She’d been his.
He’d spent his whole life believing in the Storm legend, even if he didn’t think he’d be lucky enough to experience it. But, knowing without question that if it did happen to him, he’d recognize it instantly. And he had.
Hadn’t he?
Most of that weekend with Lark had felt perfect, intense, easy. Real. But nothing with her, either before or after, had matched it. Not one single moment.
Lark gently pulled away from his touch. She glanced at the marks, then shrugged. “I bruise really easy. Most of the time, I don’t even remember how I got them. He didn’t hurt me. Honest.”
Grayson didn’t reply, his thoughts whirling in a million different directions.
“Grayson?”
Lark’s voice finally penetrated the fog in his head. He looked at her. Really looked at her. She was pretty and nice and funny and…entirely wrong for him.
“Thanks for taking up for me,” she said. “I’ll get back to work.”
Grayson watched her go, still trying to make sense of things. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there in the middle of the bustling tasting room, staring off into space, but it was Nora who pulled him out of his head, asking if he could grab a couple cases of wine for her, as they were running short.
Typically, work was a great distraction for him, but today, it wasn’t helping, and for the next hour or so, he managed to fuck up just about everything he did. He kept filling orders wrong, and, during two tastings, he poured the same wine twice. Then he dropped a tray full of glasses, and bumped into a table of patrons, knocking over their drinks.
“Earth to Grayson,” Nora said, in a tone that told him it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name.
“Yeah?”
“I think we can handle it from here. I called a couple of the waitstaff who are scheduled this evening to see if they could come in early. They’re here now, so you can head back to the vineyard or…” She paused.
“Or?” he prompted.
Nora gave him a concerned look. “Or maybe you should call it a day. I’m not sure what’s bothering you, but, cuz, you’re a serious hazard right now. I’m not sure the grapes would be safe.”
Grayson didn’t argue with her, because he couldn’t. And that was when he realized it hadn’t been Lark distracting him from work for the past few hours.
It had been Wren.
He’d been reading her book suggestions at the speed of light, not so much because he was enthralled with the stories—though Wren’s recommendations had been rock solid—but because he was quickly becoming obsessed with the pretty, quiet librarian.
Whose twin sister he’d shared a bed with and kissed just a few weeks earlier.
Shit.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who tried to score with sisters. Just the thought of that felt skeezy, but there was no denying he was apparently attracted to both the McCoy sisters. Or at least…he had been.
Now, he felt no more for Lark than he had before the festival. He was back to square one, considering her a lively, entertaining, frequently tardy employee whose loud laugh and boisterous personality…well…grated on his nerves.
If he’d met Wren first, there was no question he would have pursued her and asked her out, but doing so now felt wrong. He got the sense Lark and Wren were close—very close—so it seemed like a safe assumption that Lark had probably told her sister about the kiss.
Nora was right. He was a menace, and it was clear no work was going to get done until he sorted out these fucked-up thoughts.
So, he waved a quick goodbye to his cousin, determined to seek out someone who could help. Ordinarily, he would have made a beeline for Maverick, who, in addition to being his wine-making partner and brother, was also his best friend.
However, it would be an understatement to say Maverick had been distracted himself of late. Head over heels in love, his brother’s brain was currently riding on one track. The Elle Express. The one that was going to lead him and his fiancée to the altar in a couple of months.
So instead of heading back to the vineyard to find Maverick, he walked in the opposite direction toward the brewhouse. Jace had been his confidant in all things Lark-related, so Grayson wouldn’t have to backtrack or retell much. Plus, Jace had a better working knowledge of Lark, the two of them traveling in the same circle of friends. Or at least, they had when she’d been with Tommy.
Grayson paused when he entered the brewhouse, standing just outside Jace’s open door. His brother was working on his computer, his fingers flying across the keys.
“Knock knock,” Grayson said, as he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.
