Chapter Nineteen
Hallie stood in the moonlight reading through her final secret admirer letter.
And, yes, this would definitely be the last one. She was coming clean.
After the wine tasting, she’d gone straight home and confessed everything to a piece of lined notebook paper and walked right back out the door with it, refusing to give herself a chance to back out. But God, did her actions sound stupid in black-and-white.
Dear Julian,
This is Hallie. I’m the one who has been writing you the letters. You’re welcome to hire a handwriting analysis expert, but I think once you’ve read through the full contents, you’ll agree no sane person would own up to something so completely asinine unless it was true.
I had a massive crush on you in high school. Like, planning weddings in homeroom massive. Meeting you as an adult, it seemed obvious that I’d imagined the spark between us. Or that we’d grown too far in opposite directions to ever meet in the middle. Now I realize that love between adults means embracing flaws as well as the sparkly stuff.
You are a river that flows in one direction. There is some turbulence under the surface, but your current keeps you moving, positive you’re going the right way. Meanwhile I’m a swirling eddy, unable to choose a course. But whirlpools have a surface, too. They have an underneath. I just wanted to expose it to you and see if we could relate. I wanted to relate to you, because everything I said in those letters was true. I do admire you. I always have. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for. You’re thoughtful and heroic and fair. The kind of person who wants to be better and sees their own faults is someone I want to spend time with. They’ll complement mine if we want it bad enough.
I’m sorry I lied to you. I hope I haven’t ruined everything, because while I thought I was in love with high school Julian, I didn’t know him. I know the man, though. And now I understand the difference between love and infatuation. I’ve felt both for you, fifteen years apart. Please forgive me. I’m trying to change.
Hallie
That last line had been erased and rewritten several times. Something about that vow didn’t sit quite right with Hallie. She was trying to make decisions with more confidence and to take a moment to think before making potentially disastrous ones. She’d even sat down and started a color-coded diagram of her plans for the library garden this morning. But there would always be an element of chaos inside of her. It had been there since she could remember, and even her grandmother hadn’t been able to contain it. Not entirely.
Did she want to change for a man?
Nope.
Except he’d already started to change for her.
It’s come to my attention that I am far more wrong for you than the other way around, Hallie. You’re nothing short of breathtaking. Unique and beautiful and bold. And I’m a goddamn idiot if I ever made you feel otherwise.
Let me learn.
Did it qualify as changing for a man if the man was rearranging himself at the same time? Or was that simply the nature of compromise?
There was only one way to find out, and that was . . . trying. Giving their relationship a chance, up close and personal. No more hiding behind letters. No more hiding, period. They were vulnerable around each other. Had been since the beginning. And that was scary for people like them, but there was also a breath of possibility whispering in her ear, telling her that complete vulnerability could be glorious. It could be totally right. With Julian.
A chance to grow alongside someone, to adjust together until they met in the middle.
Emotionally, they had places to go. Physically?
They had that part down. Real well.
She’d dropped her defenses in the vineyard tonight like a bad habit.
Thinking about what they’d done, about breathless words spoken in chokes and rushes, not even the cold breeze could cool her cheeks. In all of her fantasies, she’d never imagined intimacy like Julian had shown her tonight. That desperate, down-in-the-dirt slaking of needs. She’d never expected to relinquish herself so totally to lust. To sensation. Or to have the wild feelings in her chest play such a part in what her body craved.
Standing there on the darkness of the path, she wanted him again. Not just the release of tension he’d give her, but the press of his weight. The scent of salt and wine and cologne, their fingers intertwining, his hips twisting and bucking between her thighs. She’d never been more honest in her life than she’d been underneath him, no critical thoughts for herself or second guesses. Just letting go. Just flying.
Hallie squinted into the distance toward Vos Vineyard and could just make out the silver outline of the guesthouse. She could go there now. Knock on his door and hand deliver the letter. Maybe she owed him that. Especially after he’d shown up tonight at the tasting with flowers and an apology. She could do the same, couldn’t she? Face the music in person? And the last thing she wanted was to start down the road toward a relationship with a lie. She felt the increasing strain of that deception with every passing moment.
