Kiss Me in the Summer - Barbara Dunlop Page 0,28

excuses before Josh ran out of reasons. So here we were, standing in Madeline’s wine cellar.

It was an impressive place, not huge but definitely not small. The gray stone walls made it cool inside, but the lighting was yellow and warm, bouncing off the wood accents.

There was room for a small hewn oak table and four chairs in the middle of the room, and the woodsy fragrance permeated the air. Wine racks covered every wall, smooth oak contrasting against the stone walls. They looked to contain hundreds of bottles.

“Madeline must know a whole lot about wine,” I said, recognizing a few of the labels as I wandered my way along one of the walls. There were some popular and respected wineries in the mix. There were many I didn’t recognize, some old-world labels covered with a film of dust.

“She’s been working at it for a while,” Josh said. “I’ve learned some, nowhere near as much as her.”

“I’m in the same boat.” I twisted my head to look back at him. “I’ve learned the basics for social situations, but I’m no expert.”

He extracted a bottle. “I’ve also learned her code, which helps me to cheat. For example, this big blue dot means it’s a very expensive bottle. She saves them for special occasions.”

“So, not tonight,” I said.

“Not tonight.” He slid it back and moved my way. “Here’s the thing.”

“We’re looking for something more modest?” I guessed.

“Madeline had a mini stroke last year.”

My smile evaporated. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’s fine, and they’re monitoring her. It hasn’t impacted her daily life at all. However, on the issue of giving legal advice . . .”

“Should she be driving?” I couldn’t help but think back to my wild ride into town.

“She passed a driving test this year, and she’s fine. Well, not exactly fine, in my opinion, but that’s completely unrelated to the mini stroke. She’s been racing around the state in that outrageous car for as long as I can remember.”

“Does she know you’re worried about her legal work?”

“She does. But she’s still so sharp that she doesn’t think it’s affected anything. And maybe it hasn’t. But . . .” He checked out the label on another wine bottle before sliding it back into place as well. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

I could feel what was coming. I was torn, really torn.

“Right now, Becky signs off on all of Madeline’s legal work. And we had arranged for one of Madeline’s old colleagues to come in for a few weeks after the baby is born.”

I saw the problem. “But you didn’t expect to need help this soon.”

“We didn’t. And now we’ve got to figure it out.” He gazed down at me, and intimacy heightened between us—the soft lighting, the close quarters, the quiet, the privacy.

He was taking this problem on himself, just like he always seemed to do. I was struck once again by his sincerity and integrity. He was an incredibly handsome, compassionate, and grounded man who cared deeply for those around him. His family, his friends, his community.

His gaze enveloped me, his eyes warm as mocha with little green flecks that reflected the yellow light. He might love his community, but I suddenly wanted him all to myself.

The cellar was cool, but I was warm. I leaned his way, and my gaze fixated on his lips. They looked tender and sweet, and I imagined his arms wrapped around me, our lips meeting, sharing a lingering kiss.

I could almost taste him.

“Will you stay?” he asked.

Yes, yes, yes! I wanted to cry out. But I came to my senses instead and took a step back, embarrassed that I’d gotten carried away in the moment.

I tried to cover. “We should pick a bottle.”

He looked confused for a second then gave the shelf beside us a fleeting glance. “Is that a no?”

It wasn’t. It should be, but it wasn’t.

“It wouldn’t be for long,” he continued, obviously sensing my hesitation. “Just until Max Winterspoon is able to get here.”

“Max Winterspoon?” I recognized the name, and to say it surprised me would be an understatement.

“I’ll call him just as soon as—”

“Madeline’s colleague is Judge Winterspoon?”

Judge Winterspoon was famous in New York City, infamous if you were a prosecutor, for demanding highly exacting legal arguments and for handing down creative sentences—like enrolling in college and keeping grades up or helping a senior citizen build a boat.

“Their terms overlapped,” Josh said.

It took me a minute to wrap my head around that. “You mean on the bench?”

Josh nodded.

“Madeline was a judge?”

“A