A Vine Mess (Love on the Vine #4)

10. Liam

The next morning, after I’d tossed and turned all night, Ella and I woke, got ready, and hit the road again. By the time we pulled up to our lodgings for the night in Rochester, Minnesota—one of those inexpensive roadside motels that had certainly seen better days, probably in the seventies when it was built—I was glad I hadn’t decided to drive further. By then, the sun was already going down, and I was nursing a massive headache from clenching my jaw, trying to keep all the words I wanted to say to Ella locked safely away until the right moment.

I was acting like a giant dick to her, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.

Or maybe I knew exactly why, but thinking the words made me feel like an even bigger dick.

I’d expected this trip to be a turning point for us. The opportunity for me to show her I could be good for her—be good to her. Instead, I found myself saying stupid shit, reacting poorly when she did something that had my skin tightening like I would burst if I didn’t do something about it.

Like the evening before, when I’d got back into the van and heard the moan she’d released over a bite of fish.

All I could think about was how I could be the one to get her to make those sounds, and my cock had risen to the occasion.

But me thirsting after her wasn’t fair to either of us, especially not when it was obvious that she was still working through some shit. I’d been watching her so closely for so long that I could easily decipher her moods, and it was easy to see whenever the darkness passed back over her, like a cloud covering the sun.

And that’s what Ella was—the sun. She deserved to be treated that way, deserved to be reminded that she shone brighter than anything around her. That she was better than some fucking twit who didn’t know what a good thing he’d found in her.

She could do better than him. Better than me . I wasn’t sure there was a man on Earth worthy of her.

But I’d be damned if I wouldn’t kill myself trying.

Except she’d done her level best to ignore me all day, which made me feel even worse for being an asshole.

It was just…being around her was a lot harder than I expected it to be, and there were moments where I found myself questioning whether or not letting her tag along was truly in either of our best interests.

As soon as we arrived in Rochester and I checked us in, Ella disappeared straight into the bathroom while I brought in our luggage.

The shower turned on and soft humming filtered through the paper thin wall over the sound of rushing water. I glanced at the bags I’d set on Ella’s bed, certain she didn’t magically have a fresh change of clothes hidden somewhere on her person.

The leggings she’d been wearing were too goddamn tight for that.

Trust me, I’d noticed.

With a resigned sigh, I lifted her duffel and walked to the bathroom, lightly tapping on the door and saying, “Ella?”

“What?” she bit out.

“Do you need your bag?”

I swore I felt her softening toward me a little bit as she said, “Yes, please.”

“I’m just going to leave it outside the door.”

“Thank you.”

The bag settled to the floor with a soft thump, and I quickly backed away, putting as much space as I possibly could between myself and the flimsy hollow core door separating me from her naked body.

I’d already fucked up enough in only two short days. Crossing that line and completely destroying that boundary would only make things worse.

We were only an hour away from Minneapolis, after all. With my luck, she’d hop on a plane home before I could figure out a way to apologize.

So instead, I went outside and called my grandfather.

My relationship with my family was…strained, to say the least. In the aftermath of me leaving Portland, I’d essentially cut ties with my dad and brother, much to their chagrin. Especially when they discovered I still spoke to my mom and grandfather almost daily.

My dad hadn’t exactly been absent when Sammy and I were growing up. He’d been there—but he’d been emotionally unavailable. Our family owned a real estate development company that my grandfather founded in his twenties and spent years cultivating into the most successful company of its kind in the Pacific Northwest, servicing an area from Vancouver, B.C., to as far south as Sacramento and as far west as Edmonton and Calgary.

I’d grown up in Vancouver. When I started high school, my grandfather ultimately decided to move the business headquarters to Portland to be more centrally located, so I’d also spent a lot of time in the PNW.

The only thing my dad cared about was money and the company. As an only child, he’d taken over as CEO when Gramps retired, and as the oldest son, I should’ve taken up the mantle when it was time for him to step down.

I never wanted any part of it.

So now he had my brother in his back pocket, the spare becoming the heir apparent, and it caused a massive divide in our immediate family. Us versus them. Me and mom versus Sammy and Dad.

Gramps—and Gran when she’d still been alive—had thankfully been on my side, both frequently appalled by the way their son treated his children. I knew for a fact they hadn’t raised him that way, but something had gone wrong with Dad, and there was just no fixing it.

Now, as an adult, I could handle my father, which I did mostly by removing myself entirely from the situation.

The phone rang and rang with the outgoing call to my grandpa, and I was a little crestfallen when it went to voicemail. I left him a brief message letting him know where I was and to call when he could.

Then I dropped onto the curb in front of our room and closed my eyes, taking a moment to collect myself before going back inside and facing all the ways I was failing where Ella was concerned.

So lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the door creak open behind me until Ella softly called my name.

I whipped around, finding her dressed in a sage green sweatsuit, her wet hair darkening the fabric around her shoulders.

