Waking Up to You Overexposed - By Leslie Kelly Page 0,60
realized how rude he was being, he took it and dropped it into his side pocket.
“Guess I should get back to my husband. We have a small place. He produced a thousand bottles last year and now thinks he’s ready to go up against Mondavi.”
Smiling pleasantly, she walked away. A few other people stood nearby, all engaged in loud conversation, but Candace kept her voice down anyway.
“They want you to come work with them?”
“It’s been mentioned.”
“But you declined?”
“Her partner didn’t offer me a job or anything. Just asked me to lunch one day and broached the subject.”
“You’re not even tempted?”
He swiped a hand through his thick, dark hair and shook his head. “I don’t know, honestly. I just don’t want to think about it tonight.”
“Understood,” she said, meaning it. The subject was closed for now, and she would respect his wishes by dropping it.
Smiling his thanks, he turned toward a corner. “How about a drink? Red, white or an appallingly sweet combination of the two?”
“Let’s go with red, and see if anything measures up to that bottle we shared from Grandpa’s cellar.”
He twined his fingers with hers and squeezed, obviously appreciating that she’d let the subject change. Oliver had come up here to think about what he wanted to do with his life, including whether that life included a career in law. For four months, he’d buried himself in hard work and had allowed himself to believe he had no supporters, nowhere else to turn. So seeing that wasn’t true was probably good for him. An occasional nudge was probably in order. But any more than that was out of line. He would have to decide for himself what his future should be.
Whatever it is, it won’t include you.
She had to forcibly control a wince of sadness that thought caused. She’d done a pretty good job of avoiding reality all day, well, for the past several days. But now that it was bearing down on her, each tick of the clock bringing her closer to the moment when she would have to say goodbye, the pain within her was sharpening.
Tomorrow is soon enough. You’ve got tonight. Make it a night worth remembering.
Forcing a smile to her lips, determined not to let him see her sadness and question it, she let him lead her to the nearest bar. There were several set up in the room, each offering glasses of the various vintages being feted tonight. They let themselves be drawn into a brief tasting, and Candace managed to hide another wince, this one caused by some pretty crappy wine. Fortunately, another bar had much better offerings, and she accepted a full pour.
Carrying their glasses, they worked their way around the room, meeting many people who knew her grandfather, or at least had heard of him. Almost all of them brought up the subject of the rare collection Buddy Frye had reportedly found, and she changed that subject every single time.
“Good grief, these people are like bloodhounds,” she said after she and Oliver ducked another busybody, who’d actually followed them across the dance floor, weaving between swaying couples. They’d evaded him by slipping into a private corner beneath a cozy arbor, a tiny oasis in the crowded ballroom.
“Want to dance?” he whispered.
She didn’t want to go back out into the crowd. But apparently that hadn’t been his intention. Before she could assent, he slid an arm around her waist and caught her hand, drawing her close to his body. They began to sway to the music, moving in a small circle within the arbor, oblivious to the other people who wandered in and out.
She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that he could dance, or that she would be so swept away by the music that she almost forgot where they were. Though surrounded by hundreds, she felt like they were entirely alone, swaying to the soft strains coming from the talented musicians, and to the gentle gurgle of water from a nearby fountain. He bent his head close to hers, brushing his lips against her temple, breathing her in, holding her as if he would never let her go.
Oh, God, she wished he didn’t have to.
The moment was so beautiful, and the thought so distressing, that she suddenly felt tears well in her eyes. “Will you excuse me?” she said, abruptly stepping out of his arms. “I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
He raised a curious brow, his expression skeptical, but she smiled broadly and spun around, hurrying