Page 36 of My Grape Crush
With the goofiest smile spreading across my face, I replied,
DR: Sold.
And he responded with a photo of a barista-level cappuccino, complete with a heart drawn in the milky froth.
This mutual attraction can only end in disaster, but tell that to my brain. I’d lain wide awake in bed last night with my mind and body on fire. After Rhys raced me back to shore, no contest, I braced for a time-trial stair challenge. Maybe the desert night calmed his competitive edge because he insisted on walking behind me, the darkened pathway illuminated by his phone flashlight. Twice, his hand caught me when I stumbled.
The journey back felt three times longer than our meandering trip down.
On the doorstep of my villa, my heart thundered as he asked about the morning debrief with Nicole and the visit with Sawyer. He stood close. Too close. The warmth emanating from his body felt stronger than the heat of the day.
And then his lips pressed against my cheek, soft and chaste. “Peace out,”he’d said before the night swallowed him whole.
I looked upward into the cathedral of the universe, a rush of heat where his mouth grazed my skin.
No wonder it took hours for my pulse to power down and my eyelids to shut.
I was properly scandalized for one day.
Evelyn clears her throat and observes me with a knowing smile.
Shit.
“Oh, uh,” I stammer, cheeks aflame. “His last update said two. I can give you a shout once he arrives.”
“You kick things off first. We can enjoy a tipple in the tasting room aprés.”
Evelyn smooths her immaculate hair, cutting a fine figure in her tailored Italian tennis dress and diamond statement earrings. Up before sunrise to make her bi-weekly doubles tennis match and happily working until sunset every day, she makes every other entrepreneur look like a freeloading sloth.
“And how is Rhys faring this morning?” she inquires. “Is he with Nicole?”
“Yes, they started at ten. So far, so good. They’re getting along like a house on fire.”
Her brow rises again. “Privy to a play-by-play, are you?”
“No. I mean, yes, he’s keeping me in the loop.”
“That’s the beauty of working with a professional,” she beams. “They know the little things matter.” But it's something altogether more complicated than that. And Evelyn is all over it, judging from her lingering stare. “Is it today or tomorrow that the film crew arrives?”
“Later tonight,” I say. “I checked in with them earlier.”
Sixty-plus crew lurk on your average film set, but our tight setup consists of a duo—a camera operator ambitiously named Francis Shutter, and Rita, a sound/lighting/jack-of-all-trades. Sawyer told me Rhys balked at the idea of the crew—he favored the run-and-gun approach. But Evelyn wanted properly lit footage to repurpose, so Bettina, bless her dragon soul, insisted on it.
“Pity,” Evelyn murmurs. “I thought it might be a kind gesture to offer Sawyer a complimentary evening in their cabin.”
“I believe he drives back to Vancouver tonight.” Or I hope he is because good luck trying to find accommodations.
“He must be very keen on this concert arrangement. Such a long trip for a simple tour.”
We hold each other’s gazes for four little heartbeats. Evelyn smiles fondly at me, but it's as if she knows I know something critical and am not sharing it with her, which is partly true.
She strolls to the far wall, wiping a finger along the top of the framed map of Osoyoos, inspecting it for dust. Satisfied the cleaners are earning their keep, she asks, “Tell me, dear, has Luca sent the proofs from yesterday?”
Guilt spirals in my stomach at the solid wall of emails still to read, including one from Shania Twain’s manager. And, as of five minutes ago, Luca.
I blaze a smile. “Not yet.”
“Be a love and forward them ASAP. I need to select one to grace the cover of our invitations.” She moves to the door and pauses to scan my face. “Are you okay with that? You seemed a little out of sorts after the shoot yesterday. Did my enthusiasm for the extra creative push you beyond your comfort zone?”
