Clearly, it is a bad idea to put myself in a situation in which alcohol and insane, unexplainable attraction are in the mix. But I don’t see any way around it. What am I gonna say? No, I don’t want to take your brother up on his kind offer to take your place because I am afraid I won’t be able to hide the fact that just last night I dreamt about ripping his clothes off? At some point, I am going to have to learn how to deal with spending time with Ashton, and I decide that there is no day like today.
I plaster a smile on my face, and as gracefully as I can muster up, accept the offer. Twenty minutes later, we are sitting in the back of a town car headed to the first winery. The wraparound leather seat feels cool as I sit down and is a welcome distraction from my own thoughts. I fidget with the skirt of my dress and stare out the window as we drive off. I don’t relish the idea of being in a place this small and this close to him. I breathe in the clean, earthy scent of his cologne. I have no idea what to say. There are two modes for me when I feel like this: I either shutdown, like right now, or I won’t stop talking. Luckily for me, Ashton is the first to break the ice.
“So, wine country for us then,” he says with a smile. I love wine, so this works out well for me. Wine and brownie points. Whoo!” he says as he fist-pumps the air.
I can’t help it, I start laughing.
“Ah, there she is,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “I know I am not the brother you signed up for, but I promise we will have a great time.”
I smile at him; he’s actually quite sweet. I watch, mesmerized, as Ashton starts to undo his tie, pull it from his neck, and then undoes a couple of buttons. My heart is beating out of control as flashbacks of last night’s dream flicker through my brain. He neatly rolls the tie up and then sheepishly looks around for a place to put it.
“Here,” I tell him as I hold out my hand. “I’ll keep it in my purse.”
He hands over his tie, no questions asked. He sits back, now clearly more relaxed. It is kind of adorable.
“Feel better now?”
“Much,” he says with a wide grin. “It’s nice to be able to relax. I’ve been working nonstop lately.”
“Tell me about it,” I say as I dramatically roll my eyes. “I think this is the first time I have worn non-work related clothing in,” I pause and take a second to think. “Well, it’s been a bit because I can’t remember.”
Ashton’s eyes roam over me.
“Well, you always look beautiful, no matter what you wear.”
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I’m unsure what to say, so I just smile and mutter an embarrassed thank you.
The rest of the ride is filled with every small talk topic you can conceive of. We cover everything from the weather and movies to work and hobbies.
While it started off awkward, by the time we reach the first winery, the atmosphere between us is comfortable. I actually learned quite a bit about him.
Ashton climbs out of the vehicle first and offers me his hand. I take it and let him help me step out. It’s beautiful out here; it smells like fresh air, grapes, and sunshine. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear wind chimes, and it reminds me of my grandma’s house. Growing up, I used to love to sit on her wraparound porch and drink lemonade while listening to the wind play with the chimes. I remember sitting there for hours just listening and staring into the distance.
We are greeted by a young staff member who doesn’t seem very happy to be working. Ashton and I exchange an amused look.
“Dear God, we had to get stuck with emo Eeyore,” I joke.
Ashton covers his mouth and chuckles.
We get the tour of the place, and then Mr. “I hate my life” takes us to the tasting room. There, we are greeted by the master sommelier who introduces himself as Gabriel LaRoux. He reminds me of Inspector Gadget with a French accent since he’s tall, lean, and has a large, prominent nose.
“Come in, come in,” he tells us. “You can take a seat right here.”
His accent makes me smile.
I look around the room and admire the wooden paneling that covers the entire room from wall to ceiling. There are barrels everywhere; some are used for wine and placed against the walls, and some are used as tall tables with bar stools around them. The wood theme is broken up by windows with stained glass inserts, the colorful lights dancing on the walls as they are brought to life by the sunlight.
