Harvest Moon (19 page)

* * * *

For nearly three hours Sophie and Veronica had busied themselves in the restaurant tasting room’s large kitchen, preparing scented oils, then blending them with a mixture of lye and frozen goat milk.

Sophie blew a strand of hair away from her face. “These last few batches should help top off our retail area.” Her attention drifted away from the current batch to Veronica. “Griswold’s was fun last night.”

Veronica smiled. “It was.”

“You and Trent were naturals on stage.”

“He picked a great number for the crowd.”

“Trent’s really a complicated guy, but I’m learning he’s got a heart of gold. He’s trying so hard to fit in. I’m glad to see you two getting along.”

Charlene’s police station gossip about Trent, shared on the way home from chorus, had left Veronica curious. About to ask Sophie where such a story might stem from, Veronica stopped. To ask intruded on Trent’s privacy and sounded gossipy.

“I can see he’s a decent guy.” Veronica veered from Sophie’s attempt to garner some inside scoop on her relationship with Trent. She inhaled the sweet scent of strawberry soap. “This smells great. You should set up a table at the Harvest Festival to sell them.”

“The vineyard’s going to participate. We’ll have a table to sell wine, Jay’s goat cheese, and these soaps. Did I tell you the Luna Boutique owner in New Scotland said she’d carry them, too?”

“Great. That’s a cute store.”

New Scotland held memories of Jim, and her mind drifted off to not only him, but to all the servings of vanilla men she’d allowed herself for two decades. Sophie touched her arm and she almost jumped. “What?”

“I said, I’m really sorry about you and Jim.”

Before she could respond, Sophie’s cell phone rang. She put down a mold and answered. “What’s up, Matt?” She listened to her son for a minute. “Honey, I can’t help you with a car problem. Can you call Duncan?”

When Veronica had arrived, Sophie mentioned how Duncan and Trent were on the far side of the farm, cutting up a fallen tree. Veronica had found herself surprisingly relieved and disappointed at the same time that Trent wasn’t nearby.

“Okay. I’ll come get you.” Sophie slipped the phone into the pocket of her jeans.

“What’s wrong?”

“Matt’s car stalled, and he’s on the other side of town. Duncan’s not answering his phone. Do you mind if I get Matt?”

“Sure.”

“You’re a doll.” Sophie reached into a drawer. “I have these little mesh bags for the soaps I made the other day. After they’re bagged, just bring them into the shop area and put them with the others. We’ll have a glass of wine when I get back.”

“Perfect.”

Sophie headed for the door and glanced over her shoulder. “Want to stay for dinner tonight? We’re grilling.”

“Sounds nice.”

Veronica turned up the volume on the stereo in the tasting room and hummed along with the soft acoustic rock music. She bagged the soaps and tied them off with ribbon, then went into the adjoining retail area, arranging them on a display. Once finished, she headed back through the tasting room.

A vineyard T-shirt like Jay wore to Griswold’s last night sat folded on the bar top, yet it hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. On a nearby chair, a dirt-stained T-shirt was plopped on the seat.

A door opened and she turned. Trent exited the men’s room, shirtless and rubbing his face with a hand towel. Her gaze followed the dark hairs forming a neat path to the waistline of his jeans, and his muscled core, tanned to a reddish brown hue.

“Pearls?” Surprise registered on his face and he stopped. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping Sophie make soaps for the shop. Matt’s car is stuck so she went to help him. He said he couldn’t reach Duncan.”

“Oh, his phone was in the truck.” Trent rubbed his scalp with the towel, leaving the thick damp mass to fall into place, his usual casually unkempt look. He walked toward the folded vineyard T-shirt and lifted it off the bar top. “We finished up with the tree, and he got Matt’s message, so he dropped me off here and went to help.” He motioned to the vineyard T-shirt by glancing down at it. “I figured I’d wash up here and steal a shirt before I run into town for a quick errand.”

She nodded and tried with all her might
not
to stare. He studied her face as he pulled the shirt over his head, his blue eyes vanishing monetarily, but reappearing as he smoothed the shirt over his torso.

“Still mad at me, Sandy?” He walked closer and stopped two steps away, twisting his lips into a spicy grin.

“I wasn’t mad.” She spoke softly, in a way that would tell him she really meant the words.

