Seduce Me Sweetly (Heron's Landing Book 1) (2 page)

Adam had stuffed his hands into his back pockets, and at Grace’s words, he made a noise in the back of his throat. “A writer? What kind of writing?”

Joy cringed internally. She hated that question—it was almost impossible to talk about with people who weren’t writers because it inevitably led to awkwardness—so she gave her standard answer: “I’m a freelance journalist, actually.”

“A journalist? That’s a first for this town.” Adam’s tone seemed, if not annoyed, at least not particularly enthused.

“I write primarily for online news blogs and magazines. Depends on what kind of stories come my way.”

“So you wait for something bad to happen and then cash in on it.”

“Adam!” Grace looked to Joy. “He’s a bear in the morning without his coffee. Don’t listen to him.”

Joy, though, kept her gaze on Adam, refusing to be cowed. She’d gotten a variety of reactions to her profession over the years, but outright disdain was a rare one. She was torn between outrage and curiosity: what would bring such a reaction from a guy she didn’t even know? Had a journalist run over his dog or something? “No, I wait for something where the truth needs to be uncovered and brought to light,” she explained, her voice edgy. If Joy was anything, she was not a woman easily intimidated. “Are you against telling the truth, Mr. Danvers?”

“If it hurts other people and it’s only for your own gain, yes.”

“Who’s to say I do this only for monetary gain?”

Adam gestured, his mouth curling. “You do this to pay your bills. Sounds like you’re getting something out of the deal.”

Tipping her chin up, Joy crossed her arms. “And are you always this rude to people who have just moved here? Because if you’re the welcome committee, it’s a pretty shitty one.”

“I’m not here to coddle anyone.”

“Coddling is one thing. Being a jerk is another.”

“I’m only saying what I think—”

Grace sighed, loudly. “Adam, will you shut up already? Here’s your coffee—” she stuffed a cup into his hand, “—now get out. Go take a shower, too.”

He looked at Grace, transferring his gaze away from Joy. Joy sighed inwardly, suddenly glad she wasn’t the center of that angry look.

“And you, dear sister, need to learn that an iron is an invention that works.” He pulled out a phone encased in pink and handed it to her. “Also, I came here to give you this. Mom texted me to tell me you left it at home again.”

“Oh, I didn’t even realize—thanks. But you’re still a jerk.” Grace play-kicked him, and Adam held up his hands.

“See you, Grace. See you around, Miss McGuire,” he said in a tone that Joy knew wasn’t at all trying to be polite.

As he stepped outside, she couldn’t help but yell at his back, “It’s Ms. McGuire because it’s 2016, not 1916!” Turning back to Grace, Joy raised an eyebrow. “Your brother always this polite to strangers?”

Grace cringed. “Kind of. He’s never been all that nice in general. Especially not since Carolyn died.”

“Carolyn?”

“His wife. She died three years ago. She kept him from being outright mean, but now…” Sighing, the girl fiddled with her hair. “He’s not been the same, you know?”

Joy did know. Or at least, she understood how heartbreak could mark a person. That didn’t mean she would excuse his rudeness, but it at least offered somewhat of an explanation. “Just assure me he won’t try to run me out of town for posting a story on the Internet.”

“He can try, but I won’t let him. Because you have to show me how you do your nails like that first.”

Joy laughed. “Well, I’ve always paid someone else to do them for me, but I might have to figure it out on my own now. One of the sacrifices of small-town life, right?”

“Dana’s the manicurist at the salon, and I think she could do something like that. Or at least near to it. But she just had a baby and is on maternity leave for a while, so I don’t know when you could get an appointment with her.”

Before Joy could rethink it, she said, “How about you come over to my place for a girl’s night sometime this week? Once I get furniture, that is. I need some quality girl time. And we could even paint our nails.”

“Oh, sure! I’d love to. I’ll bring my famous Bloody Mary’s.”

“Sounds like a deal. I’ll see you later, then?”

Grace called out her goodbye as Joy left the café, the sun so bright overhead that she had to shade her eyes.

What to do now? She could explore the town some more, but tiredness swamped her limbs at the thought. She desperately wanted to take a nap, but without a bed, that might be more pain than it was worth.

Cake in hand, Joy walked down Main Street, looking in shop windows as she passed. Eventually, she got to the outskirts of town and began walking a well-tread path that she thought would lead to the vineyard. The trees burst with color, emerald green in the sunlight, and she hadn’t seen so much color in one place in what seemed like ages. Chicago was all grays and rust, metropolitan and metallic, but here, it seemed like technology hadn’t even really touched it. They had apparently only recently gotten high-speed Internet, but otherwise, the area felt untouched. Virginal, almost. Joy smiled at the thought. The last place she thought she’d end up would be somewhere virginal in aspect, but her heart calmed simply being here.

If she ever thought this had been a poor decision, being in the midst of such natural beauty put those fears to rest.

Her phone rang, and looking at the number, she saw that it was from a Chicago line. Assuming it was the movers—were they lost a third time?—she picked up. “Hello?”

“Joy?”

She stilled, the voice on the other end one she’d recognize anywhere, but not one she ever wanted to hear again. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because you wouldn’t pick up your phone or text me back. Don’t hang up on me. Please?” Her ex-friend Regina’s voice was pleading. Almost like she was about to cry.

Torn between crying herself or telling Regina to go to hell, Joy said in a tight voice, “What do you want, then?”

“I wanted to make sure you were all right. You up and move to the middle of nowhere and we didn’t know if you’d gotten there or if you were okay. Are you okay?”

