You're Still the One (12 page)

“Dude, I need to lose my shoes.” Maggie giggled. “I just made an inadvertent rhyme!”

Bex was not the only person flying a little high tonight. “Me too. Can we?”

“Why not?” Maggie asked. “Especially you. You live here.”

Well, she didn't
live
here, but yeah, this was where she was currently resting her head at night.

They went to the table at the edge of the dance floor where Bex had been sitting and, sighing softly, dropped into the chairs. Aubrey and Chloe sat too, but didn't seem to be suffering the same footwear trauma as Bex and Maggie.

Maggie's shoes were slip-ons, so she just kicked them off. Bex would have to unbuckle the straps on hers, but first she needed more water. Thankfully her bottle was still on the table.

Liam and Derek strode up to the table. They'd doffed their jackets long ago and loosened their ties. Kyle came up behind them, looking similarly disheveled. Nope, not disheveled. There was nothing messy about any of them. They all looked like they belonged in a photo shoot for J. Crew.

Liam held his hand out to Aubrey. “Hey, babe. You ready for another spin?”

She grinned up at him and twined her fingers through his. “Sure.”

Chloe stood up next. “Come on, sexy, show me what you've got.”

Derek let out a low growl. “You sure you want that?”

Chloe laughed low in her throat. “Bring it.”

Though Bex smiled at their banter, she couldn't help but feel envious. Kyle looked between Maggie and Bex, his brow furrowed.

Maggie massaged her toes. “What's wrong?”

Kyle eyed her feet. “Well, we all came over to dance, but you look like you need to sit.”

Maggie bounced up. “I'm good. I just won't be putting those back on.” She pointed at the offending footwear she'd kicked aside.

“I liked those shoes,” he said. “A lot.” He grinned and kissed her cheek.

She chuckled. “Great, they're yours.”

He laughed with her then turned to Bex. “You want to come dance with us?”

Bex didn't want to intrude on all the coupledom. “Thanks, but I need to rest my feet.”

Kyle took Maggie's hand. “Okay, but if you change your mind, we'll be the ones with no rhythm.”

Maggie socked him in the shoulder. “Speak for yourself!”

They laughed all the way to the dance floor where he pulled her into his arms for a slow-ish dance despite the upbeat tempo of the song.

Bex bent over and pulled at the strap on her shoe. With a flick of her fingers she freed her poor right foot and exhaled with relief. Moving on to the left, she tugged the strap back. Only the little metal toggle wouldn't come out of the hole. It was stuck. Crap.

She worked at it for a minute and, when too much blood had gathered in her tipsy head from being bent over, she sat back up with a huff. Standing in front of her was Hayden wearing a perplexed half-smile.

“Problem?”

She groaned. “Yes. My strap won't come loose, and I'm dying to get this shoe off.” She brought her foot up to show him.

He leaned forward. “I see. Here, let me see if I can help.” He sat down in the chair Maggie had vacated. “Give me your foot.”

She envisioned handing him her severed foot like she would a hammer or a pen and promptly giggled.

His eyes narrowed briefly, and damn was it sexy. “What?”

“Nothing. Just buzz giggles.”

He smiled. “I remember those.”

That's what they'd called them in college. The uncontrollable laughter at things that maybe weren't that funny unless you were under the influence of alcohol.

She lifted her foot and wasn't sure where to go with it. Putting it on his lap seemed too . . . intimate. But the table was too tall and there wasn't another chair in close proximity.

He solved the problem by gently clutching it and setting it on his knee. Not quite his lap. This was okay. Safe.

Until he started in on the strap. His fingers grazed her flesh, sparking all sorts of inappropriate yearnings. She willed him to hurry up before she did something stupid. Like moan.

“Wow, this is really stuck.” He frowned at her. “Your foot's kind of swollen.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. It's hot, and I've been on my feet all day. I wonder why.”

“Well, I'm going to have to tighten it”—he did just that as he said the words, making her cry out—“to get it off.” The strap came free, and he tossed the shoe aside. “Better?”

His right hand was still on her foot, his thumb gently caressing her reddened flesh. Did he realize what he was doing? That he was stroking her? He couldn't possibly know how it made her feel, how she wished he would slide his hand up to her ankle, keeping up the massage, and to all points north of that.

She tried not to sigh and completely failed. “Yes, thank you.”

Like his brothers, he'd ditched his coat. He'd also completely removed his tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck with the sleeves rolled up. Both places bared tanned flesh that contrasted sharply with the pure white of his crisp shirt. He wore a bracelet on his right wrist—brown leather with a slender silver rectangle.