Hallie took a few steps in the direction of the guesthouse, her bravery slipping away like pebbles falling from a hole in her pocket. Eventually she stopped, the breeze blowing curls across her line of vision. Julian might read the letter and need time to process everything. To really consider her words. Would she be putting him on the spot by standing over his shoulder while he read it? Wouldn’t it be better to end this journey how it started—with a letter? At least he’d have space to think. To consider what he wanted.
Decision made, Hallie tucked the letter as securely as possible into the designated stump crack and jogged up the path, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and the confession before she changed her mind and took it back. What if the admirer just sort of . . . vanished? Stopped writing? Julian would never know what she’d done.
Nope. You’re not getting off that easy.
In a matter of hours, her craziest idea yet would be revealed to Julian and she’d just have to hope . . .
She’d have to hope he still wanted the circus.
* * *
After returning home from her letter-drop mission, Hallie had slept fitfully, the dogs seeming to judge her from the end of the bed. She’d woken up to find she’d overslept well into the afternoon, her stomach gathering like wool at the numbers on the clock. Julian would be getting ready for his run. Mere minutes from discovering her secret.
She got up and walked the dogs. Fed them.
Brewed coffee and sat in her backyard among the periwinkle hydrangeas, legs curled up beneath her on the patio furniture. Her fingers drummed on the side of her mug, a rapid-fire heartbeat in her chest. Julian must have found the letter by now. He was probably back home reading through it for the eighth time, wondering how he’d mistaken psychosis for charm. Any second now, her phone would ring and he would very curtly attempt to end things—and while she wouldn’t blame him, she would try to change his mind.
That was one item she’d managed to resolve in the middle of her sleepless night.
Would she fight him if he tried to break up with her?
Yes. Of course. She was worth a little vexing, right? She was a slightly frazzled, often muddied gardener who could laugh easily, even while carrying around a lake of hurt inside of her. There was often no rhyme or reason to her professional ideas, but didn’t they turn out beautiful enough? Likewise, when she did something ridiculous like steal cheese or begin a secret-admirer-letter-writing campaign, didn’t she mean well?
Yes.
She liked her place. She loved her people.
She just needed to find a better way to channel her inherited impulses. She would, too, because sitting there in her backyard and waiting for the man she loved to discover her lies was torturous, and she never wanted to feel that way again.
When noon rolled around and there was no call or front-door arrival from Julian, Hallie set down her stone-cold cup of coffee and dialed Lavinia.
“Afternoon, love,” Lavinia sang, the cash register dinging in the background. “How was the tasting last night?”
She heard a distant echo of Julian groaning her name. “Great,” she responded throatily. “It was great. Listen . . . has Julian jogged past the shop yet?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was early today, actually.” Someone ordered a box of assorted donuts. “Coming right up,” Lavinia said, before dropping her voice. “Your man ran past the window shirtless at eleven fifteen. I remember the exact time, because that was the moment I forgot my wedding vows. Pretended to adjust the angle of the specials board on the sidewalk, but really I was watching the professor’s sweaty back muscles flex in the sunshine. There’s no reason you should have all the fun.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” She paused in the middle of her pacing. “He was . . . shirtless?”
“Utterly. Beautifully. That will be thirteen fifty.”
“You ogled my boyfriend, and I’m supposed to pay you?”
“I was talking to the customer. And who are you calling ‘boyfriend’?” Her tone grew more and more excited. “Is that official, then?”
“Well . . .”
Lavinia groaned. “Fuck sake, woman. What now?”
“I confessed everything. In a final, no-holds-barred secret admirer letter. If he went jogging almost an hour ago, he should have found it by now. In which case, I might no longer be his girlfriend. At least during the estrangement period wherein I wiggle my way back into his good graces and we all have a big laugh about this at Thanksgiving.”
“You’ve thought this through, which is unusual.”
Pacing again, Hallie pressed a palm to her churning stomach. “I deserve that.”
Her friend told the customer to have a good day. “Well, I might be able to shed some light on why your momentary boyfriend hasn’t called yet cursing you to eternal damnation.” She paused, sounding a little smug. “He took a different route.”
Hallie skidded to a stop. “What do you mean he took a different route?”
“On his run. He didn’t turn down the usual path.”
“Let me get this straight. He was shirtless and he deviated? He shirtless deviated?”
