Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) by Marina Adair Page A
Authors: Marina Adair
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the other hand under her head.” Nate deftly repositioned Frankie’s hands to where the sniffles continued but didn’t elevate, and tightened his arms around hers, firmly holding her against his body. He gently swayed back and forth. “She likes to be held tight and rocked.”
Frankie realized that she liked to be held tight and rocked too. It was soothing and kind of nice. Like being wrapped up in a warm, snuggly, man-cocoon.
She turned her head to say thank you, thank you for not laughing when he easily could have, and thank you for letting her know that regardless of what was going on between them, in that one moment, he had her. Only she froze.
Nate, who had rested his chin on her shoulder to watch Sofie, was inches from her mouth. All she had to do was move a smidge to the right and up and they would be kissing. He seemed to be reading her mind because his gaze dropped to her lips and his hands, no longer on the baby, slid around her stomach.
“Frankie,” he whispered, his pinkies dipped beneath the hem of her jeans, and she saw it coming.
He was going to kiss her.
And she was going to let him.
She should have tossed him the bundle and burned rubber out of there, but she couldn’t. All the oxygen left her lungs in a single whoosh, her legs felt like she’d just harvested an entire vineyard, and instead of pulling away she felt herself leaning back, further pressing into Nate’s hard chest, and tilting her head so that—
“Whoa, hey there,” Gabe said.
Frankie jumped forward as though all the lying had finally caught up with her and her butt was on fire. Nate did some fancy footwork of his own, moving him a safe three feet in the other direction.
“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Gabe said, all smiles and no sorry.
“I was just showing Frankie how to hold a baby,” Nate said, taking Sofie back and handing Frankie her helmet.
“That was some lesson. Looked like you were about to get to the part about making one of your own—”
“Do you have a point?” Nate asked. “For being in here?”
“You mean in my own home?” Gabe smiled at Nate even bigger. “I just came to check on things. Holly’s worried that Frankie doesn’t like you and she wanted to make sure you were using your words. But I can see that that isn’t a problem. Well, maybe the using your words part was, but—”
“I gotta go,” Frankie said, picking up her keys. Bad enough that she was in a DeLucas house helping make decorations. But now she’d been caught fraternizing with the enemy. And she’d liked it.
CHAPTER 6
N ate swung hard. Pain exploded, starting in his left thumb and shooting up his arm at the same pace and volume as the long list of choice words he rattled off. When he ran out of original phrases he started repeating. Even that didn’t help.
“You might want to put ice on that.”
Nate popped out his ear buds and turned around to see Frankie, standing on the back porch, nibbling on one of those toaster pastries she seemed so fond of. Mittens was dining on the other half.
“How long have you been standing there?” Nate asked, pretending his thumb wasn’t about to fall off.
“Since you started singing to Skynard,” she said around bits of dough. “Figured you for more of a classical kind of guy.”
“Skynard is a classic.”
She jammed the rest of the pastry into her mouth—whole—and shrugged. “I was thinking Mozart, but whatever.”
She skipped down the steps and walked toward him through the ankle-high mustard weed, those hips of hers movingwith quiet confidence. Today she wore her usual uniform of a tank top, ripped jeans, and boots—black and badass—but instead of the ball buster attitude she normally favored, she looked a little unsure. Untouchable, yes, but unsure all the same.
Nate knew it was because of the almost-kiss and never-going-to-happen conversation last night. Afraid she’d take him up on his threat to share the master and, idiotically hoping
Frankie realized that she liked to be held tight and rocked too. It was soothing and kind of nice. Like being wrapped up in a warm, snuggly, man-cocoon.
She turned her head to say thank you, thank you for not laughing when he easily could have, and thank you for letting her know that regardless of what was going on between them, in that one moment, he had her. Only she froze.
Nate, who had rested his chin on her shoulder to watch Sofie, was inches from her mouth. All she had to do was move a smidge to the right and up and they would be kissing. He seemed to be reading her mind because his gaze dropped to her lips and his hands, no longer on the baby, slid around her stomach.
“Frankie,” he whispered, his pinkies dipped beneath the hem of her jeans, and she saw it coming.
He was going to kiss her.
And she was going to let him.
She should have tossed him the bundle and burned rubber out of there, but she couldn’t. All the oxygen left her lungs in a single whoosh, her legs felt like she’d just harvested an entire vineyard, and instead of pulling away she felt herself leaning back, further pressing into Nate’s hard chest, and tilting her head so that—
“Whoa, hey there,” Gabe said.
Frankie jumped forward as though all the lying had finally caught up with her and her butt was on fire. Nate did some fancy footwork of his own, moving him a safe three feet in the other direction.
“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Gabe said, all smiles and no sorry.
“I was just showing Frankie how to hold a baby,” Nate said, taking Sofie back and handing Frankie her helmet.
“That was some lesson. Looked like you were about to get to the part about making one of your own—”
“Do you have a point?” Nate asked. “For being in here?”
“You mean in my own home?” Gabe smiled at Nate even bigger. “I just came to check on things. Holly’s worried that Frankie doesn’t like you and she wanted to make sure you were using your words. But I can see that that isn’t a problem. Well, maybe the using your words part was, but—”
“I gotta go,” Frankie said, picking up her keys. Bad enough that she was in a DeLucas house helping make decorations. But now she’d been caught fraternizing with the enemy. And she’d liked it.
CHAPTER 6
N ate swung hard. Pain exploded, starting in his left thumb and shooting up his arm at the same pace and volume as the long list of choice words he rattled off. When he ran out of original phrases he started repeating. Even that didn’t help.
“You might want to put ice on that.”
Nate popped out his ear buds and turned around to see Frankie, standing on the back porch, nibbling on one of those toaster pastries she seemed so fond of. Mittens was dining on the other half.
“How long have you been standing there?” Nate asked, pretending his thumb wasn’t about to fall off.
“Since you started singing to Skynard,” she said around bits of dough. “Figured you for more of a classical kind of guy.”
“Skynard is a classic.”
She jammed the rest of the pastry into her mouth—whole—and shrugged. “I was thinking Mozart, but whatever.”
She skipped down the steps and walked toward him through the ankle-high mustard weed, those hips of hers movingwith quiet confidence. Today she wore her usual uniform of a tank top, ripped jeans, and boots—black and badass—but instead of the ball buster attitude she normally favored, she looked a little unsure. Untouchable, yes, but unsure all the same.
Nate knew it was because of the almost-kiss and never-going-to-happen conversation last night. Afraid she’d take him up on his threat to share the master and, idiotically hoping
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