Page 12 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

R eese was exhausted after spending the morning crunching numbers with her mom and the afternoon negotiating prices on new wine barrels from her favorite cooperage in France.

Exhausted and hungry. She glanced at her watch as she stepped out into the overcast evening air and turned to lock the winery door.

“Calling it a day?” Eric shouted from his perch on the picnic table.

She looked over her shoulder to see him reading one of the tattered romance novels she’d left lying around. “Yup. I’m done. Why are you still here?”

“Waiting for Sheila to pick me up. You doing anything fun this evening?”

Reese shrugged and rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension in her neck. “Thought I’d hang out at home, feed the opossum, maybe read a book, and catch up on some of the online orders we got for that new Pinot.”

“Let me guess,” he said as he held up her book “You’re rereading this one again?”

“It’s a good book.”

“Hm.” Eric studied the back. “Sheila’s been reading some hot new erotic stuff by G.G. Buckingham. You should give that a try.”

“I like Jennifer Crusie.”

“And you prefer rereading old books to experiencing new ones. Or doing anything to meet new people and extricate yourself from your over-idealized fantasies of love and relationships.”

Reese rolled her eyes. “You know, this Freud thing is getting old.”

“Tell you what,” Eric said, setting down the book and pulling out his cell phone. “I’ve got a buddy in Newberg I think you’d really click with. Let me see what he’s doing this evening. If he’s free, you and me and Sheila can meet up at the Vineyard Grill for a quick dinner and some drinks.”

“Eric, I don’t really think?—”

“I’m dialing right now.”

“Come on, is this really?—”

“It’s ringing.”

“Eric, I don’t want?—”

“Hey, Bob—how’s it going?” Eric held up his hand at Reese to silence her, so she settled for kicking him in the shin.

“Listen, man,” Eric said. “A few of us are getting together at the Vineyard Grill in about an hour if you feel like meeting up for a beer.”

Reese folded her arms over her chest and considered, not for the first time, how much more convenient it would be to hate an ex-husband the way most divorced women did.

Eric grinned at her, still talking into the phone.

“So we’ll meet you there?” he said. “Later!”

He clicked off and gave Reese a smug look. “See? You’re getting out. You can thank me later.”

“ A few of us are getting together? You make it sound like a party instead of a ridiculous attempt by my ex-husband to fix me up with his loser friend.”

“Bob’s not a loser. He’s a financial analyst. I think you’ll really like him. So you want to meet us there, or drive yourself?”

Reese sighed, resigned to her fate. “I’m driving myself, and I’m bringing Larissa. Assuming she doesn’t already have a date.”

“That’s not a safe assumption. Doesn’t she always have a date?”

“Sometimes she gives herself the night off to line up new dates.”

“Of course she does.”

“Okay, fine.” She was going to regret this, wasn’t she? “I’ll go on this date, but only because I’m hungry and I really like their crab-stuffed mushroom caps. And because I want to ask Sheila to proof some labels the next time she heads up to Portland.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind. Belmont has her working a double on Thursday to fill in for another forensic nurse. Same print shop you used that time?”

“That’s the one.”

“So we’ll see you at Vineyard Grill in an hour?

“Fine.”

Reese trudged back across the lawn and let herself into the house. She spotted the breakfast plates in the sink and remembered yanking the dishrag out of Clay’s hand and insisting she’d wash them later.

At the thought of Clay, her mind veered into dangerous territory.

The feel of Clay’s arm around her waist as he’d saved her from toppling over the bar.

The heat of his fingertips against her cheek.

The way his muscles rippled under her palms as he touched and stroked and drove her mindless with his ? —

She grabbed her phone off the counter and dialed Larissa’s cell.

“Hello, my third-favorite cousin,” Larissa answered.

“Hey, ’Riss—look, I need a favor.”

“You need help doing something different with your hair?”

“No, I?—”

“You want to borrow a top that shows off your rack?”

“No, I?—”

“You want seduction tips for sales reps? Come on, we’re reaching the end of my skills list here.”

Reese rolled her eyes. “Why do I bother?”

“Because you love me. And also because I make you smile.”

“This is true.”

“So what do you really need?”

“Can you come with me to the Vineyard Grill to meet up with Eric and Sheila and some Bob guy they’re trying to fix me up with?”

Larissa was quiet for a moment. “Let me get this straight—you haven’t had a date in forever, and you’re bringing your cousin, your ex-husband, and his wife along on your first?”

“It’s not a date. I just didn’t know how to get out of it.”

“So you want me to be your wingman?”