Ashton and I sit down as directed and listen intently to the presentation given to us. We are told we will be starting with the white and lighter wines before venturing to the heavier and bolder reds, with the sweetest wines being saved for last. I watch as Ashton places the glass Gabriel poured on the table and grasps the stem as he swirls. He inhales deeply before he takes some in his mouth, taking his time to swish the liquid around before finally using the spittoon to spit out some of the wine. It’s not hard to deduce he has done this before. Ashton Walker is a man of many talents, so I’m not sure why his expertise in wine tasting surprises me. I am sure this is why Brock thought he’d be a good replacement.
“Show off,” I tell him as I playfully nudge him in the side with my elbow.
He smiles sheepishly.
“I’m kidding, of course. I am totally impressed. You seem to know your way around a wine bottle.”
“Told you I would be a better replacement,” he says with a wink.
We continue to taste more wine, finding some we like, and order a few cases. We slide back into the waiting car and head to winery number two. We share stories of our previous wine tasting experiences, and conversation flows easily into us sharing college day mischief. I’m actually a little disappointed when we arrive. This time, we aren’t greeted at the car and just stroll inside. It seems to be a more laid-back setting than the previous winery, and a little more traditional as well. We walk to the counter and approach the man behind it. He seems preoccupied with the paper he is reading and doesn’t see us coming.
“Hello,” I say with a friendly smile. “We have an appointment for a tasting.”
The man looks up from his paper.
“Ah, yes,” he says as he put the paper down. “Ms. Hart? Take the stairs at the end of the hall. It leads to the wine cellar.”
We thank the man and head down the hall until we reach a large spiral staircase. It’s beautiful, regal, and looks like a total deathtrap.
“I’ll go first,” Ashton offers. “That way I can catch you if your clumsiness rears its ugly head,” he says with a chuckle.
“Hey! I didn’t tell you about my Calamity Jane history so you could tease me, you know,” I say, feigning annoyance.
He chuckles and starts the descent into the cellar. I follow him closely, paying great attention not to fall. These wedges look great, but I am rethinking the practicality aspect that I hadn’t considered until now. When we get to the bottom of the stairs, it is pitch-black. The only light is the one coming from the hallway above, and even that is dimmed. Alarm bells inside my head start blaring as we venture a little farther down the hall. I reach in front of me, trying to avoid walking into anything. Ashton’s hand curls around mine, and I think my heart is about to beat its way out of my chest cavity. I am almost one hundred percent sure that he can hear it beat because even I can hear it.
“Hello?” I call out. “Anyone there?”
I do not like cramped spaces, especially when I can’t see. Panic seizes me by the throat. My breathing starts to become shallow, bursting in and out of my lungs at a rapid pace.
“Mac? Are you okay?”
I can’t seem to find my voice so I nod, but it is dark and he can’t see me. I try to move, but fear has crippled me. I find myself unable to move.
“Hey, answer me,” he says with some urgency in his tone.
I feel tears burning at my eyelids, begging to be released, but I am trying so hard not to let them out.
He pulls me against his body, and I inhale his scent. I allow myself to melt into him, needing him as close to me as possible.
“Shhh,” he whispers against my hair. “It’s going to be okay. I’m right here.”
Every inch of me trembles when he strokes my hair ever so gently, leans in, and kisses my forehead. Then he pecks my cheek, which causes my knees to buckle. I close my eyes and find myself grabbing on to him more tightly. His lips brush the corner of my mouth, and I gasp. I am overwhelmed with need so strong that it overtakes my fear. I hold my breath, waiting and wanting him to kiss me.
Suddenly, light floods the hallway and brings reality with it as the door on the other end of it swings open. Our eyes snap up, and lock together. We both have a startled look on our faces. I can’t believe we almost kissed, or even worse, that I wish we had. He releases me, and I take a few steps backward.
“I…I’m so sorry,” I stammer.
Tears are streaming down my face, and I try to wipe them with the back of my hand. Ashton’s facial features are marred with grave concern.
“You can add crippling claustrophobia to the list of Mackenzie’s quirks,” I say in an attempt to lighten the mood.
A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t hear you come down. I was taking stock when the door shut behind me,” an attractive, young woman says apologetically.
We both turn at the sound of her voice.
