Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

Wes laughs, and the sound of it helps loosen up some of the tightness in my chest.

It really is mind-blowing how quickly this man has become not just someone I’m attracted to, but a confidant. A refuge.

I can’t remember ever having that before. And now I wonder how I might ever be able to live without it.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Murphy. You went through a lot, and it doesn’t surprise me that this would make you emotional. I mean, part of me thinks it’s probably highlighting the fact that you still have a lot to process.”

“Don’t say that. It’s nice to pretend that I’m totally healed and everything’s fine.”

He gives me a sad smile.

“But you’re not totally healed, and everything isn’t fine.”

“Ugh, why do you have to be such a good therapist?” I tug my hoodie over my head and yank on the cords so that the opening closes around my face, blocking my view so I can no longer see him and—hopefully—he can no longer see me. “It would be great if you could just tell me that I should turn Vivian down and continue about in my new life.”

I feel Wes shift closer, and then he wraps his arm around my shoulders. Then he begins loosening the scrunched-up hoodie from around my face.

“I think,” he tells me, his voice low, the sound of it sending little tremors running through my body, “that you should sit down and really think about what you want next.”

He pushes the hood back, pinning me with his thoughtful gaze. “I had a rough time in Chicago, and when everything fell apart, I had to make a choice. Was I going to give up on everything I had worked for? Was I going to try to repair the pieces of the life I’d been working toward?”

He reaches his fingers out to tuck some of my flyaway hairs behind my ear.

“Or, maybe instead, I could find a way to create a new dream out of the scraps of what was left behind.”

He makes a good point. Really, he does.

But with how close he is, and how gentle he’s being, my mind can’t seem to focus any longer on my conversation with Vivian or the idea of going back to LA to meet with the people from Humble Roads.

Instead, all I can think about is how it feels to have his arm around me, and how much better I would feel if we were kissing again.

So I lean in and press my lips to his.

He opens immediately, and the taste of him explodes on my tongue, like a drug I doubt I’ll ever stop craving.

There are so many things to worry about right now. Too many things.

Whatever the future holds for me. What’s going on with the vineyard. The opening of the restaurant. My argument with Dad. Training that starts tomorrow.

But for now, I can ignore it all and just think about this.

When I walk into The Standard and scan the room, I can’t help the smile that crosses my face.

It’s the kind of bar that isn’t supposed to allow anyone under twenty-one but turns a blind eye to locals and regulars. My father used to bring Memphis and me when he wanted to grab a drink with a buddy. The two of us would run off to the pinball machine, playing with the little baggie of quarters that my dad gave us until they inevitably ran out. Then we’d head to the pool table.

There’s something sexy about the game that I can’t pinpoint exactly—maybe somewhere among the sticks and balls and getting it in the pocket.

I glance over to where the pool table still sits. It’s been re-covered, the tarnished old green felt I remember replaced with blue. I wrinkle my nose at it, then continue on to the bar.

It gives me an unexpected thrill to hop up on a stool at the bar itself. My prior visits here only happened when I was too young to drink. Well … too young to be served anyway, even in a place like this.

“What can I get you?”

The bartender, an older gentleman I’ve never seen before, sets a coaster down in front of me and gives a kind smile.

“Can I see the wine list?”

He nods, dipping a little to grab a menu from under the bar and then passing it to me.