Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Locke gets to the door first. His hand is on the frame when he stops and looks back at me, his expression caught between resignation and wariness.
“Your office?” he says. “Saturday.”
“No,” I say, my mind quickly settling on a plan. “I’ll text you where to meet.”
He stares at me.
“Dress in layers,” I add pleasantly.
I walk past him into the hallway before he can ask anything else, and I don’t let myself smile until I’m far enough away that he can’t see it.
Chapter 9
Locke
I’m completely confused as to what’s going on. Livia texted me an address that turns out to be a winery in Newberg, about twenty-five miles southwest of Portland.
She offered no explanation and no context. Just an address and a time, and I have no clue what I’m walking into. I don’t like how it makes me feel off balance. I like having enough information to decide how to position myself before I arrive somewhere. Livia took that from me before the morning even started and I’m a little salty by the time I pull up.
Arvendale Winery sits on a low rise with the valley spreading out behind it in every direction—rolling hills gone amber and rust with the season, row after row of dormant vines running in clean lines down the slopes. The main building is old wood and dark stone, modest from the front with a hand-painted sign above the door. A covered porch holds two empty chairs that beg for someone to sit in them, but there’s a November chill in the air. It’s fifty-five degrees and frankly, invigorating.
I get out of the car and stand there, wondering where I’m to meet her. There are a few cars in the parking lot and I have no clue if she’s already here, but before I can make the decision to walk inside, the door to the main building opens.
Livia comes out carrying a wicker basket. She’s in dark jeans and boots, a navy blue and beige flannel with a puffer vest over it. She looks completely at ease, which only makes me feel guarded.
A woman steps out behind her, petite with flaming-red hair worn in a short cap around her head and freckles covering every bit of real estate on her face.
“You found it,” Livia says with a bright smile.
“GPS works.”
“I had all the faith in the world,” she intones and then gestures to the woman. “Locke Donovan, this is my friend Sena Vail.” She gestures to the woman who holds out her hand to me. “She manages the property.”
“Hey,” I say, giving a quick handshake before stepping back and shoving my fists into my pockets.
Sena smiles graciously, inclining her head. “Enjoy the valley,” she says to me, then touches Livia’s arm. “Good to see you and welcome home.”
The woman leaves and that’s the entirety of that interaction, but my curiosity is piqued a bit. “Welcome home?” I ask, glancing at the door Sena disappeared through.
“She means welcome back to the Portland area. We went to high school together.”
Interesting, but I refuse to ask the dozen follow-up questions that pop into my head. I don’t want to be curious about this woman.
I look at the basket. “Is this a date?” I ask dryly.
She doesn’t miss a beat, chuckling at the suggestion. “No. In a perfect world, if it were a date, the guy would have arranged all this.” She holds the basket out toward me without ceremony, clearly expecting me to take it, so I do. “Come on.”
She leads me around the side of the building and onto a path that winds down through the vines. I follow her because I don’t have a better option, the basket hanging from one hand, the gravel crunching under my boots. It’s crisp outside but the sun is fully up and the light on the valley has a golden quality. Nothing but rolling hills in every direction and the valley floor is wide and flat between the ridges. I had no clue this even existed.
We walk for maybe five minutes without talking and I appreciate that she doesn’t try to fill the silence. I have found that means she’s confident in the space between us, which I begrudgingly admit is a very attractive quality.
The path opens into a flat clearing between two rows of dormant vines. Someone has already spread a blanket on the ground… dark green wool weighted at the corners with smooth river stones. A small wooden board, a bottle of wine and two glasses sit at the center.
I halt, shocked by the scene before me. “You had this set up ahead of time?”
“Sena handled it.” Livia tugs the basket from my hand and settles onto the blanket, tucking one leg under her. She starts unpacking the basket like this is entirely normal and I glance around, uncertain as to what the hell is going on. “Come sit down, Locke.”