“Pretty much. Come on, you know I’d do it for you.”

“Okay. But only if you let me do your hair. And dress you.”

Reese sighed. “Fine. Whatever. But I’m not dressing as a hooker.”

“Define hooker. Would a high-class escort be okay?”

“Just be here in ten minutes. Please?”

“You’ll owe me.”

Larissa clicked off and Reese went to take a shower. Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on a stool in front of her bedroom mirror while Larissa tortured her with a blow-dryer.

“Ouch,” Reese said.

“If you’d just hold still?—”

“How long is this going to take?”

“A few minutes more with the hair, and then I brought you something cute to put on.”

“Cute like pink bows, or cute like ‘I charge by the minute for a hand job’?”

Larissa turned off the dryer and smiled into the mirror. “I didn’t know you knew the word hand job .”

“Isn’t it technically two words?”

“It might be hyphenated. I’m not sure. I think blowjob is one word. Which are you planning to give Bob?”

“Neither, thanks. Are your clothes even going to fit me?”

“The shirt might be tight on you, but that’s the point. You could even stuff your bra if you really wanted to show off the girls.”

“I’m not showing off the girls. The girls are perfectly happy staying low key this evening.”

Larissa shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just thought you might like a little extra oomph.”

“Is there something about me that suggests I like oomph?”

“Get dressed,” Larissa said as she shoved a pile of clothes at her.

Reese dropped the bundle on the bed and shucked her top. As she peeled off her jeans, Larissa clucked her disapproval. “No. Just no.”

Reese looked up. “What?”

“You don’t wear a white cotton bra and gray satin panties on a date.”

“It’s dinner, not an orgy.”

“Don’t you have anything that matches?” Larissa marched over to Reese’s bureau and began rummaging around. “Here. Black lace bra, black lace panties. This works.”

Reese frowned at them. “I haven’t worn those for years. I think they’re itchy.”

“They’re sexy. And they’ll go great under the top I brought. Come on, hurry up.”

Knowing there was no use arguing, Reese wriggled the panties over her hips and fastened the front clasp on the bra.

“The jeans might be a little snug, but they’ll make your ass look great,” Larissa encouraged. “Careful not to mess up your hair.”

Reese finished buttoning and snapping and then turned to survey herself in the full-length mirror.

“Wow.” She blinked at her own reflection. Not bad. Not bad at all. “I don’t look like a total tramp.”

Larissa grinned. “We can fix that. Just let me undo a couple buttons here?—”

“No,” Reese said, swatting her hand away. “I actually look pretty good. You think?”

“You’re beautiful.” Larissa folded her arms and gave a decisive nod. “It’s about damn time you let someone appreciate that. Someone besides your ex-husband, his wife, and your cousin. Are you sure we all need to be there?”

“Positive. I’m going to need moral support.”

Larissa laughed. “I’m much better with the immoral support.”

“Let’s go.” Reese grabbed her purse off the chair and flipped it open to make sure she had her house key. She frowned. “Did you stick a condom in here?”

“Just looking out for you, cuz.” Larissa linked her arm through Reese’s and tugged her toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go meet your new boyfriend.”

Clay shifted on the bench seat at Vineyard Grill, trying hard to listen to every word his new AA sponsor was saying, but he wasn’t having much luck.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the guy’s insights. Patrick was a general contractor who’d been sober eight years. He had shaggy brown hair, huge biceps, and a demeanor that suggested he’d been around the block a few times and bench-pressed several lampposts en route.

The local AA group had put Clay in touch with Patrick when he’d called to find out about meetings in the area.

He was a fellow alum of the Belmont Health System rehab center, and they’d talked on the phone a few times before Clay had moved back to Oregon.

It was clear Patrick had a great grasp on AA and the recovery process.

His grasp on grammar was a bit shakier. Clay couldn’t stop staring at the blue tattoo on his forearm. A prison tat, from the look of it. The words read: Your stronger than you think you are.

Clay shook his head and tried to focus on what Patrick was saying. “That’s really cool you haven’t been experiencing a lot of cravings.”

“Cravings?” Clay said, his mind veering in an unexpected direction before he caught up with the conversation. “Oh, at the winery?”

Patrick nodded and picked up his soda. “Well, yes—at the winery or anywhere else there might be temptation.”

Clay nodded and looked at his hands. “The temptation at the winery is nothing I can’t handle.”

“Careful with the confidence. Remember that you can’t prevent relapse alone.”

Alone . The word hit him funny in the gut, but he knew what Patrick meant.

“You’re right,” Clay said. “I plan to hit all the AA meetings while I’m here.”