She bit her lower lip, gazing toward the dance floor. It was too crowded, with too many bodies packed closely together.
A cold chill crept over her skin as old memories pressed against the edges of her mind—the smell of bourbon, large hands grabbing her, nowhere to move, too hard to breathe.
Claustrophobia had been a fact of life since she was nine years old. It was why she avoided crowds. The festival hadn’t triggered her fear because she’d stayed safely behind the tables, protected by physical distance and a solid wooden barrier.
“I’m serious,” she said quietly. “I don’t dance.”
Something in her tone must have reached him, because his expression softened. “No problem.”
Wren drew in a steadying breath, relieved when he gave her an easygoing smile. He didn’t tease or push, and there was no disappointment in his gaze. Just acceptance.
Then, Grayson went one step further in calming her down when he started talking about books again. He knew exactly how to put her at ease, something very few people were capable of.
When the slow song ended, everyone else returned to the table. Everett and Remi spent ten solid minutes arguing over whether a horror movie counted as romantic if the couple survived together.
The rest of the evening passed surprisingly fast, and Wren actually found herself enjoying it. For the first time in a very long time, she felt almost…normal.
By the end of the night, everyone gathered near the exit, saying their goodbyes. She and Lark had walked, as Whiskey Abbey was only a couple of blocks from Wren’s apartment. Main Street was very well-lit and since crime in Gracemont was practically nil, it was perfectly safe for them to walk at night.
The Storms headed for the parking lot.
Unable to resist, Wren glanced over her shoulder, at the same time Grayson did the same thing.
He gave her another wave, and warmth bloomed in her chest…along with something much more dangerous.
Hope.
Chapter Twelve
Grayson had seen enough fights—he’d grown up with six brothers, after all—to recognize trouble when it walked in.
The second Tommy walked into the tasting room, heading straight for Lark, Grayson felt every muscle in his body tighten. It was a beautiful fall Friday, and given the number of people soaking up the midafternoon sunshine, it was safe to say half of the town had decided to treat themselves to an early happy hour to kick off the weekend.
The crowd buzzed around them, laughter spilling from the patio while music drifted through the speakers, the upbeat playlist adding to the relaxing, fun atmosphere. Lark’s cheeks were flushed from the warmth and work. They were all hustling.
Ordinarily, this time of the year would find him in the vineyards, picking grapes with Boone, Maverick, the seasonal help they’d hired, and most of his brothers. However, he drew the short straw when Nora came looking for extra help in the wine-tasting room and brewery. They hadn’t anticipated this unexpected rush at two on a Friday, so the waitstaff was overwhelmed.
Sam had left the field to go help Theo and his staff in the brewery, while Grayson had agreed to handle the tastings. Actually, Maverick had offered, but Grayson insisted.
He was still trying to make lightning strike twice with Lark.
It wasn’t working.
He’d tried the special tasting with the vintner thing last week, requesting that Lark assist him. When Nora gave him a quizzical look about the request, he simply reminded her that they’d worked well together at the festival and had developed a good rhythm. Luckily, his cousin bought it and put Lark on the schedule.
The experiment had been a big damn bust as far as he was concerned, because it had been like working with the OG Lark again. The one who drove him up the wall with her loud laughter and over-the-top storytelling—not the festival one, who’d been more professional and chill.
Then, Lark had shown up at ladies’ night, something he’d been banking on when he agreed to join his family. Remi and Lark were regulars at Whiskey Abbey on Wednesdays. He’d wanted to see if things were different when they were out socially.
He hadn’t had much of an opportunity to test that theory, since Lark had shown up with her sister…
And lately, it was Wren who’d been occupying his thoughts and driving him to distraction.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to dwell on that particular twin at the moment. It looked like Tommy had reached some sort of breaking point with Lark.
“Please,” he heard the man say, loudly enough that several heads at the surrounding tables turned to see what was going on. “You gotta let me talk to you, Lark. Let me make this right.”
“Tommy,” Lark started, clearly exasperated. “I don’t know how many more times I can say?—”
