Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

19. Ethan

CHAPTER 19

Ethan

IT HIDES YOUR PRETTY EYES

M arisa’s eyes are stuck on the view, and mine are stuck on her, biting her lip in concentration. It’s wildly distracting. It’s a miracle I didn’t crash, because I don’t think I looked at the road once the entire drive.

“We’re here,” I announce, even though it’s obvious since we came to a stop.

She sits back and sighs, wrapping my jacket tighter around her. “I actually did get a little cold.” Her eyes shift to mine, and she smiles softly. “Good call on the jacket.”

I nod, getting out, unsure if my voice will crack, so I don’t say anything. I like seeing her in my jacket way too much, as if I’ve staked some claim on her. A fleeting moment of possession.

She slips it off, leaving it on the seat, and joins me by the sorting tables. Alex and his crew are hand-picking the grapes nearby. This variety of grape is too delicate for mechanical harvesting and requires more of a careful selection. Miguel and his crew are at the sorting tables, meticulously inspecting each cluster to ensure only the best grapes make it into the final batch. They examine every grape, removing any that don’t meet the high standard necessary for the wine. Miguel removes his gloves and comes to greet us.

“We should be done in a couple of hours,” he tells me. He looks to Marisa, curious. “?Y quién será esta hermosa se?orita?” ( And who might this beautiful young lady be?)

Marisa smiles brightly at him, shaking his hand. “Soy Marisa, mucho gusto.” (I’m Marisa, nice to meet you.)

He chuckles, delighted. “Así que hablas espa?ol, qué padre.” ( And you speak Spanish, how wonderful.)

Miguel’s eyes meet mine. “Ya me cae bien.” ( I like her already.)

“Sí, ?verdad” (I know, right?)

Marisa gasps, taking a step back. She stares at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me right now! You speak Spanish?” Her voice is a mix of surprise and barely contained laughter. She playfully pushes my chest, giving me a little shove. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug, my lips curling slightly at the edges. “Never came up, I guess.”

Her head shakes as she struggles to keep a straight face. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

My chest puffs slightly. She almost looks…impressed with me. And it makes my heart thunder right under the searing handprint she left behind.

Miguel gets called over for a question and waves his goodbye, tipping his head at Marisa as he leaves.

“Anyway,” I change the subject, before I get too comfortable enjoying Marisa looking at me like she doesn’t completely hate me anymore. “You should get your pictures. The sun is in the perfect spot right now.”

She nods in agreement, already pulling out her phone.

The sun really is in the perfect spot, as if it knew Marisa needed it to peek through the cloudy sky just enough to shine down over the gloomy autumn day we’re having.

I leave her to check on Alex.

“Who’s she?” Alex asks, nodding his chin in Marisa’s direction. “New girlfriend?” He nudges my arm jokingly.

I give him a flat look. “You know she’s not. She works for the Herald .”

He laughs, his shoulders lifting. “Jefe, don’t be so sensitive. I’m just asking.”

I let Tawny convince me to get the guys to like me, and now Alex is comfortable enough to tease me. And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“Hey, Ethan,” Marisa yells. “Come here for a second.”

“Your novia is calling you,” Alex says with a snicker.

“Shut up,” I whisper under my breath, feeling my cheeks heat like a pubescent boy.

Marisa stands in the section of the vineyard that has a direct view of Red Mountain, the town’s namesake.

“What’s up?”

Her already large eyes somehow look even larger as she looks at me with her chin down and head tilted. She’s giving me the female equivalent of puppy dog eyes, and I know I’m about to be talked into something I don’t want to do.

“Would you be totally opposed to a picture?” She smiles cautiously, almost wincing, as if she’s worried. “Just one?”

I hate the pang of guilt that hits me because of the tiptoeing she feels she has to do around me. I don’t want her to be afraid to ask me for anything, let alone a silly picture.

“Sure.” I hate pictures. The last thing I want to do is take a picture, given how much I sweat my ass off today, but I’m not saying no to Marisa. I’m not sure I’m capable of it.

“Really?” she squeals. “I thought for sure you’d stomp away from me, pissed that I even asked.”

The guilt transitions to full-fledged shame. Of course she expects that. It’s how I’ve been behaving, and I wish now, more than ever, that I could restart the clock and go back to our first meeting. I would do it all differently.

Her eyes squint, assessing the space. She grabs onto both of my arms and guides me a few inches right and then steps back, taking it all in.

“Stay right there,” she commands.

I do as she says and remain unmoving, save for my eyes. They bounce from where she sucks in her bottom lip, deep in concentration. To the floppy strand of hair sweeping across her forehead that I itch to touch. To her completely out of place professional attire. The juxtaposition of it all has me biting back a grin. I can’t tear my eyes away.

Her lips purse, and she stares at me as she walks closer. Close enough that I can smell her signature vanilla scent.

“Mind if we lose the hat? It’s just that it hides your pretty eyes.”

I snort. “My eyes are pretty?”

“Yes,” she practically yells. “I would trade eyes with you in a second. Anything besides my boring brown ones.”

We share a lingering stare. I can’t believe she would think any part of her is less than perfect. And even though her tone is humorous, it still bothers me. “Your eyes are beautiful.” I didn’t mean to let it slip, but the truth tumbled out before I could stop myself.

With our gazes still locked, I can’t help but notice her bulging eyes and raised brows. She’s stunned. Astonished. And I get the feeling no one has ever said that to her before.

I swallow, my attention wholly on her, but she quickly looks away, dropping her head and backs up.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, not looking at me.

I probably crossed the line. I should’ve worded it differently. Beautiful. It’s not a friendly word; it’s an intimate one. And I think I fucked up everything.

She’s backed up to the pathway, lifting her phone and looking at the screen. “Your hat,” she reminds me.

I take it off, tossing it a few feet away, out of frame, and attempt to smooth down my hair.

“Here, let me,” she says, coming back and rewarding me with a cloud of vanilla.

I squat down to her level and get a flashback to being a little kid about to get his hair fixed by a spit-wielding grandma. Thankfully, Marisa doesn’t hock one. But she does use her dainty fingers, running them through my hair and scratching at my scalp. It takes Herculean strength to not let my eyes roll back in my head and moan. Meanwhile, my dick doesn’t have the same levels of restraint and starts to harden.

“There,” she whispers.”

I tense at her closeness. Her warm breath grazes my forehead, a jolt of heat that sharpens my senses. The contact feels too visceral. Her presence is overwhelming, intoxicating.

“All better.”

She goes back to the edge of the path, but I’m still reeling. She starts taking pictures, and I couldn’t tell you if I looked at the camera, if I smiled, if I even stood straight. Mentally, I wasn’t there. I was still living five minutes ago when she was close enough to hear her heartbeat, completely dazed.

“I think I got it,” she says excitedly.

I’m so fucked.