Page 10 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

Reese stepped away from him, moving toward the kitchen. “The bathroom is over there if you want to wash up. I’ve got pesto and tomatoes—how about an omelet?”

“Perfect.”

“Do you like chicken apple sausage?”

He grinned. “Remind me to build things for you more often.”

He brushed past her as he headed for the bathroom, and Reese shivered at the heat radiating from his bare arms.

She retreated toward the kitchen and began pulling things out of the refrigerator—cheese, eggs, orange juice.

She opened the little container of pesto and frowned.

Did pesto have alcohol in it? She couldn’t remember if this one had white wine as an ingredient, but did that make it unsafe to serve an alcoholic?

She studied the product information on the back of the container. No mention of wine. She sniffed it.

“Why does it seem like a bad sign that you’re sniffing the food?” Clay asked as he returned to the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

Reese jumped and set the pesto down. “It’s fine,” she stammered. “I was just checking—just making sure it’s okay to serve you.”

He gave her a funny look but didn’t comment. Reese opened the egg carton and reached for her skillet.

“Let me dice the tomatoes,” he said, moving around her to grab the cutting board from beside the fridge. “Where’s your knife?”

“I’ve got it—You don’t have to do that.”

“You can trust me with sharp objects, Reese. This drawer?”

“No, that one over there.” She reached past him, her arm brushing his chest as she moved to hand it to him. She almost dropped it on the floor. She turned and reached into the cupboard above the stove, pulling out a plate.

“Here, you can put them on this,” she said.

“Thank you.”

He fell quiet as he began dicing, the knife making squishy noises as it sliced through the tomato flesh. “I don’t remember you being this jumpy,” he said finally.

“I’m just a little off, I guess. Mornings aren’t really my thing, you know.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, she felt her cheeks heat up. She opened her mouth to stammer an apology, then shut it.

He’s probably not even thinking about that. And even if he is, you were gone before morning came ? —

“Is this a good size?”

Reese whirled and looked at him, half expecting a penis joke. He was standing with the knife in one hand and a pile of perfectly diced Roma tomatoes in front of him.

“That’s great. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Want me to shred cheese?”

“I’ve got it. Really, just sit down. Please.”

He grinned. “I’m making you nervous?”

She sighed. “Look, this is just—it’s a little weird for me, okay? Having you here, having you sober, having you suddenly turn up this totally changed person with impeccable manners and this constant urge to be helpful.”

He nodded and set the knife down, moving toward the table without another word. He pulled out a chair and sat. “Got it.”

Reese bit her lip as she picked up the container of pesto, trying to gauge his mood. Had she offended him? He didn’t look angry, but she really couldn’t tell. The old Clay had been simpler, with emotions amplified by alcohol and a missing social filter. But this Clay?—

“I want us to be friends, Reese,” he said at last. “I know it’s a little odd—a former drunk and a vineyard manager. I ruined a lot of friendships when I was a drunk, so the ones I have left—” He swallowed. “You and Eric are really important to me.”

She waited to see if he’d say anything else. If he’d mention what had been flitting at the edge of her memory since he’d appeared in her doorway the day before.

“Friends,” she repeated. “I think I can do that.”

“Good. I just don’t want—” He stopped, seeming to consider his words. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us. You know?”

Reese nodded, not sure she did know but certain she didn’t want to have this conversation right now when she hadn’t finished sorting through her own feelings.

“Right,” she said. “I don’t want things to be awkward, either.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Reese looked down at the omelet, her hands shaking as she nudged it with her spatula. “So we’re friends. I can do this.”

He stood up again, unfolding his long legs from underneath the table. Reese gripped the handle of her omelet pan hard as Clay closed the distance between them in three slow strides.

He stopped in front of her, so close—closer than he’d been in years. She could feel his breath ruffling her hair. She stared straight at the center of his chest, afraid that if she looked up she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from—what?

“Reese?”

“Yes?”

She looked up and met his eyes. Something hot and dizzying knifed through her belly. He didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. They stood frozen in the moment, locked in each other’s gazes.

She lifted her hand to touch him. She stopped herself, bit her lip, lowered her hand.

Clay closed his eyes, his expression somewhere between pain and the dizzy euphoria he’d always glowed with after twelve too many beers. Was he holding his breath?

He opened his eyes and looked away, his face flushed. “Your plates.” He swallowed. “You pulled them out of that cupboard, right?” He nodded over her shoulder. “May I set the table?”

