Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

He made a sound like he didn’t believe her. A long minute passed, his pulse beginning to slow. Then he said, “Winemaking was the heart of him. He wanted it so bad. And I already . . . I failed him once, Natalie. I wasn’t supposed to let him die. I was supposed to protect him.” A heavy swallow. “He wouldn’t have let it happen to me.”

Natalie’s tears were soaking into the shoulder of his T-shirt now, a torturous wind in her middle. “I’m not a soldier, August, and I don’t know anything about war, but I know your character. And I know if you’d had the slightest hint of a threat to anyone you love, you’d have done something to stop it. I know that like I know the sun will come up tomorrow.” She kissed his salty skin. “It wasn’t your fault.”

They held on to each other tightly in the afternoon sun, time passing without measure. Natalie pushed the lingering sadness she felt about August refusing her help as far away as possible, weighing it down with sympathy and understanding. And an encroaching, never-experienced-before feeling that was too scary to name.





Chapter Eighteen




Going to dinner at his mother-in-law’s house.

August never thought he’d be so excited.

He and Natalie were dressed in business casual attire as they walked out of the house together and called goodbye to the cat. August opened the car door for Natalie so she could slide into the passenger seat and balance a homemade pie on her lap. This was the kind of evening that made the marriage feel real, and goddamn, he loved it, especially since they’d been orbiting each other without touching or speaking much since yesterday.

When he’d lost it in the wine cave.

Yeah, there hadn’t been a lot of conversation since they’d spent hours clinging together outside the event barn, inhaling each other’s exhales, her heartbeat like a song that he could follow out of the darkness. There’d been a lot of staring, however. A lot of passing each other in the kitchen or on the way into the bathroom and looking. Wanting to touch.

August knew damn well Natalie was waiting for him to make a move—and believe him, not taking her to bed was unmitigated torture, but if yesterday had proven anything to him, it was that he needed Natalie to be in his life permanently. He needed to take this slice of time seriously and not get distracted by her smoking-hot, one-of-a-kind rack. He needed her for sixty years, not sixty minutes. What else was a man supposed to believe when the idea of her getting injured made every molecule in his body scream like a child who’d accidentally walked into a theater playing It?

Descending into that cave had been eerily similar to entering the hideout with Sam three years ago. The same dusty waft of decay, the silence and pitch-blackness of it all. And all he could think was I can’t lose her, too. I can’t.

It would be so satisfying to make love and forget about all the obstacles in their path to matrimonial bliss, but if he took that route, he’d wake up one day and she’d be leaving for New York. His dick would have gotten a workout, fine. But she wouldn’t be any closer to loving him back. Or believing they could go the distance.

At this rate, cheesy eighties songs were writing themselves, but who could blame him when she looked so gorgeous in his passenger seat, her left knee bouncing up and down in a nervous gesture that threatened to upend the pie.

“Hey.” He took his right hand off the steering wheel and brushed his knuckle along the outside of her knee, which turned out to be a big mistake, because Lord God almighty, she was smooth and that kneecap would fit right into his palm. Focus. “Are you nervous because Ingram Meyer is going to be there? Because we’ve got this, Natalie. By the end of the night, he’s going to be so positive that we married for love, he’s going to send us a second wedding gift. Fingers crossed on a chocolate fountain.”

She appeared to be on the verge of rolling her eyes, but cut him a sly look instead. “You know, the one from Williams Sonoma doubles as a fondue pot.”

He smacked the steering wheel. “Are we positive no one bought us one of those?”

“Hallie took our gifts home, and opened and arranged them. Not a single chocolate fountain that doubles as a cheese cauldron, but then again, I wouldn’t put it past Julian’s girlfriend to steal it for herself. She once robbed a cheese shop in broad daylight.” She nodded solemnly at his incredulous eyebrow raise. “How are you so confident we’ll convince Meyer?”

Because if that man can’t see I’d die for you, he’s blind.

