Page 8 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

R eese drained her wineglass and took aim at the TV with the remote. “Well, that was a stupid choice.”

Sheila laughed as she stood up and reached for Reese’s empty glass. “Since when do women on reality TV dating shows make smart decisions about men?”

Larissa handed her glass over with a snort. “Since when do any of us make smart decisions about men?”

“Speak for yourself,” Sheila called as she set the stemware on Reese’s counter before trooping back to the sofa. “I happen to think I picked a pretty good guy, myself.”

“I’d raise a toast to that if you hadn’t just taken my glass,” Reese agreed.

“You want it back?” Sheila asked. “The glass, not the man. I’m keeping him.”

Larissa rolled her eyes. “Okay, can I just say you two are my weirdest friends? In what world can two women be BFFs after tying the knot with the same guy?”

“Reality TV,” Sheila said, beaming. “Is Sister Wives still on the air?”

Reese shrugged. “No idea. But I like our arrangement better anyway. She has the guy, I have my sanity. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

“Amen,” Sheila said. “Not everyone finds their soulmate on the first try. There’s no shame in a starter marriage.”

Reese nodded, though she felt a dark wave roll through her. She didn’t think it was shame, exactly, but something made her want to change the subject in a hurry.

Larissa saved her from inventing a subject change. “Speaking of unscripted TV, did I tell you I cold-called that filmmaker?”

“What filmmaker?” Sheila glanced between them. “Are you making a movie?”

“Doubtful,” Reese said, squelching the urge to feel hopeful. “Riss had this idea for pitching a documentary on women in the wine industry, but it seems like a long shot.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” Larissa squared her shoulders. “I’ll have you know I got a call back from some big-shot producer, Kate Geary. I guess she’s got ties to the Pacific Northwest.”

“That’s great, hon.” Sheila beamed. “Way to go after what you want.”

“Thanks.” Larissa smiled proudly. “The producer thought the idea had promise.”

“No kidding?” Reese felt a flutter of hope. “That’s great.”

“Right?” Larissa propped her feet on the coffee table. “I told her I’d email details on our plans for the new event pavilion and tasting room. She thought that could be a cool hook. And she loved the idea about centering around women in the wine biz.”

“Nice work, Riss.” Sheila smiled. “And Eric will appreciate not being in the limelight. You know how superstitious he gets about people filming his work.”

“Your husband has issues,” Reese quipped.

Sheila laughed. “So does your ex-husband.”

“Weird,” Larissa said, shaking her head. “If we make it into this documentary, please keep it quiet you’ve been married to the same guy. We don’t want people knowing how bizarre we are.”

Reese ignored her cousin’s commentary. “What’s Eric doing tonight, anyway?”

“Hanging out with Clay at the house.”

Reese’s gut did a swirly little flip at the mention of Clay’s name, but she kept her expression neutral. “Drinking beer and farting like old times?”

“Not that I could tell,” Sheila said as she plunked back down on the sofa beside Reese. “Well, not Clay anyway. Eric’s probably doing both, but Clay’s too busy trying to be a model citizen.”

There was a sharp note in Sheila’s voice that made Reese look up. “Not a Clay fan?”

Sheila shrugged. “Clay’s fine. I’m glad he got sober and all. I just don’t know that Eric needs that energy in his life right now.”

“Energy.” Larissa laughed. “Is that another way of saying women throw their panties at Clay and you’d rather not have Eric catching a pair?”

Sheila was spared having to answer as the doorbell chimed. Reese glanced at her watch, annoyed at whoever felt the need to drop by at nine p.m. on a weeknight.

She flung open the door. “Dick,” she said.

“Yes!” Larissa called from the couch. “I’ve been wishing there was a delivery service for dick.”

Reese ignored her and raised an eyebrow at her disgruntled-looking neighbor standing on the front porch. “Can I help you?”

“That animal is a menace!”

Reese resisted the urge to smile as Dick cupped a protective hand over his groin. Beside the house, Leon the alpaca gave a proud chortle and twitched the ear with the heart-shaped splotch. “Was he on your property?”

Dick glowered at her. “That doesn’t matter. I needed to come over to discuss official business, and that thing ?—”

“Why are you here, Dick?”

“Well, for starters, would you mind informing me just where you plan to put all the cars that will be coming out for your little Memorial Day weekend event? If you think they’re going to be parking on my property?—”

“We’ve hired a horse-drawn carriage service,” Reese interrupted. “Guests will be able to park in the lower acreage, and we’ll bring them up in groups in the carriage.”

