Page 1 of Tempted Hearts
1
COLE
The scent of grilled peaches and wine drifted across the lake, and Mason still managed to sound like a drill sergeant.
“Do me a favor and try not to be an uptight prick this weekend.”
Instead of responding to him, I leaned into the persona my friends had given me, raising my brows as condescendingly as a colleague who’d just got tenure and won’t let you forget it.
I waited for him to continue.
“I hate when you do that.”
Precisely the reason I do it Mason. You had to know that by now.
But he was too busy running himself ragged preparing for the first annual Heritage Hill/Casa di Vino Summer Wine Fest that kicked off less than an hour ago.
“Anything else I can do to help?” I asked. Having come in two days earlier to help him and his very pregnant wife, I’d spent two days hauling boxes, hanging string lights, and pretending I knew a damn thing about floral arrangements. For Mason, though, I’d do a hell of a lot more.
“Yes,” he said, spotting Pia across the lawn. “Don’t be an uptight prick.”
Spoken like a former cop and Army Ranger who never minced words. Lifting my glass of whiskey in a silent salute, the only indication I’d give that maybe, possibly, I’d take his words to heart, I turned toward the lake.
Mason and Pia, along with a small army of helpers, had transformed the grounds into an Italian palazzo-themed gathering worthy of a Medici. From the get-go, Pia’s vision of Heritage Hill had been less simply bed and breakfast and more part lodging and part festival venue. Her and Mason’s lakeside inn was the perfect setting for it, and I had to give it to them… they’d hit this one out of the park. They’d partnered with a local winery, and the weekend promised to combine wine tastings and live music, lake views and more rosé than sense.
“Whiskey? At a wine festival?”
“Says the guy holding a beer,” I quipped back to Beck.
We stood in compatible silence, the gathering crowd behind us and nothing but lakeside serenity in front. I could see why Mason had a hard time giving up this place when his dad died.
“If I can ever make back the investment,” Beck said, “this is next on my list.”
Having bought a bar back in the spring, and stubbornly refusing to take any of his parents’ money, Beck would probably spend the next few years climbing out of debt.
“A lake house?”
“Yeah.”
“For how much time you spend here, do you really need one?”
He shrugged. “It’s different when it’s yours.”
True. Not to mention that, even though there was a section of the lakefront property off-limits to guests, a bed and breakfast wasn’t exactly the most private place in the world.
“So how long you here for?” Beck asked.
Of the four of us, he was the least comfortable with too much silence. But none of us minded him filling in the gaps. Beck could be a hilariously funny guy. It was the reason we became friends in kindergarten. Who didn’t want to hang out with the class clown?
“At least a week. Maybe more. It depends on if I hear back from the committee. They should be reviewing my file anytime.”
“And then what?”
As the chatter increased around us, our private swatch of property was beginning to fill up with guests who’d been invited to today’s event. Unlike the kick-off dinner and Sunday festival, today was an invite-only affair. In less than a year of running Heritage Hill, Mason and Pia had accumulated more new acquaintances than I’d want to make in a lifetime.
“And then, if all goes well, I get tenure.”
“I mean… after that?”
