Grayson's Vow (25)
Me: Goddamn it, Kira, are you coming back or not?
Several minutes ticked by, a strange panic rising in my throat.
Kira: Yes, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Miss me?
I exhaled.
Me: No. Good night.
Little witch.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kira
Hawthorn Vineyard was suffused with dappled, late-afternoon sun when I drove through the gates a little after four o’clock. I’d spent the weekend with Kimberly, filling her in on everything that had taken place with Grayson Hawthorn since I’d last spoken to her. At first she refused to speak to me, and then she ranted and raved for fifteen minutes—breaking into frequent bouts of Spanish—while I sat before her on the couch with my arms crossed like a child being disciplined. She’d brought up at least twenty examples of Very Bad Ideas that had ended terribly. When she’d finally calmed down enough to discuss the matter with me though and when she realized I wasn’t going to back down, she’d taken me in her arms and offered me her support. That was generally the way of things with Kimberly. I knew enough to wait her out. And she knew enough to know that once I’d committed to a Very Bad Idea, it was unlikely I’d change my mind. Still, I knew that ranting at me made her feel like she’d done her duty, so I took it in stride. At its core, it was filled with love. I had missed her so much while I was away. She had always been a balm to my soul, the one who kept me sane.
I’d also made a quick visit to the drop-in center, where I’d spent so many hours. I assured them I had a large donation coming their way, one that would allow them to make it through the next six months until one of their larger grants kicked in.
I had wished I could stay a little longer, visiting with the people there I’d grown to love and hadn’t seen in so long, but I assured them (and myself) I’d be back very soon.
Being away from the Dragon for a couple days had enabled me to put things in perspective. I was driving back with a renewed sense of surety. This plan was going to work. Everything had fallen into place and I tended to think that when that happened, you were on the right path. In a matter of days, we’d be married, have my gram’s money, and I’d be on my way to being self-sufficient. I could decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I wouldn’t be under anyone’s thumb. I would finally be free.
Surprisingly, I’d missed my little cottage. After opening the windows and putting my suitcase down at the end of the bed, I fell onto the mattress and smiled up at the stained, peeling ceiling, twirling a piece of my hair and humming loudly the song that had been on the radio in my car a few minutes ago. Outside the window, I heard the distant sound of a vehicle, most likely a tractor, and the shrill chatter of the birds that filled the trees. I’d find a little place similar to this somewhere in Napa Valley when I moved out. Somewhere simple. Somewhere I could be myself. Somewhere I might find happiness. Sighing, I sat up, slipped out of my clothes, and unpacked the new, fluffy towels I’d purchased in San Francisco. After rooting around in my luggage for my toiletries, I turned toward the shower.
A man was standing in the doorway.
I startled so abruptly that my toiletries went flying out of my hands and I screamed, a piercing, horror-stricken sound.
“Whoa, whoa,” Grayson said, moving toward me, his hands up in an I surrender pose, meant to calm me, I supposed. His eyes were wide with surprise, and I couldn’t help notice that they swept down my body.
“Oh my GOD!” I shrieked, realizing I was as naked as a jaybird. I looked around wildly for something to hide my nakedness, grabbing the shirt at the top of my open suitcase and attempting to cover as much of myself as possible. At practically the same moment, Grayson whirled around and went stalking out the door.
I sagged against the end of the bed, my face hot, my legs shaking. “Don’t you knock?” I yelled.
“You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” I heard said loudly outside my open window as he walked away from my cottage.
I might have growled.
Thoroughly humiliated, I got in the shower, still grumbling angrily about rude, disrespectful stalkers. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. Ugh!
After scrubbing myself just a bit too harshly—if my stinging skin was any indication—I pulled on clothes, put my hair up in a wet bun, and went marching up to the main house.
Charlotte greeted me kindly when I met her in the kitchen. “Is Grayson around?” I asked, trying to keep the brittleness out of my voice.
“He—”
“I’m right here” came his voice from behind me.
I whirled around, shooting daggers at him. “May I speak with you privately?” I said with fake sweetness.
He narrowed his eyes and didn’t move, apparently ignoring my request or just not caring if Charlotte overheard us. What did it matter? She’d heard us fight before. I crossed my arms. “You can’t just flounce into someone’s personal habitation without knocking!” I said, my words tumbling out in exasperated anger.
“I did knock,” he said, his tone bored, causing me to seethe even more. “And I’ve never flounced in my life.” He turned toward Charlotte. “Charlotte, have you ever seen me flounce?”
“No, it’s true,” she said, wrinkling her brow. “You’re not a man inclined to flounce.”