God, he was sexy. Had he ever been this sexy?

“Cool bracelet. What is it?”

He lifted his hand from her, and she immediately regretted asking him the question. “Oh, I picked it up in France. It's Latin. It says
in vino veritas
.”

Bex reluctantly slid her foot from his knee and sat up straight in her chair. “It looks great on you.”

“Thank you.” He stared at her a moment. “You seem . . . different.”

She was surprised to hear him echo the thoughts she'd been having. “So do you. But I guess that's to be expected after all this time. We're not the same people we were.”

“Nope. Is this strange?”

Bex relaxed against the chair. Maybe it was due to the alcohol, but she didn't want to put up a façade with him. “A little. Is it strange for you?”

“Yeah. A little,” he said.

Yikes. Bex grimaced. “I want you to know that I thought long and hard about coming back here. I almost didn't.”

“What made up your mind?”

“Honestly, it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“I get it. And I understand.” He looked at her pointedly. “
Really.
Do your thing. We'll settle into a groove, and this won't feel bizarre anymore.” He rested his arm on the table and leaned back in his chair. “Anyway, I'll be out of your hair by the middle of next month.” He adjusted the bracelet on his wrist, and it seemed a subconscious action, like when he'd twirl the ring she'd given him.

He looked off into the distance at something then stood. He looked down at her, the hint of a smile curving his lips. “You good now?”

Bex nodded. “Thanks again.”

He gave her a gallant bow. “You're welcome.”

As she watched him walk away into the night, she felt a pang of longing so strong that she almost went after him and asked him to dance. Would that be so wrong? They seemed to be getting along so well.

Okay, Bex, pull your head out. You just had an open conversation and acknowledged any weirdness.
That wasn't the bright green light she needed.
Time to move past him and live your life. The life you chose to pursue here in Ribbon Ridge, aka Archer Central.

That she now had an unexpected desire to rekindle things with her ex was a bummer. She thought of what Cameron had told her—that Hayden had taken years to truly get over her and was in a great place now. She couldn't mess that up. He deserved every happiness, and she needed to leave him the hell alone.

Come next month he might be out of her hair, but she didn't think he'd exit her thoughts so easily.

T
HE WEDDING BREAKFAST
on Sunday was a bit subdued compared with the wedding the previous day, but still joyous as everyone celebrated the newlyweds. Hayden had never seen Sara so happy.

Dylan and Sara were opening gifts in the great room while people milled about—either sitting with them, nibbling on the buffet in the dining room, or hanging out downstairs. A lot of guests would be leaving today, and he realized that meant the house would be almost empty.

Almost. Bex would still be here.

Hayden went into the kitchen to refill his coffee. Even though it was past noon, he needed the caffeine after last night. He'd stayed up into the wee hours drinking with his brothers and the Westcotts. Several of them had spent the night in various places at the house. He'd been reminded of college days when they'd had parties here occasionally. Nothing major, just fun times with family and close friends. Times he couldn't have in France.

Dad came into the kitchen. “Hayden, how's it going?”

“Good, you?”

“Excellent. I'm getting the hang of this wedding business. Derek's was a good introductory lesson last summer, then Evan's in April, and now I'd say we're in the swing of things.” He grinned and went to the tap to pull a beer. Dad eyed the mug in Hayden's hand. “You still drinking coffee?”

“For now.” Hayden was also still thinking of the weddings. Kyle's was in late September, which would be tough for Hayden to make with harvest. Hayden would have to fly in Friday morning and leave Sunday. He basically wouldn't sleep for an entire weekend. No problem.

Then Liam was getting married on New Year's Day. That would be far easier to manage, and it made sense for Hayden to just come home for Christmas and stay a week or ten days. He'd flown home for just a few days last Christmas because his mother had wanted all of her children with her during the first holidays after Alex's death. And Hayden had wanted to be with them.

Alex's absence had been very strange because he'd always been there—the one brother who had never left home. The family had talked about that, of course, but there was still a disconnect between Hayden and his siblings. He'd lived near Alex, had seen him regularly, had known him in ways they hadn't, and had been there for him when just about everyone else had gone.

Dad leaned back against the counter and sipped his beer. “What's on your agenda today?”

“Not much. I might take a nap.”

Dad chuckled. “I think that's going to be a popular theme. We're skipping Sunday dinner tonight. I think everyone's wiped out.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

Dad looked him the eye. “It's great to have you back. We really missed you here.”

Hayden sensed a hard sell coming. He and Mom had made no secret about wanting him to change his plans, dropping hints at every possible opportunity. “I've missed you, too.”