Gritting her teeth, Joy continued to walk in a random direction, not even heeding the trees or the birds or the creek bed flowing next to her. Everything was eclipsed by Regina’s voice, reminding her of everything she’d wanted to leave behind. “I’m fine. As fine as I can be after my boyfriend cheats on me with my best friend. So yeah, I’m great.”

Regina sighed. “Look, I know I can’t apologize enough—”

“No, you can’t.”

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you. Jeremy, too. We want you to be happy.”

Joy laughed, a bitter laugh. Regina wanted her to be happy, after she’d destroyed her life? “You have a lot of nerve. I’m not remotely interested in your condescending hopes that I be happy. You know what would’ve made me happy? My best friend not sleeping with my boyfriend.” She knew the words were harsh, cruel. But she hadn’t spoken to Regina since she’d found out about the affair, and they came spilling out, like a dam breaking. “So spare me your attempts at reconciliation.”

Silence on the other end. Then, “Fine. I won’t try to contact you again.”

“Please don’t.”

“Bye, Joy.”

Joy felt nothing as she turned around, walked back to Main Street. She felt nothing as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, as she set the already melted cake on the kitchen ledge. She felt nothing as she kicked off her shoes and as she climbed into her pile of blankets on the floor.

But the nothingness then filled with something: it cracked, the wound gushing blood once again, and tears flowed in a torrent that she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to.

Chapter Two

Walking the rows of his family’s vineyard, River’s Bend, Adam felt the world on his shoulders. He passed between the rows, the sun beating down overhead. Where had this warmth and dryness been when they’d needed it? Now, though, it was too late: the amount of buds that should’ve been on the vines was fewer even than last year. Fewer buds meant fewer grapes, and without grapes, little wine could result.

Adam wiped his brow. The humidity was creeping up already, despite it being early morning. It would probably reach close to 100 degrees, as was common in the middle of June. Mosquitoes buzzed about, but he hardly noticed them. He probably should’ve doused himself in bug spray before coming out, but what were a few mosquito bites? He was used to them by now. Any Missouri country boy was used to bugs biting and buzzing and flying about.

At any rate, the bugs weren’t the problem. His sad grape crop was—the extensive rains of March and April had devastated the vines, causing a lot of the new buds to fall off and mildew to wreck havoc on the rest of the crop. What resulted was a sad amount of buds now that would change into hard, green grapes before veraison, or ripening, began in mid-August. If this had only happened this year, it would’ve been difficult, but not impossible. But last year had been a drought, and the year before that had been rainy, and this year had been particularly brutal with all of the rain. The river that flowed just east of Heron’s Landing had almost flooded the town; Adam and his family had had sandbags on hand just in case.

Adam’s head hurt. He didn’t know what to do now. He knew already that the crop would be dismal, and that the vineyard had been hurting for some time. The recession plus climate change had hurt farmers all over the state.

Bending down, he fingered the little buds that had managed to survive the spring. These Norton grapes would eventually become a full-bodied, berry-rich red wine, one of River’s Bend’s signature bottles. People from all over the country—even from across oceans—had visited their vineyard to taste their wines. Adam could remember as a child how he’d looked up to his father, watching him run River’s Bend with precision and insight, taking it to new heights that his grandfather couldn’t even have imagined.

Now Adam was its owner and manager, and his laurels included three years of bad crop and a business that was sinking as surely as a rock thrown into the river. He couldn't exactly control the weather, but that didn’t help his pride one bit. “I was supposed to be even better than my dad and granddad,” he told the buds, which bounced slightly in the morning breeze. “And now look at me: wondering if I can even keep the entire thing open for next year.”

He made his way back to the main building of River’s Bend, which included a renowned restaurant and held wine tastings every weekday. He entered the back entrance, making his way to his office without being seen by either his secretary Kerry O’Brian or his executive chef Jaime Martínez. He didn’t really want to talk about anything at the moment: he preferred to think in peace, figure out solutions to his problems without running to anyone else.

But as luck would have it, Jaime was already there, waiting for him. The man knew Adam way too well, and Adam was tempted to tell his chef and friend to get the hell out. Jaime was striking—that was what Grace had called him, and Adam had to agree, at least inwardly—with dark eyes and medium-brown skin, his hair similarly dark. Amongst the majority white population of Heron’s Landing, he’d stood out like a bright purple grape in a bunch of light green ones, but he’d acclimated well. His parents had immigrated to the States from El Salvador; Jaime had been born shortly after their arrival. He spoke Spanish fluently, although Adam only heard him speak it occasionally, usually to the few Latino workers that came for the yearly harvest. He had a feeling Jaime wanted to avoid outing himself as “other” to the people of Heron’s Landing, which Adam understood but also hated for his friend. Adam knew he was lucky to feel like he always had a place in this sleepy town. He couldn’t imagine arriving here and being seen as some strange foreigner.

Right now, though, he didn’t want to talk to his
striking
friend, no matter how gorgeous his cheekbones (Grace again) were. “Already have the menu ready for today?” Adam asked casually, sitting down at his desk.

“You act like I don’t know this winery as well as you do. And yeah, it’s ready, and my new sous chef is getting everything prepared while I talk to the boss.” Jaime sat down in the chair opposite Adam, propping his feet on the desk.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “A new sous chef? I thought you already hired a new sous chef. Or did he quit after you made him cry?”

“I don’t make them cry; they just realize they aren’t up to my standards. Not my fault they’re graduating these losers without even knowing how to butcher an entire cow.”