up, laughing loudly.
“Thank God,” Tammy exclaimed. “Should I give you my number?”