“I've been thinking.” He flicked Hayden an apologetic glance. “It's hard not to. You really could start up your own wine label. You have the same entrepreneurial spirit that pretty much runs in all of us Archers.”

Hayden
could
start his own label. He didn't need a vineyard or even a winery. He could buy grapes from a producer, rent space from a facility, and use a bottling truck. The valley was full of small winemakers looking to establish a name for themselves. Unlike most of them, Hayden had enough capital to make a serious go of things.

“I've thought of that, but I like working with a crew. I like the vineyard aspect, the camaraderie of the winery.”

“So start your own winery,” Dad said.

Hayden laughed. “Yeah, I'll get right on that.” Little did Dad know, he actually
could
. . .

“I'm serious. Why
couldn't
you do that?”

“I could, but right now I have the opportunity to rack up some terrific experience most people would kill for.” That was a bit melodramatic, but he wanted Dad to understand how important this was to him. Making wine at a Grand Cru winery in Burgundy would gain Hayden an international audience for his own wine, when the time came.

“I get it.” But he didn't look happy about it.

“I'm not going to be gone forever,” Hayden said.

“You say that, but you never know. Liam said he'd never move back here, and now look at him.”

He'd relocated his life here and was now as involved in The Alex as anyone. Anyone but Hayden.

But Hayden.

He sensed a common theme here. Except he had to remember that he'd removed himself from everything on purpose. If he wanted to come back, to participate, he'd be welcomed with open arms. That wasn't the point, however. Maybe he wanted them to ask—and not like Dad just had, for emotional reasons. No, it would be nice to be wanted. Needed.

Which he was in France.

“Dad, if you thought I'd come home and make wine, why'd you offer me a position at Archer Brewing with Derek?”

Dad shrugged. “I don't know. Out of habit maybe? I loved working with you at Archer. I'd always sort of hoped you'd develop a passion for beer the way you did for wine. And when you were with Bex it seemed that might happen since she was so passionate about it.” He nodded once. “But I realize now that it was never your calling.”

Hayden appreciated the sentiment and understood Dad's disappointment that not one of his kids had inherited his love of brewing.

Hayden's back pocket vibrated, signaling a text. He pulled his phone out and glanced at the screen. It was from Cam, which was silly since he was downstairs playing pool or something.

Cam:
Luke scheduled a walk-through at a vineyard in thirty. You in?

In? For what? A tour? Or something more?

He cautioned himself not to get ahead of things. He was asking for a tour, nothing more.

Hayden:
Where?

Cam:
Quail Crest.

That was up in the hills over Ribbon Ridge. Hayden couldn't remember for sure, but thought they had about eighty acres. They didn't produce wine, but sold the grapes to area wineries and winemakers. It had a fantastic elevation, and in the right hands, the grapes produced some sensational wine. Hayden's interest was piqued.

What would be the harm in looking?

Hayden:
Sure.

Cam:
We'll be right up!

Presumably by “we,” he meant Luke and Jamie, who were also downstairs last Hayden knew.

A moment later, the trio spilled into the kitchen. “You ready?” Cam asked.

Dad looked between them. “You guys headed out?”

Hayden threw them all death stares and hoped they understood: Do
not
say a word.

Hayden set his mug on the counter near the sink. “Yeah, we're going to stop in and visit a friend while Luke's still here.” He cast another look toward the brothers, silently telling them to nod or at least not say anything contradictory. His primary concern was Jamie, who sometimes got lost in his own head.

“Have fun.” Dad smiled at them and left.

Hayden led them out through the back door. “Who's driving?”

“I will,” Cam said.

They all piled into his Range Rover—Hayden in the front seat, Luke and Jamie in the back.

Hayden gave all three of them a pointed look in quick succession. “I would appreciate it if you guys would keep this reconnaissance, or whatever it is, on the down-low for now. If my folks found out there was a chance I was thinking of starting my own winery, I'd never hear the end of it.”

Cam looked over at him as he drove through the porte cochere and around the fountain. “Understood.”

“They giving you a hard time about not moving home?” Jamie asked. “I'm getting the same guilt trip from my mother. When I point out the fact that Luke lives in California and Cam travels all the time, she said I at least needed to live in the same country like they do.”

Hayden chuckled, glad that his mother wasn't the only one with unreasonable expectations.

Cam glanced at the guys in back in his rearview mirror. “So are we serious about this?”

“We're just looking at a vineyard,” Luke said from behind Hayden's seat.

Hayden turned to look at him. “That
you
set up. Why would you do that if you weren't serious?”

Luke cracked a lazy smile. “Same reason you'd come to look at it if you're not serious.”