“What’re you doing out here?” she asked, stepping with bare feet onto the concrete. “It’s freezing.”

“Just…thinking.”

“About?”

I took my hat off, hooked it over my knee, and scrubbed a hand through my hair as I decided how to respond. I’d always operated on the belief that honesty was the best policy, so I said, “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole today.”

Ella leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. Her sweatshirt rode up a bit, revealing a slice of her stomach, and I swallowed hard.

Fucking hell, I was down bad.

“You should be,” she agreed, then sighed. “Look, we’ve both said things we shouldn’t have. But…there’s no harm in flirting as long as it doesn’t go beyond that, and as long as we don’t make a habit of it. We’re friends, right?”

“You tell me.” If I couldn’t have her in every way that mattered—every way I wanted her—friends was the next best thing, and more than I’d ever had from her before .

Ella nodded. “I could really use a friend, Liam.”

I stood and faced her, extending my hand for a shake. “Friends it is, then.”

Ella’s grin lit me up from the inside. Then she turned away from me. “Now get in here before you catch a cold or something.”

I chuckled and gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

When we were safely back inside, I followed Ella’s lead and decided to take a shower. There was something about spending all day in the car that made me feel grimy, and I was, admittedly, chilled to the bone after sitting outside for so long with nothing more but a thin, long-sleeved shirt on.

I turned the water on, keeping my hand under the spray until it reached the perfect temperature—just this side of burning my skin. Then I stripped off my clothes and stepped in, tipping my head back and letting the water pound against my scalp.

For a roadside motel, the water pressure was impressive, and I let the steady thrum of it attempt to drill some sense into me.

Unfortunately, as it always did, my mind traveled to thoughts of Ella. Knowing she was just on the other side of the door. That we would be alone for the majority of this trip, and anything could happen.

My cock stiffened until it was throbbing so insistently I couldn’t ignore it.

I could be quiet, right? She’d never have to know.

Tentatively, I curled my hand around my shaft, hissing at the pressure, then slowly worked it up and down. Thinking about her in here was torture, imagining her standing right here, completely bare, water sluicing over the planes and curves of her body. My imagination was vivid in conjuring up what her body looked like naked.

Working myself slowly up and down, I imagined it was her hand instead of mine, those delicate fingers, so adept at coaxing plants to life instead coaxing an orgasm out of me. I wondered what she’d look like on her knees before me, her mouth open, ready to take me deep into her throat.

Most of all, I thought about how she’d feel if I finally got to sink into her cunt, to bury myself there and never leave.

My hand flew faster as my imagination ran away with all the ways I’d take her, all the time I’d spend learning her body until I knew exactly what it took to make her scream, my balls drawing up tighter and tighter, until the pressure at the base of my spine was damn near unbearable.

With a groan I hoped was too low for her to hear through the walls, I came all over the tile, leaning on an arm over my head, face tilted down as the water continued to pound against my side. Once I caught my breath, I rinsed my cum down the drain and got out.

When I exited the bathroom, Ella’s eyes darted my way quickly before she said quickly to whoever was on the other end, “Okay, gotta go. Love you, bye.”

Despite her rush to hang up the phone, the tension between us had eased considerably since my apology outside, and I didn’t think anything of it when she disappeared into the bathroom to brush her teeth, then returned and crawled under the covers, whispering “good night” before she turned her back to me and promptly fell asleep.

I could tell she was out because the soft snuffles of her breath filled the otherwise silent room.

It had been a long ass time since I’d shared a space with anyone like this, and while I was having difficulty falling asleep simply because it was her , letting her into my personal bubble had actually been as easy as breathing. Because, in that same vein, I hadn’t let anyone close enough to see the less pleasant sides of me in forever—probably since I left Portland—and the fact that I felt safe enough with her to do so spoke wonders.

“Shhhhhh!”

The loud hiss came from Ella’s bed, and I sat up in a flash, squinting into the darkness, trying to figure out if I’d accidentally said any of that out loud. But she still faced away from me, her body not moving save for the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders with each breath.

I chuckled silently as realization dawned: Ella Delatou talked in her sleep.

I laid back down, curling on my side facing her, imagining I was wrapped around her instead, and closed my eyes.

As I was hovering on that precipice between awake and asleep, Ella whispered one more word, so faint I couldn’t be sure I didn’t imagine it.

“ Liam .”

Finally, I fell into a deep sleep with a smile on my face.

“What is that?” Ella yelped excitedly as we crossed the city limits into Sioux Falls, South Dakota about four hours after we’d left the motel the next morning .

On one street corner was an abstract bronze sculpture, the next a statue that appeared to have been carved out of wood. All the way down the main drag, regular art installations popped up.

“Must be some sort of festival,” I mused as I drove us deeper into the city.

