"Hey," I said, attempting to catch my breath.
"Hey, yourself. Looked like you were having fun."
I shrugged. "Oh, yes. They're great kids. Ready to go?"
He nodded. "I can see why you're so supportive of this place. It seems like they do great work."
I smiled brightly at him and his eyes moved to my cheek, a frown appearing, before he looked away. It still bothered him that I'd been hurt. The realization warmed me. "They do," I said, simply.
After saying goodbye to Sharon, we got back on the road, heading for Napa, headed back home. To my temporary home, I reminded myself. And yet, I found myself excited at the prospect of returning to my small cottage and seeing Charlotte, Walter, Virgil, and José, and sweet Sugie Sug. The feeling concerned me, though. I was acting like Hawthorn Vineyard was my home, but it wasn’t. In fact, I'd be leaving there in a matter of weeks. Although Grayson had offered me the option to stay longer, I now knew that would only make things harder. I'd relented and been physical with him, and while I didn't regret it, I knew it would only make our parting difficult for me—even if in some small measure. I'd never let him know it, of course, but I knew it was the truth. However, now that the damage was done, was there really any reason not to enjoy him while I could? Perhaps I'd leave Grayson with my heart slightly bruised. But wasn't a slightly bruised heart worth the electricity we created together? I shivered just remembering the way he'd touched me the night before, the way he'd seemed to know my body better than I did.
"Cold?" he asked, putting his hand in front of the vent to test the temperature of the air.
"No," I said, but didn't explain why I'd shivered.
The ride went quickly with us chatting mostly about casual topics. I knew for myself, I'd had enough heavy with what had happened at my father's house and then at the hotel.
"Oh," I said when we were about half an hour into the drive, "I forgot to mention your party has a theme."
Grayson raised one brow. "Oh? What?"
"Well, I thought about the first thing I said about your house when you took me on a tour."
He was silent, obviously not remembering. Finally he said, "That it was the lair of a dragon?"
I huffed out an impatient breath. "No, I said that about the maze."
"Oh, right. You'll have to remind me what you said about the house."
"I said it looked like a fairy-tale castle."
"Okay . . ."
I laughed and rolled my eyes, pretending to be even more exasperated with him. "The theme will be a fairy-tale masquerade. It's perfect. And the date is two weeks away. I circled it on the calendar in the kitchen and in your office."
"Two weeks? Will anyone even show up with such short notice?"
"They'll be even more likely to show up. Planning it with such little notice sends the message we don't care whether they're there or not. They'll be intrigued. The whole town will come." Hopefully.
Grayson chuckled. "Okay. I'll save Party Psychology 101 to you."
I smiled. "Plus, I have limited time to make my mark on your life."
"Oh, you've made your mark."
I chuckled softly. "I mean a positive mark. Something lasting," I mused, thinking about all the ways I hoped my plans for the party would benefit him for the long term.
He glanced at me for several beats and then looked back to the road. A small smile played on his lips, but he didn't say anything.
When we arrived back in Napa, it was just after noon. Grayson took our bags out of his truck and started for the house. "I'm going to put these in the foyer. Why don't you come down to the winemaking facility with me and see what you've invested in." He shot a charming smile over his shoulder, squinting into the sunshine, and my stomach flipped.
"Okay." I'd lived here for weeks now and had never been invited inside that mysterious building where Grayson seemed to work constantly. I was eager to find out what was inside.
He was back outside thirty seconds later, saying it appeared Charlotte and Walter were out and they must have taken Sugie with them. I walked with him down the hill, past the lush smell of roses and small white flowers that smelled sweet and woody. I inhaled deeply, sighing. "It smells so good right here."
"Roses and hawthorn flowers," he said, his expression grim. "My stepmother planted them years ago when she was pregnant with Shane. Charlotte told her the rose symbolizes balance—the flower is the beauty and the contrasting thorns are a reminder that love can be painful. The hawthorn flowers are obviously for our name. They're the last things she ever planted here."
"Oh, why?" I asked, thinking about the rose pin Charlotte had let me borrow on my wedding day.