Cam laughed. “I think we're all cautiously optimistic at this point. If it works out, great, if not, no harm done.”

Jamie leaned forward. “Hayden, is there any chance you could turn down the job in France?”

He'd planned to contact Antoine late tonight, when it was Monday morning in Burgundy. But he supposed he could delay at least a few days if he wanted to seriously consider this enterprise. Hell, this was not what he'd expected to be doing. He'd wrapped his mind around going back to France. Sure, but he'd also fantasized about making his own wine.

“Maybe,” he finally answered.

Luke thumped the back of his seat. “Vague much?”

Hayden laughed. “Yes, there's a chance I could turn down the job. But I have to be damned sure. How'd you just happen to hear about this place anyway—if you aren't serious?”

“I always keep my options open,” Luke said. “After we theorized this thing last week, I did a little poking around and found out that Amos was planning on selling. I wanted to get a leg up before he put it on the market. Here we are.”

Cam pulled into the small gravel drive leading up to the ranch-style house where the vineyard owners lived. They all bailed out of the car, and Luke took the lead going to the house while the other three waited in the driveway.

A few moments later, Luke returned with a man in his sixties. “This is Amos French,” Luke said. “Amos, these are my brothers Cameron and Jamie.” He shook hands with each of them. “And our kinda-sorta-but-not-really-brother-in-law Hayden Archer. His sister is married to our brother.”

Amos chuckled. “That's a mouthful. Pleased to meet you. Let's take a walk through the grapes.” He beckoned for them to follow him into the vineyard, which started maybe fifty feet behind the house. They had a stunning view of the valley beyond and a hillside of neatly marching vines.

He spent a good ten minutes telling them when the grapes had been planted and what farming methods he used. Then he covered production yields for the past five years—he'd owned the land for nearly twenty; it was his retirement project—as well as where the grapes were promised this year. He hadn't signed any new contracts and had decided it was a good time to downsize.

“Are you planning to live in the house or are you going to put that on the market, too?” Cameron asked.

“Nah, you can have that, too. Well, not
have
it.” He laughed.

Luke and Hayden spent about fifteen minutes exploring, discussing the plants, sampling the very young grapes, and falling into long bouts of silence. Hayden knew his mind was traveling at about a thousand miles an hour and suspected Luke's was doing the same.

Hayden ended up wandering off away from them and wasn't sure how long he'd been on his own tramping through the vineyard when Cameron caught up with him.

Cam wiped the back of his wrist over his forehead. “Should've brought a hat.”

Hayden put his hands on his hips and looked up the hillside toward the house. He envisioned it transformed into a tasting room and next to it, a brand-new, state-of-the-art facility designed by Tori.

“What do you think?” Cam asked.

Hayden's mind was churning with possibility. “Too much.”

Cam quirked a smile. “Luke said the plants are fantastic. Amos runs a good vineyard.”

“I agree. And I've drank enough Quail Crest varieties to know the grapes will make good wine.” Or great wine. Hayden's pulse thrummed with excitement.

“The three of us can't afford to buy the property and start the winery,” Cam said matter-of-factly. They'd been friends long enough not to mince words. “And of course none of us can actually make wine.”

Hayden turned toward him. “You're saying you need me.”
And my money.

He knew it was more than that. He
hoped
it was more than that. Hadn't he just thought about wanting to be needed?

“Of course we need you. This project doesn't happen without you. I mean, it could, I guess. But we'd have to find some second-rate winemaker with enough money to put in his quarter stake.”

Hayden's brain tripped up. “You only want me to put in a quarter?”

Cam frowned slightly. “Yeah, what did you think? With three of us, we can't quite afford it—according to the numbers guy.” That would be Jamie. “But with four of us, it's doable. Did you think we wanted you to front the money?”

“I wasn't sure.”

“Wow, did France turn you into a dick? For as long as we've been friends, you've been rich, affluent, well-off, whatever. Have I ever expected you to be my sugar daddy?” When Hayden shook his head, he added, “Yeah, didn't think so.”

“Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a douche. I'm just . . . I've just been feeling like a fifth wheel since I came home. Like I don't really belong.”

“That's ridiculous. Especially with me.” Cameron took a step forward and while Hayden couldn't see the expression in his eyes behind the sunglasses, he could hear the genuine concern in his friend's tone. “We're good, right?”

“Absolutely. It's me. I'm off-kilter. Can I still blame jet lag?”

Cam lifted a shoulder. “Blame whatever you want. Blame your siblings, your parents, hell, blame Bex.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because she's back in your life fucking things up.”

Hayden dropped his hands to his sides and started walking back up the hill. “She's not fucking things up.”