“I included that in the press release,” Larissa said, leaping off the couch and moving to the doorway so she stood shoulder to shoulder with Reese. “I sent a copy to all the other wineries we’re on friendly terms with. Oh, wait—that wouldn’t be you, would it?”

“Dick, go home,” Reese said. “We’ve got everything under control here.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really. I know you’re still pissed about my grandpa not selling you the east acreage and the fact that we won those three medals, and?—”

“And the fact that your wife ran off with your hottie winemaker,” Larissa added cheerfully. “Sorry about that.”

Dick flushed crimson, and for a moment Reese worried he might take a swing at Larissa. Instead, he tried another tack.

“You’d better make sure you have those event permits in order,” he snapped. “I have a friend who works for the county. I’m having lunch with him tomorrow. It would sure be a shame if you held an event out here without having the proper permits.”

“Goodnight, Dick,” Reese said, and shut the door in his face. She turned to Larissa. “You did get the permits, right?”

Larissa rolled her eyes. “Of course. He’s just being a—well, I was going to say dick , but that’s an insult to penises everywhere. Hey, speaking of penises?—”

“We were not speaking of penises,” Reese said.

“We could start,” Sheila called from the sofa.

Reese’s cell phone rang, and for the second time in five minutes, she felt grateful for a ringing sound saving her from an awkward conversation. She snatched the phone off the end table as Sheila and Larissa got down to the business of discussing genitals.

“Hello?” she said as she stepped into the hallway.

“Hi, Reese.”

The voice made her throat clench. Not an unpleasant sensation, and not unfamiliar, either. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing until she felt herself grow dizzy.

“Clay. Um, hello. Hi. Good evening.”

“Just wanted to make sure Sheila’s okay to drive,” he said. “I’m heading past there on my way back to the hotel. Eric said you guys were drinking wine, and if she’s had too much, I’m happy to pick her up.”

“Oh,” Reese said, gathering her bearings. “I’m pretty sure she’s fine. One bottle split three ways over the course of two hours—” She held the phone away from her ear. “Sheila, you okay to drive?”

“Is that my dashing and considerate husband? He’s so getting lucky tonight.”

“Um, no. No, it’s Clay.”

Sheila looked up from her station on the sofa. “Clay?”

“Offering a ride.”

Larissa grinned. “I can think of a lot of women who’d take him up on that.”

Reese rolled her eyes and put the phone back to her ear. “We’re all fine, but thanks for the offer.” She hesitated, not ready to end the call, though she wasn’t sure why. “Everything okay there?”

Clay cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure. Just catching up on old times—college, girls, jail terms, stuff like that.”

Reese turned her back to the sofa so her cousin and friend wouldn’t see her face. “Good. That’s good. Reconnecting with old friends is always, um?—”

“Reese?”

“Yes?”

There was a long pause, and Reese pictured him running his fingers through his hair, his frown making little creases between his eyebrows. She waited, wondering why the hell her heart felt like someone was cinching a piece of twine around it.

“It was good to see you again today.”

“Right,” she said. “Good to see you, too.”

There was a long pause, and Reese could hear Clay’s breathing, low and shallow and almost warm in her ear.

“I missed you,” he said.

Reese bit her lip, not sure what to say to that. There were a lot of things she’d missed about him—the easy conversation, the wicked sense of humor, the smile that made her stomach flutter no matter how hard she tried to pretend it didn’t.

There were a lot of things she hadn’t missed—the constant worry, the calls from jail, the promises that this time, this time , he’d stay sober.

But had she missed him ?

She took a breath, started to speak, then stopped. On the other end of the line, Clay cleared his throat.

“Look, about that night at Finnigan’s five years ago?—”

“You’ve already apologized, Clay.”

“I know. I know I apologized that you got hurt, but?—”

“You weren’t the one who threw the punch.”

“No, but if you hadn’t been trying to pull me out of a bar fight, you wouldn’t have gotten hit at all. Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t come see you in the hospital.”

Reese bit her lip. “You were in jail. And I was only there a few hours. It was just a broken nose.” She hesitated, wondering why he’d brought it up at all. “You kinda disappeared after that. Just left without telling any of us where you were going.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that, too. And I’m sorry you guys couldn’t visit. I had to get my life together, and I needed to distance myself to do that.”

“I understand. I appreciated the call from rehab so at least I didn’t worry.”

“Step nine,” he said softly. “That’s the one about making amends. I owed you a lot more of those than I could fit into one phone call.”