He arched his brows. “No?”

His clean soap scent invaded her senses. “Spontaneity isn’t my strong suit.” She shrugged. “By the way, you’ve got some pretty nice pipes. What other hidden talents do you possess?”

“Musically?” His eyes softened, a flirtatious hint laced his voice.

Heat burned her cheeks. “Yes. Musically.”

“I can hold my own with a guitar and piano.” He studied her for several seconds, clutching the towel in both hands. “You know, spontaneity can be a good thing. You were spontaneous last night. Knocking me on my ass in class was a pretty impulsive move, too. By the way, I hope this week in class you’ll give me a chance to redeem myself and try those exercises again.”

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do in class. Remember, I’m only there for—”

“For your niece. So you’ve said.” He dropped the towel onto the seat of a chair, on top of the dirty shirt. “I’d hoped singing the duet would make you more comfortable with me.”

“What makes you think I’m not comfortable?”

He considered her with a slight tightening of his eyelids, a tilt of his head. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s see how comfortable you really are.”

“You want to sing again?”

He shook his head, walked behind the bar, and crouched down, continuing to talk while his disembodied voice was muffled by the wood barrier. “There’s a way we can work together, where you can prove to me your comfort level with us as a team.”

“Why do I have to prove anything to you?”

He popped upright from behind the bar, now holding a bottle of wine. “Because the way you’re acting in class isn’t setting a good example for your niece.”

“Gee, hit me where it hurts.”

“If I have to.”

“What’s your idea?”

He put the bottle down. “This might sound weird—”

“Then I suggest you stop now.”

“…but I know a little exercise that could go a long way in showing you I can be trusted.”

“I trust you.”

“Right.” He rolled his blue eyes. “Here’s how it works. You’re going to locate this bottle of wine after I move it, remove the cork, and pour a glass.”

“That’s not weird.” She moved toward him with an arm stretched to take the bottle.

He pulled it away. “Not so fast.” Trent went behind the bar and leaned over, searched for a few seconds, then held up a long dishtowel. “I’m going to blindfold you, and then give you instructions on how to perform each step. You’ll follow my voice. Trust what I tell you and we’ll be a success.”

She laughed right out loud. “Go do your kinky wine sex trick with your girlfriend. Or the goat.”

Veronica headed for the kitchen door.

He hurried out from behind the bar. “Please don’t go.”

She twirled around and faced him. “Trent, this is ridiculous.”

“So? What’s wrong with ridiculous once in a while?” His dark brows lifted, his expression hopeful and eager.

“And this is going to prove what again?”

“That you can trust me in class.” Enthusiasm prevailed. He tossed the dishtowel on the counter. “No blindfold then. Instead, how about you keep your eyes closed? This is all about my words to your ear. I swear, you’ll be safe. Untouched. Unharmed.”

The words dangled before her. If only he knew how much each one of those mattered to her. Yet a desperate part of her wanted to give this a try, to trust him at his word.

“I’ll do this but only to prove you wrong.” She forced a smile, meant to hide the infestation of nerves crawling inside her gut. “Because I already trust you.”

His face brightened, and he walked over to a tile-topped table in the seating area and pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you sit here and close your eyes.”

He waited but she didn’t move. What the hell was she doing?

“Come on. Like Meg said the other night, haste is a waste.” He chuckled. “She’s a riot.”

Veronica couldn’t stop herself from smiling. How sweet he’d appreciated the endearing quirk of her friend. She moved toward him and lowered herself into the seat. “Better start, before I change my mind.” She closed her eyes and folded her hands on her lap.

Drawers opened and closed, a glass clinked, and something thudded, all mixed with the sound of his work boots plodding on the hardwood floors. He turned off the music, and then something screeched, possibly a stool being dragged on the floor.

“Done. I won’t leave my seat.”

She nodded. Awareness that he watched her, while she’d committed to forfeit her own sense of sight, left her feeling exposed. “Ready when you are.”

He cleared his throat. “First, I’ll direct you to a corkscrew. If you listen carefully, I promise you won’t walk into anything.”

Her heartbeat thumped rapidly inside her chest. Self-conscious and a little scared, she wanted to remember how it felt to trust again. More specifically, she wanted to trust him.