“That is correct. Which leads me to my next question . . .” In the background, a door slapped shut and Hallie heard the flicker of a lighter. “How good was the sex?”
Halle sputtered. “What?”
“Babe. I have experience in these man matters. I left London to find a husband because I had effectively exhausted the search, if you know what I mean. No stones left unturned.”
“Well, that needs to be on a T-shirt.”
“Point is,” Lavinia plowed on, undeterred, “I know a man who’s been laid and laid well when I spot one. He stirred my pheromones from two blocks away.”
“Okay, you’re planning to leave Julian’s stones unturned, right?”
“Oh, shut up. I’m a happily married woman. Just having a peek.” Hallie heard the crackle of the end of Lavinia’s cigarette as she inhaled. “Again, my point. You inspired him not only to run about town like a lion who just mated the lioness. But you inspired him to take a different path.”
Pleasure warred with distress just below Hallie’s collarbone. “But he won’t find my letter that way.”
“You’ll have to tell him in person.”
Not two seconds later, Hallie’s doorbell rang.
* * *
Of course, the dogs lost their minds.
It wasn’t very often that someone rang her doorbell. Even UPS had wised up and started dropping off packages unannounced to avoid the canine drama that ensued at the press of a button. This time, however, as the dog sirens went off around her, they were no match for the explosives going off in her belly.
Julian.
Somehow she knew Julian stood on her stoop.
She confirmed it a moment later when she looked through the peephole, getting a magnified eyeful of Adam’s apple and stubble that made her fingers twitch, her inner thighs growing ticklish at the memory of having his five o’clock shadow there.
“Julian?” she asked, unnecessarily. Stalling, perhaps, in an attempt to find out if he’d doubled back, gone his typical route, and found the letter?
“Yeah. It’s me.” He chuckled warmly, a sound that reached through the door and made her tingly. “Sorry for setting off the alarm.”
Having recognized Julian’s voice, the boys’ tone had changed from defensive to excited. Why did that make her heart swell to the size of a balloon? They liked him. She loved him.
And he definitely, definitely hadn’t found the letter.
Which meant she’d have to tell him in person. As in, right now. Before what was happening between them got any more serious. Oh man oh man oh man. Should she open with a joke? Unlocking the door, she cracked it an inch and found the most devastatingly handsome man in existence staring down at her. “Just remember that no matter what happens when you come inside, I have a lint roller.”
“Consider me warned.”
Biting her lip, she opened the door the remaining distance and stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside. He had to duck slightly to get beneath the doorframe, like a giant being welcomed into a dollhouse—and that theme continued as he stepped closer to Hallie, looking over her head and slowly scanning her cottage from left to right.
“It’s exactly what I thought it would look like,” he said, finally, voice pitched low. “Colorful and homey . . . and slightly cluttered.”
Her mouth fell open on a gasp. “Are you serious? I just performed the biggest clean of my lifetime!”
Julian was laughing, lines fanning out around his eyes. “That wasn’t a criticism.” The smile on his mouth dropped in degrees, and he reached up to thread his fingers through her hair. “How could it be when it reminds me of you?”
The organ in her chest flopped over with all the grace of a cinder block. “Y-you’re calling me cluttered, and I’m expected to find that romantic?”
He grazed their lips together, those long fingers spearing farther into her hair until he cradled her scalp, controlling the angle of her neck. Gently, he tugged, pulling her head back, and then—oh Lord—he ran his open mouth up the front of her throat. “If the clutter is yours, I want it,” he whispered against her mouth. “If you’re late, I don’t care. Just fucking show up.”
Hallie’s knees, ankles, and hips nearly gave out, all at the same time. Especially when his grip tightened in her hair, angling her one way and his mouth another, devouring her like a meal. The kiss was leashed, but Hallie could feel the physical vibrations and knew it cost him a heaping dose of willpower to hold back. And she didn’t want that. With his stubble rasping against her chin and his minty tongue licking into her mouth, she wanted more of what they’d done last night. Badly. But he ended the kiss with a growl before she could shed her robe and demand to be taken, his forehead pressing down on hers.
“I took your virginity on the ground last night, Hallie.”
“Objection. I gave you my virginity on the ground last night, Julian.”