Reese took a breath and nodded. “Table. Yes.”

She started to step away, to break the force field, but he reached for her.

His fingertips grazed her cheekbone, lingering there for a second as his eyes held hers.

Reese didn’t stop to think. She turned her face into his palm, not sure what was happening but also not sure she wanted to stop it.

She stood there for a few heartbeats, his callused hand solid against her cheekbone, her own breath warm against his palm.

She looked up to see Clay watching her. She saw his jaw clench and unclench as he took a breath. Then he drew his hand away and reached for the cupboard door.

“Plates,” he murmured.

“Right,” Reese agreed, and stepped back. She flipped the omelet with a shaky grip, her cheek burning where he’d touched her.

Clay held the door open for Reese as they entered the winery barn together.

She was laughing at something he’d just said—a beautiful, melodic kind of laughter that made him want to take up juggling or mime or anything that might keep her laughing like that forever—so he didn’t notice Eric until they were standing right in front of him.

“Morning,” Eric said with a glance at his watch. He was smiling, but he raised an eyebrow at Clay before shooting Reese a pointed look.

Clay caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the office window and felt a wave of dread. Same shirt he’d worn last night at Eric’s, uncombed hair and beard stubble, and now here he was at seven in the morning with Reese laughing up at him?—

“Nothing happened,” Clay blurted.

Reese gave him a startled look. From the corner of his eye, Clay saw Eric shake his head.

“Dude,” Eric said. “I didn’t say a word.”

Clay wanted to climb into an empty wine barrel and stay there until Sunday, but Eric turned away from them as a corner door swung open and Sheila came hustling through.

“Morning, everyone,” she called as she beamed at them. “Reese, honey, where’s the extra TP? I just used the last of it and I don’t want to leave anyone hanging.”

“I’ll get it in a sec, don’t worry about it,” Reese said, stepping forward to give her a hug. “Great shoes!”

Sheila hugged back while Clay stole a glance at Eric, wondering if it was awkward to have his ex-wife and his new wife hugging and chatting about toilet paper. Eric didn’t seem to notice.

“You like?” Sheila tipped her shoe up to give everyone a better view. “I got them at a half-price sale in Portland last week. Aren’t the little flowers just the cutest?”

“I bet they’d go great with your pink sweater,” Reese said.

“Oh, you’re right! I’ll have to try that.”

Reese stepped away and moved toward the wine bar. Clay tried not to watch, hoping like hell Eric and Sheila hadn’t noticed he was having a tough time keeping his eyes off her.

Don’t shit where you eat . Eric’s words echoed in Clay’s head, making him wince at the crudeness.

“Did you guys see this?” Reese called. “Clay made us a new wine bar.”

Everyone watched as Reese ran her hand over the top of it. Clay resisted the urge to beam with pride as Reese fingered the knots in the bar’s surface.

Jesus, dude—get a grip. She’s just rubbing the wood.

He also resisted the urge to make that comment aloud.

“Pretty,” Sheila cooed.

“We won’t have to use the wine barrels and the board for tastings anymore,” Reese continued. “This one’s bigger, too—we can probably hold half a dozen people now.”

Eric set down the wine case he was carrying and nodded at her. “That’s great.” He turned to Clay. “When did you find time to do that?”

Clay shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Had to do something with my hands.”

“Do we need to get you a PornHub subscription?”

Clay thought about commenting that he didn’t watch X-rated movies, that it was part of his quest to be a better guy after rehab. Then he felt like a jerk for even thinking about porn with Reese standing right there. He wasn’t that kind of guy anymore.

Reese rolled her eyes at them, oblivious to Clay’s inner turmoil. “You guys are such twelve-year-olds. Check it out, see how much sturdier the new bar is?”

She gripped the edges of it and pushed on it the way Clay had done earlier.

But something happened.

One second, she was smiling as she leaned into the bar.

The next, she was toppling forward as the wood gave way.

Clay didn’t think. He just lunged for her, grabbing her hard around the waist as the board came loose and hit the concrete with an angry clatter. She felt warm and soft and dizzyingly perfect in his arms, and he held her tightly, not wanting to let go until he was sure she was safe.

Reese’s mouth opened, then closed without a word.

He slid his hands over her, trying to be professional as he inspected her for damage, but the feeling of her body beneath his palms just made him want to keep touching her.