Kisses Sweeter Than Wine. Heather Heyford
“No more pushing things to the edge,” said Holly.
“We call him El Capitan behind his back,” confided Mona.
Keval and Holly gave Mona a scathing glance.
Then Keval’s eyes narrowed. “The wedding,” he said to Red. “You’re not committed yet?”
“What about Sam?” Mona caught on quick. “Is he?”
“His response card was still in his in-box last time I looked.” Keval sprinted back to Sam’s office to check.
Within seconds he came flying back, holding Sam’s unsent card.
“Still he-re,” he sang happily.
Holly said, “You have to get him to go with you.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“What’s so hard?” asked Keval. “You just come right out and ask him to go.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not how Sam operates. He only—”
She’d almost said Sam only dates women to whom he had zero attachment, but that would be an admission of sorts. In Sam’s eyes, going to the wedding with Red would make a public statement. Set expectations.
“Sam doesn’t date friends. Only strangers.”
“She’s right,” said Holly. “Remember the Houser wedding…that pretty brunette? Where was she from—McMinnville? Whatever. We never saw her again. One and done.”
“If you don’t ask him to take you, I will,” said Keval.
“No.”
“Yes I will.”
“Keval.”
“Sophia.”
“If you say something to Sam, then I’m going to say something to Jordan Hasselbeck about you, next time I get my nails done.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“Who’s Jordan Hasselbeck?” Mona and Holly asked in chorus.
“This is stupid,” said Red. “We sound like twelve-year-olds.”
“The responses are due back next week. Ask Sam to go to the wedding by Sunday, or I’ll ask him for you. I don’t care if you do go to Jordan.”
Realization washed over Red. “You want me to.”
Keval shrugged, his lips curving up in a coy smile.
“Who’s Jordan?” asked Mona. “I’ll go to him.”
“I’m out of here,” said Red with a roll of her eyes.
“You have until Sunday,” Keval called after her as she crossed the threshold. “And if you think I won’t know, don’t forget—I have access to Sam’s desk.”
* * * *
Red’s nails were soaking in a bowl of soapy water when Jordan Hasselbeck waltzed over and asked how she was. Jordan was conscientious like that, being new at his job. This time, Red took it a step beyond the usual small talk.
“Clarkston must be another world compared with Seattle. How are you adjusting to life in a small town?”
“I love it. I used to have a salon up in Seattle. Then, my parents retired in Tigard. I came down to visit them and some people in Portland and fell in love with the Willamette Valley. I saw a for rent sign on this building, and next thing you know, voila. Here I am.”
“Did you come alone?”
“Yes, just me.”
“Are you finding it easy to make friends?”
“Oh, sure. I mean, you know. I meet people here at the salon.”
Red met Jordan’s eyes in the mirror and made a decision. No more tiptoeing around—for Keval or her.
“Maybe you know Keval Patel? He gets his hair cut here.”
“Keval. Let me think.” He tapped his lip. “About five ten? Dark hair cut in a high fade?”
“That’s him. He’s in charge of social media for the Clarkston Wine Consortium. Keval and I have been friends forever. In fact, we’re both invited to the same wedding.”
“Really? I love weddings.”
“You do? If I think of it, I’ll have to mention it to Keval. He might be looking for a date.”
“Oh? When is this wedding?”
“August thirty-first.”
“Well, if he still doesn’t have one by his next appointment, maybe we can talk about it.”
The minute Red left the salon, she called Keval to tell him what had transpired.
“Oh my God. Are you serious?”
“That’s what he said. I laid the groundwork. If you’re still interested, talk to him the next time you go in.”
She hung up feeling victorious, already imagining the sight of Keval walking into Junie’s wedding with Jordan, thanks to her wise intervention.
Later that evening in her room, with the Keval problem sewn up, she went back to concentrating on Sam in the same, straightforward fashion.
To determine exactly what was working with her and Sam and what wasn’t, She used the same questioning technique on herself as she did when counseling a couple.
Propped against her pillows with a tablet, she tapped her lips with the end of her pencil. Studies had shown that sometimes writing in longhand versus typing onto laptops increased conceptual understanding.
What kept Sam and her together? A passion that only grew stronger with time.
What stressed them? For Sam, any suggestion that they were anything more than casual hook ups. For Red, just the opposite. She was ready to take the next step.
What about the nature of your conflicts? Simple. Sam didn’t want to talk about anything emotional and Red wanted him to. Period.
What qualities are missing or dysfunctional in your relationship? See above.
An hour later, she had a concise list of suggestions for improving their relationship.
Chapter 5
Before his pulse returned to normal, Sam was already zipping his fly and working his bike helmet over his ears.
“Let’s roll,” he said, reaching down where she lay sprawled on his blanket to give her a hand up.
She propped herself up on one elbow. There was a different kind of fire in her eyes now.
“Not so fast, Owens.”
Whisky Tango Foxtrot. His hand dropped to his side as he felt his grin slip from his face.
Red reached for her discarded shirt to cover her ample breasts.
Since when was she the modest type? Sam looked around. Come to think of it, out here in his friend Hank Friestatt’s vineyard in the middle of a sunny Saturday afternoon, anyone—a vineyard worker, a carload of tourists, or even Hank himself—could come along. It was just dumb luck that they hadn’t yet.
“What do you think we’re doing here?” asked Red.
Confused, he gazed down at her wild mane of copper…the curve of her waist between her hip and shoulder. The mere sight of her lounging there—not to mention the fresh memory of that body beneath his—triggered a renewed response in the vicinity of his groin.
He