“I’m great at dinner parties. Although in Kansas, we call them barbecues.”

Her laughter was kind of dazed. “Dinner with my mother in her formal dining room is far from kicking back with a cold one in someone’s backyard.”

“That bad, huh?” His stomach begged him not to ask the next question, but hell, he did it anyway. “Did you ever bring your ex-fiancé home for dinner?”

“Morrison? No.”

“Fuck yeah.” His fist pump was so involuntary, he almost punched a hole in the roof of the truck. Pull back, tiger. “I mean, I’m glad you didn’t have to go through the whole sticky process of detaching your family from the dude, as well. You know how that goes. You don’t just break up with someone, you break up with their family and friends. Such a mess.”

Natalie stared.

Any second now, she was going to call him on that fist pump and the bullshit that followed. Instead, she asked, “Do you . . . know how that goes? Have you had serious girlfriends?”

Somehow, August got the sense that this was a dangerous topic. “My father used to say that women ask questions they don’t really want answered, and it’s our job to figure out which ones are safe and which ones aren’t. And we will always be wrong.”

Natalie scoffed at that, readjusting the pie on her lap. “What are you implying? That I don’t really want to know about your past girlfriends?”

“I can relate, princess. I want to hear about this Morrison prick about as much as I want a staple gun pointed at my nuts.”

“You asked.”

“I live with a woman now. Maybe she’s rubbing off on me.”

“Whatever. Just answer the question.” She chuckled.

Oh no. That chuckle was deceiving.

Trust your gut, son.

Or was it his dick? Because his dick said to tell Natalie anything she wanted to know. Give her anything she wants without delay.

“Yeah, I had a serious girlfriend,” he said slowly. Cautiously. “One. In high school. She lived next door. Matter of fact, I think she’s still in the house beside my mom and dad.”

“What was she like?”

O-kay. Natalie was still smiling. This seemed fine. “Carol? She’s a sweet, down-home Kansas girl. Her pickles won a blue ribbon at the state fair.”

“Oh.” The smile looked a tad forced now. “Wow. She sounds like my total opposite.”

Hold up. Things were getting dicey.

“Why did you break up?”

“Natalie, are you sure that pie isn’t too hot on your lap? I can—”

“I mean, if she’s so sweet, what happened?”

“Did I say sweet?” That was just what his mother always called Carol. A sweet, down-home Kansas girl. It must have stuck. “Well. She wanted to settle down and get started on a family right away, and I wasn’t ready for that. I wanted to serve.” He recited these truths very slowly. “So she gave me back my class ring and now she’s married to the church pastor. Last time my mother updated me, they have four kids.”

“Oh.” Natalie slumped back in her seat. “And you’re happy for her?”

“Of course I am. Why?”

“It sounded like she was the one who got away.”

“No, that was my next girlfriend.” He winked at her. “Just kidding, princess.”

“You know, I’m holding a pie,” she said calmly. A few beats passed and he started to sense he wasn’t in the clear yet from the dangerous nature of this conversation. “But speaking of pie, I’m just . . . curious. You’re very good at . . . you know. Indulging in a little pie yourself. So when did all this practice occur—”

He was already shaking his head. “Natalie.”

“I’m just saying, it couldn’t have been with the pastor’s pickle-making wife.”

“This conversation ends now. I only have eyes for your pie.”

“Just tell me,” she cajoled.

“No.”

“We’re both adults!”

“Oh my God, I . . . yeah, okay. Fine. I lost my virginity when I was twenty-two. Kind of late and thirteen years ago, Natalie. The girl was a friend of a friend’s girlfriend and I can’t even remember her name, but she . . . she looked at it and said, You better learn how to make a woman stupid before you even think of bringing that thing into the mix. She showed me a few tricks and I listened. Okay? And that is the end of this conversation.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember her name?” She had the nerve to sound disappointed. “I was hoping to send her a Christmas card.”

“Very funny.” His face was on fire. “I can’t believe I told you that.”