“Fair enough.” He seemed to be performing a serious study of the curls on the top of her head, that deep valley present between his brows. “But I didn’t use as much care as I would have . . .”
“As you would have normally?”
“What do you mean ‘normally’?” He frowned. “That implies that there is even the remotest comparison between you and anyone else.”
Oh.
Okay, then.
“So I’m abnormal now?” she breathed, rearranging her entire definition of romance.
Apparently it was not wine and roses. It was this man telling her she was cluttered, perpetually late, and unusual.
“Definitely that.” He took a long sampling of Hallie’s mouth, until she was weaving drunkenly on her feet. “I meant to say, I didn’t use as much care as I would have liked.” The heel of his hand scrubbed down her spine, fisting the material of her robe. “If I hadn’t let what I feel for you build until it was out of control.”
Hallie stared deliriously up at the ceiling, her brilliant, beautiful lover speaking a uniquely blunt version of poetry into her ear. And she was supposed to tell him about the letters? That they’d come from her? Right now? She was just supposed to shatter this perfect bond of intimacy and honesty they’d formed? This sense that everything was right in the world when they were skin to skin, mouth to mouth?
But you haven’t been honest. Not entirely.
Sure, every word of those letters had come straight from the heart. But she’d misrepresented herself. Let him believe he was writing to a perfect stranger. And worse, when he’d quoted her exact words, she’d let the opportunity to be truthful pass. Well, she couldn’t regret it more than she did in this moment, when he held her so tightly, she had to limit her breaths.
“I loved what we did last night,” she whispered, because at least it was the truth. And, since it felt so good to tell him the truth, she gave him more. “I want to do it again.”
“We will,” he said quickly, snaking a forearm beneath her butt and drawing Hallie onto her toes, aligning their laps, tilting his hips, their breaths accelerating like twin engines between them. “We damn well will, Hallie. But I’m taking you out first.”
“You are?” She felt him thicken between them. “You have a plan, don’t you?”
He bit off a curse and eased his hips back, holding hers away in a crushing grip. “Yes. I’m setting the tone.” His mouth swooped down and caught her lips, delivering a dizzying onslaught of strokes from his tongue. “And the tone is, you’re my girlfriend, not a girl I hook up with in a field and send home in an Uber, all right? I couldn’t sleep last night. It felt like I’d left everything undone with you.”
Last night.
When she’d been dropping off her confession letter at the stump.
Tell him.
He was being so honest, and she needed to do the same. But would telling him the truth only ruin everything? At the very least, she could bank a few more kisses before dropping the bomb.
“I didn’t feel undone,” she said, dazed from the prolonged contact, the shape of him, the heat they were generating. “I felt . . . done.”
His rich laugh against her mouth sent a warm shiver down her spine. “Damn.”
“Damn?”
“I don’t want to leave you.” He wound a curl around his index finger and let it spring free, watching it happen in fascination. “But there is a luncheon this afternoon in Calistoga. It’s the twentieth anniversary of my father forming the Napa Valley Association of Vintners.”
“I thought your father was in Italy.”
“He is. Natalie and I are accepting the honor on his behalf, I’m making a speech . . .” That trench between his eyebrows now was accompanied by two more. “I told my mother I would.”
“What’s bothering you about doing it?”
A gruff sound came from his throat. He took his time, as if trying to pinpoint the exact source of his irritation. “Napa likes reminders of tradition. My father and grandfather were a huge part of establishing St. Helena as a wine destination—I’m not denying that. They’re not the ones who kept it running when it barely had a pulse, though.”
She searched his eyes. “You’re talking about your mother.”
“Hmm. She should be recognized, just as much as Dalton. More, possibly, at this stage.” For a moment, he remained deep in thought, then cleared his throat. Looked at her, expression suddenly formal. “Would you come with us?”
“To the luncheon?”
“Yes.”
“I . . . Are you sure?”
He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, appearing riveted by the crease that ran down the middle. “If I’ve learned anything since we met for a second time, Hallie, it’s that I’m much, much happier when you’re with me.”
Oh. Mama. He meant every word of that, too, didn’t he? His honesty was so arresting, all she could do for long moments was stare. Obviously, after that admission, she was going to the luncheon come hell or high water. If she could be there to help him through a difficult task, she wanted that responsibility.
That privilege.