“Push the chair back—away from the table—and stand.”

She did as he’d asked. Having her eyes closed made her wobbly, so she pressed her fingertips along the tabletop to steady herself.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice so tender she almost couldn’t hear him. “I won’t let you fall.”

She nodded, but the phrase looped in her head, as if she’d heard the same sentiment before.

He raised his voice. “Okay, swing your left leg out, like you’re taking a giant step away from the table to the side. Like the hokey-pokey.” He started to hum the well-known song.

She smiled. “You’re distracting me.”

Trent chuckled. “Okay. I’ll stop.”

The side step sounded easy enough, but the second she moved, the safety of the table and chair disappeared, as if the rug were pulled from beneath her feet. Exposed and alone, Veronica tried to steady her rapidly pulsing nerves. “Now what?”

“Take three—no four—normal steps forward and stop.”

In the silent room, every sound magnified. Her sandals scuffing the floor, the goats bleating outside. One. Two. Three. Four.

“That’s great!”

His pleasure brought her unexpected relief.

“Now put your hands in front of you.” His voice came from her right, and she tipped her head toward it, catching his soapy scent from earlier. “On your next step, you’ll find the bar. Move slowly.”

She stepped forward carefully, until her fingertips brushed the hard wood surface. Relief she hadn’t expected rushed through her veins. She rested her arms on the bar. “Now what?”

“Flatten your right palm and pat the area until you find the corkscrew. It’s to your right.”

Her hand landed on the cool stainless steel opener. She clutched it to her chest in both hands.

“Excellent!” Excitement sounded in his voice.

She wanted to open her eyes, see the look of approval on his face.

As if he’d read her mind, he said, “Keep your eyes closed.”

She squeezed them tighter. “Now what?”

He said nothing. She waited. Her thoughts wriggled into a euphoric trust, freely given to him, making her pulse race.

I won’t let you fall….

His words echoed back at her. Veronica’s pulse eased. Ry had said something similar. She had trusted him, and it opened her up to a whole new world. Could she trust Trent? Her pulse raced again, in a good way this time. Maybe she could.

* * * *

No matter how much Trent tried, he couldn’t untwist his tongue. The relief on Veronica’s face when she’d grabbed the corkscrew spoke to how uncomfortable she’d been at the game’s start, yet the tense lines vanished the second her hand touched the object. He wanted to reach out and hug her for the accomplishment.

When he’d first read about this wine uncorking trust exercise, he figured he’d never have a chance to use it. Once again, fate pushed them together at this moment.

“Now what?” Her voice quivered.

“We’re going to get the wine glass.”

He’d consciously used the term “we.” The numerous times he’d tried to get his wife to enter rehab with him, encouraging her by saying they’d both be partners in their recovery, she’d refused, called addiction “his problem.” Now he could see how much a partnership with someone mattered.

Veronica shifted, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“Pocket the corkscrew and do a half turn, toward my voice.”

She slipped the slender corkscrew in the pocket of her drawstring shorts and faced him.

“Take two normal steps.” The bottoms of her flat sandals slid on the floor, making him glance down at her bright red toenails and turquoise decorated sandals. He followed a trail along her long, tan legs and stopped at her face, ripe with concentration and waiting for his next words. “Carefully rest your left hand on the bar.” He paused as she did so. “Now let your fingers do the walking. The glass is right in front of you.”

The click of her matching red fingernails mesmerized him as they marched forward.

“Not too fast. You’re almost there.”

She inched her hand forward, then stopped when she bumped glass. Her fingers curled around the stem. “Got it!”

A beautiful smile graced her perfect pink lips, and he caught his breath.

“Now what?” She started to inch forward. “Huh?”

“Settle down there, Jessie Owens.” He chuckled. “The race isn’t over yet.”

She laughed and her tan cheeks glowed, the curve of her slim shoulders relaxed.

“Hold the glass. Let’s get the bottle.”

Her smile vanished, and all seriousness returned to her face. She tilted her head in his direction. “I’m ready.”

“Keep coming toward my voice. Take two or three steps.”

She took two steps and stopped.

The bottle of wine was a strategic placement…three feet away from him. If she truly trusted him, he’d know by her willingness to move close to his voice. “Half a step.”