She flips a light switch, and the hall is now fully lit. Ashton clears his throat and starts walking toward the woman. I follow them into what turns out to be the wine cellar. This room is what I imagined a wine tasting room would look like. The walls and floors are stone, and are graced with rack after rack of wine bottles. It is also clear that the temperature down here is controlled to the last degree. The room is parted by floor-to-ceiling glass doors that open to a smaller area with a mini bar and some stools. The woman introduces herself as Viviane Reyes—yup, even her name sounds sexy—and apologizes once more. We are seated at the little bar and go through the same explanation as the previous winery, only this time, I am not as invested. I loosely listen as I try to banish the trail of kisses from my mind. I know he was just trying to comfort me and that this attraction I feel is one-sided and beyond inappropriate.
I try to act like nothing has happened, but I am still shaken up from the incident just moments ago. I go through the motions of the tasting but I don’t even bother using the spittoon. Ashton, however, is hanging on her every word and is showering her with praise on her knowledge. I watch and cringe as he lays it on thick with this woman. She’s attractive with curly, long brown hair flowing freely down her shoulders, pouty full lips, and big green eyes. She has that perfect button nose women pay to have, and even though she is wearing full-on makeup, you can tell she doesn’t need it. With every sip I take, I get a little more annoyed. We get through the white wines and are knee-deep into the bold reds when I start to really feel it. When I start to make snide comments inside my head about her looks, I realize I am jealous. What the hell? I excuse myself and leave the room, intending to find the ladies’ room but instead, in my alcohol induced state, decide to head upstairs and out to the car. I climb in, pull out my cell, and text Amber to meet me at my apartment later. It takes about twenty minutes for Ashton to follow me.
“Hey, what happened to you? I was worried when you didn’t come back.”
“I was trying to give you some privacy,” I say, inwardly cringing at my sullen tone.
“Privacy? I thought we were here to taste wine for your restaurant. What are you talking about?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. But right now, I don’t care. All I want to do now is go home. I feel humiliated, and I feel dumb. Mostly, I feel like a traitor. I know Brock and I are not in love, but we have an agreement. He’s kept up his end of the bargain, and I almost destroyed both our dreams because of lust. I am thoroughly disgusted with myself, as well as disappointed. After everything that happened with Chris, didn’t I learn my lesson? No more men.
“I’m just not feeling well. I’d like to go home now,” I tell him.
I avoid his eyes on purpose and cross my arms like a petulant child. He slides into the car beside me. He’s so close, which is simultaneously the first and last place I need him to be right now.
“Mac?”
I sigh and let my head fall back, eyes closed tight.
“I thought we were having a good time. What happened?”
Did he forget about my irrational freak-out?
“I really don’t feel good and just want to go home. Can we go now? Please?”
I’m still refusing to look at him, partly because I’m angry, but mostly because I am embarrassed.
“Okay, let’s go home,” he murmurs.
Ashton instructs the driver to head back to the city, and I pretend to be asleep the entire ride home. I don’t know if he knows I am faking, but if he does, he doesn’t push the issue. He gently nudges me when we pull up to my apartment building, exiting the vehicle first so he can assist me when getting out. He guides me to a standing position from the vehicle and doesn’t take his eyes off mine. It’s like we are stuck, unable to pull away. I’m not sure how long we stand here in silence, but it feels like forever. His irises, a mixture of copper and honey, imprison me and demand my complete attention.
“Are you okay, Mac?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
I am not entirely sure how I feel right now, but I nod.
“Are we okay?”
I swallow hard. “Yes,” I croak.
“Okay then,” he says as he nods his head.
“Okay then,” I whisper.
He leans in, and his lips brush my cheek ever so slightly. I’m not sure, but I swear I can hear him inhaling my scent.
“Goodnight, Mac.”
“Goodnight, Ashton.”
He leans his temple against mine, just for a moment, and then gets into the car. I stand and watch the car round the corner before I turn to head into my building. Amber is standing in the doorway, arms crossed.
“Mackenzie Ellie Hart, What. The. Fuck. Was. That?”