My cheeks burned, and I looked down at the photograph of Miranda Lockhart on the back of the book. She had perfectly highlighted brown hair, every wavy strand in place. My hair was always a crazy mess.
“I’m not even your type.”
His smile faded and he set his glass down with a clink. “Why would you say that?”
I gestured between us. “Isn’t it obvious?”
His frown deepened. “Not to me.”
“You own a winery,” I said. “I don’t even like wine.”
His wicked grin returned. “I have other beverages.”
“I should go,” I said.
“You should stay.” Leaning closer, he tugged on a curl that had escaped my ponytail.
I shivered as the curl snapped back into place. Beckett was too close; another inch and I would be tasting the wine on his lips. His eyes scorched mine. Having this man’s full attention on me was like being set on fire. My blood roared, echoing in my head.
“Stay.”
My heart hammered at the soft suggestion in his voice. My pulse thrashed against my wrist where Beckett’s thumb had swept lazy circles. Longing sliced my heart, and the pain of the emotion brought me back to my senses.
“I can’t.” I slid off the stool. “I need to go.”
Beckett stood. “I’ll walk you out.”
“No need.”
I felt Beckett’s eyes on me while I gathered my belongings and said goodbye to Aslan and Summer. When I walked to the door, he came up behind me and helped me with my coat. He insisted on walking me to my car and opening my door. When I glanced in the rearview mirror, I saw him standing with his hands in his pockets staring after me.
I didn’t realize until I got home that I’d forgotten my book.
Chapter 9
“This is different,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the live band.
It was Friday night and Mia, Gabi, and I were sitting at a table at Sky Valley Vineyards Inn. Sloane was on the dance floor letting off steam and Pressly was joining us as soon as she got off work.
“I haven’t been here in ages,” Gabi said, glancing around.
The last time I’d been to the bar at the inn, it had been a stuffy place with fifteen-dollar cocktails and a clientele more my parents’ age. Tonight it was crowded with a healthy mix of locals and resort guests. It was an all-ages crowd, and most of them filled the dance floor.
“She looks good out there,” Mia said, nodding at Sloane who was dancing her heart out.
“I’d join her,” I said, “but my feet are killing me.”
I’d worked a split shift at the bookshop and the hours in between had been filled with dogs. My feet were tired, but I was happy. The dogs were more to me than just a source of income; they were my loyal friends. My dogs were always happy to see me, they never held a grudge, and they never failed to make me laugh.
Whenever I moved to a new place, the first thing I did was volunteer at a rescue center to walk dogs. It was not only a great way to get dog-walking clients but also to meet people. I could live comfortably, if modestly, on just my dog-walking salary, but I usually found another job too. Dogs were great, but they didn’t talk back. I needed people in my life too. Glancing around at the friends I’d made in Mossy Oak, I couldn’t imagine leaving them. I was beginning to think I’d finally found the place that made me want to put up that shelf for my autographed books.
Sloane collapsed in the chair next to mine. “Remind me why I want to get married so badly.”
“Because you’re crazy?” I suggested.
“Hush, Lacey,” Gabi intervened, turning toward Sloane. “Because you want the love of your life. The kids. The Christmas dinners. The family vacations.”
As Gabi ticked off the pluses for being in a marriage unit, Sloane’s shoulders inched up to her ears. “The groom from the bachelor party keeps hitting on me,” she said. She reached for my drink and took a gulp of my beer. “Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose. “How do you drink that nasty stuff?” She raised her hand to wave over a waitress just as Pressly joined the table.