After some quick tapping on her phone, Ella nodded and said, “The Sioux Falls Sculpture Walk. Apparently, there are over eighty sculptures placed all around town, and we’re encouraged to walk around and enjoy them.”

I knew the words that would come out of her mouth next before she could even speak them, and as she asked if we could stop, I already had my blinker on and was digging my wallet out of my pocket to pay for parking.

With no real destination in mind, we got out of the car and wandered in the direction we’d driven in from, Ella stopping every so often to marvel at the creations.

“Artists are incredible, aren’t they?” she asked me as she canted her head to the side to get a better angle on the sculpture in front of us. It was some sort of optical illusion that presented a new facet with each movement around it.

The sculpture was impressive, but I really only had eyes for her.

“Yeah, they are.”

Her cheeks turned that pretty pink color as she said, “You can’t possibly mean me.”

“Why not? Art evokes emotion, right? Isn’t that what you’re doing every time you put together a fresh arrangement of flowers?”

“I mean, yeah, but it’s not—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s not the same,” I warned, wagging a finger in her face. “Because it is. You bring people happiness every time they get a delivery from Blossom’s. And you’re insanely talented, Wildflower. Your arrangements are the best I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re a man,” she grumbled. “What do you know about it?”

More than I cared to admit.

I didn’t particularly appreciate her stereotyping me either. I made my living growing grapes and producing high quality wines. And wasn’t that a form of artistry in and of itself? While growing conditions varied considerably from region to region, winemakers across the world were given the same tools when starting out. It was how they were nurtured and fermented that determined whether the wine would win awards or be considered bottom shelf. As a daughter of an impressive winery legacy, Ella should know that better than anyone. Not being part of the family business directly didn’t give her an excuse to ignore that.

“Vinting is an artform too, Wildflower. A less aesthetic one, based in chemistry and a slave to the weather more than anything else, but an artform nonetheless.” She opened her mouth to protest, or to explain herself. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t about to find out. Because unfortunately, my mouth decided to run away without me, dropping a bomb between us in the middle of the sunny street. “And I’m a man who came into the shop once a week every week for the last four years to buy flowers just so I could see your face. So someone reminded you how amazing you are. Because I’d bet all the money I have that your tool of a boyfriend wasn’t doing it.”

There it was. My deepest secret laid bare. The secret crush I’d been harboring was no longer locked away but out in the open at last.

“You…” she sputtered. Then, barely above a whisper: “There was no one else.”

I shook my head. There was no going back now, and I wasn’t even going to try. “You’ve always been the someone special, Wildflower.”

“You mean to tell me… four years ?”

I nodded, surprised to find there wasn’t a hint of embarrassment to be found anywhere within me. Truthfully, it felt good , cathartic, even, to finally be admitting this.

Fuck being friends. I wanted to show her there was an alternative to the relationship she’d been broken by.

Maybe, with all of my cards on the table now, things could become something more between us.

Maybe, she’d stop pretending she didn’t feel this spark too.

We continued to wander for another hour or so, slowly making our way back to the van and hitting the road farther west into South Dakota.

“So where exactly are we staying tonight?” Ella asked an hour or so from the Badlands.

“There’s this campground on the edge of the Badlands where I have a site reserved.”

Ella glanced behind her, at the retrofitted back of the van where the single bed folded against one side.

“Are you sure two people can’t fit on that thing?”

“Not unless we want to cuddle,” I said, flicking a glance her way and wiggling my brows. “You offering?”

Ella choked on her tongue in her haste to respond, and I chuckled at her discomfort. Eventually, she forced out, “No.”

“I was joking anyway. But trust me. Lumberjack Wills can handle himself.” To prove my point, I lifted my free arm and curled my forearm toward my shoulder, my biceps popping up into a mountain of muscle.

It felt good to be acting this way, to drop the moody bastard act and flirt with her the way I’d been dying to for years.

A giggle slipped free from Ella, and she shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

I could feel her gaze on the side of my face for a long time before she spoke again. “You’re different than I thought.”

“How so?”

It wasn’t the first time someone told me that, but I was more curious than ever because it was her . Was it a good different? Bad different? Somewhere in the middle?

“You have this really gruff exterior that has everyone in town thinking you’re a serial killer—”

“Well, I hadn’t heard that particular rumor,” I grumbled, though I wasn’t entirely surprised. I hadn’t done anything to dispel the notion, after all.

“—but you’re soft underneath.”

I patted my abdomen. “Nothing soft here.”

“I don’t mean physically,” she said with an eye roll, though I didn’t miss the way her eyes dipped to my stomach, could read everything though flashing across those green depths.

She clearly liked what she saw.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d get the chance to show her everything one day .

Clearing my throat, I said, “Then what did you mean?”

“I mean like…emotionally. Personality wise. You’re silly and funny and incredibly kind. You should let more people see that side of you.”

“As long as you know it exists, I don’t care about anyone else.”