She did a mental inventory of her closet. “How long do I have to get ready?”
Visibly eager to calculate time, Julian looked at his watch. “Twenty-one minutes.”
“Oh my God,” she said, pushing away from him.
Todd picked up on her nervous energy and started to howl.
“Can you choose something out of my closet while I take a shower?” She shouted the second half of the question through her en suite bathroom door. “Whatever is appropriate for the dress code.”
A moment later, there was a thud on the floor of her bedroom. “Hallie, are you aware that half of your possessions have been stuffed into this closet?”
Quickly, she flipped on the shower spray. “What? I can’t hear you.”
Muffled grumbling.
With a smile on her face, she pinned up her hair, showered, dried off, and applied some quick makeup. Her favorite black bra was hanging on the back of the door in the bathroom, and she put it on, wrapping a towel around the rest of her. She hesitated with her hand on the knob, wondering if it was too soon to walk around in front of him in a towel. With time constraints being what they were, did she have a choice? Blowing out a breath, she pushed into the bedroom. And there was Julian Vos, sitting on her bed, with a flower-print cocktail dress draped across his lap, as if he’d walked right out of her fantasies. Tall and dark and serious against the girlish white comforter.
“I have no idea if . . .”
He trailed off, the lump in his throat moving up and down, fingers curling into fists on the edge of her bed.
“You have no idea if what?” she asked.
“If this dress passes as business casual.” He watched her move to the dresser and tug open her top drawer, selecting a pair of thin, nude-colored hipsters that would work for the outfit he’d picked. “I just want to see you in it.”
Hallie gasped.
That last part was said against her bare shoulder.
When did he cross the room?
“I love that dress,” she said with an effort. “I—it’s a good choice.”
His hand closed around the knot of her towel, gripped, and twisted, his mouth skating down the slope of her neck. “Can I see you without this on?”
Self-consciousness tried to ruin the party. Of course it did. She’d never been totally naked in front of a man before. Not in the light, especially. And while she loved her body, she loved it clothed more than she loved it unclothed. When she could control what and how much people saw of her thighs and stomach and butt. Could control how material sat against her curves. If he removed the towel, everything would be on display, down to her last dimple.
“Hallie, you can say no.”
“It’s stupid to be nervous. After last night . . .”
“It’s not stupid.” He kissed the area behind her ear, biting the spot gently. “Does it blow my mind that you’re hesitant to show me your naked body when I would swim across a lake of fire for it? A little.”
Her face warmed. “You might be picturing something else, though.”
She felt him frown against her shoulder. “Would it help if you knew what I’m picturing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
His mouth settled in the hair above her ear. “I think you’re soft. No, I know you’re soft. I think you work hard in the sun and the dirt . . . and it shows in your hands and calves and shoulders. But the fact that you’re a woman is also very . . . fucking . . . obvious. You have these incredible tits.” He slid his hand up the front of her towel and slowly squeezed each mound, bringing her nipples to attention. “You’ve got hips. The kind that let me be a little extra rough last night.” Her vision started to double, then triple, the perfume bottles on top of her dresser multiplying into an army. “I can still feel my sweaty stomach sliding up and down on top of your belly. I already love every inch of it. I probably left some chafing behind to prove it, huh?”
She managed a dazed nod.
“You show me when you’re ready, sweetheart.” His hand dropped, fingertips trailing up the inside of her thigh. Toward her wetness. This she wasn’t afraid for him to know. To see and feel. They were past the point of pretending they didn’t turn each other on, and, right now, she was so far over the borderline of turned on, she needed a passport. “In the meantime, can I leave you with a final thought?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
His huge hand closed around her sex. The whole thing. He just swallowed it up in his grip and held it. Hard. “I know every little jiggle of this body. They’ve taken turns making my cock hard. One by one by fucking one.” He clutched firmly enough to make her whimper. “Your curves shake when I’m packing this thing tight. I know it for a fact now. The parts you’re nervous to show me are actually what make me hard, Hallie.” Slowly, so slowly, he parted her flesh with his middle finger and dragged that digit through her soaked valley. “You think about that until tonight.”
Secret admirer who?
Involuntarily, the letters were pushed to the back of her mind. To be thought about again . . . tomorrow.
Definitely tomorrow.