“Or allowed himself tobehimself outsidehisfront door.”
“Savage. Maybe you should offer him some therapy as well as your pussy,” Josh says with a smirk, but I didn’t mean it that way. Not at all. Savage is the last thing I want to be when it comes to Heath.
I wouldn’t recognise the celebrity client who beckons us over to the jeep and opens the back door for me. He sits opposite Josh and I with his back to the driver as we ascend through the stunning rows of grapes, being educated by the tour guide enthusiastically. It’s cool. Kind of. The stuff about types of grapes and how they are grown and harvested, and all of the different grand sounding names for them is interesting, but not nearly so interesting as Heath.
He's not himself here. Not at all.
His shoulders are rigid. His smile is self-conscious. Weird for theCountand the man I’ve come to know behind closed doors.
We’re out of the jeep and tasting our third type of grapes when we first get the chance to be alone. The guide is on his way back to the jeep and out of earshot when Josh leans in close enough to whisper.
“Fucking hell, I’m a shit wine connoisseur,” Josh says. “Honestly, these grapes all taste like grapes to me. Kudos to the people who can sniff wines and tell which of these little bad boys go into making them, because it’s a skill above my level.”
It’s a relief to see the way Heath returns to himself at Josh’s sneaky statement. He laughs Heath’s actual laugh. He smiles his actual smile. And I just know his eyes are sparkling behind his glasses.
“Same,” he says. “I’d like to think of myself as a wine lover, but this really puts things into perspective. I know sweet fuck all. How about you, Ella?”
I have to laugh as I pop a grape into my mouth.
“Umm… it’s a great trip. I love the scenery. And I’m sure I’ll love the wine, too.”
“That’s a no, then,” Heath says. “Ella the non-wine connoisseur, just like us.”
“No!” I say. “I like grapes and stuff as well.”
“We should do ado you remembergame,” Josh says. “What was the grape over in that row called, Ells?”
He points to a row three over.
“Something beginning with C…” I reply. “Char… charie?”
“Fuck knows,” Josh says, and there’s something about the conspiracy between us that gives me the giggles. Like naughty kids on a school trip.
The driver is waiting, and we’re laughing, and now we’re fucked, because every time from that point, when he lets us sample the grapes while he gives us the variety history, it’s going to tickle us. I just know it.
And it does.
Slowly but surely, the three of us bloom together in technicolour, despite our boring attire. We laugh, and chat, and Heath drops his fake voice. We enjoy the sun and the greenery, and munch on grape samples with giggles, and it’s great. It’s really fucking great, and it will get even better when it comes to the wine tasting.
I’m gagging for some samples as the next tour guide talks us through the aging and bottling process. I feign interest, and manage it a bit, because some of this stuff is cool and I really didn’t expect I’d be able to answer vineyard related questions in a pub quiz anytime this lifetime, but my primary interest is on two things only. And they definitely aren’t vineyard related.
The men standing at my side are far more beautiful than rows of vines could ever be. I edge closer to Heath, testing the boundaries he has with his disguise. I brush my arm against his as our tour guide is speaking, and dare to tangle my fingers in his.
He could step away from me easily. He could create distance without a word, no problem whatsoever. But he doesn’t.
Heath Mason lets me take his fingers in mine as we listen to the aging process of different types of wine at the vineyard, and then he squeezes back, just a touch.
That touch is enough.
The veil reveals another peek inside.
His walls are coming down – outside as well as in. And just imagine where that could lead…
I shouldn’t imagine. I should avoid any dreams or fantasies or ponderings of any sort, and Josh reminds me of that when the guide ushers us on through to the next room, and engagesMr Christoffwith some further information on one of the wine varieties.
“Don’t do it,” my boyfriend whispers. “It’s not fair on any of us.”
“Do what?” I ask, and his eyes fix on mine.
