“You know you can do this in your sleep, Dad,” she replied instead. “You don’t need me there.”
“Not really the point, Molly. You left your clients in the lurch.”
Now she was getting truly irritated. “So you’ve said. But even you take a vacation. I’m back in ten days. The firm won’t fall apart.” She sighed and stood once more. “I’m late, so I’m going to have to cut this short. Bye, Dad.”
She hung up, knowing she’d catch hell later for hanging up on him. But seriously. Wasn’t she entitled to a holiday? And at twenty-nine years old she could figure out when and where she wanted to go. She didn’t need his approval, though for some reason both her parents seemed to think she did. She turned off her phone and shoved it into a shoulder bag. Her stomach growled. If she didn’t grab some breakfast soon, they’d be on the road and she’d be running on empty.
She called for a bellhop to get her cases, and once they were collected she adjusted the strap on her bag and headed for the coffee shop. What she needed was a huge coffee and something to take away the gnawing in her gut. In a matter of minutes she was sipping on strong, black brew, with a cranberry muffin in her other hand and a banana tucked into her purse.
The group was congregating in the lobby, waiting for their transportation, chatting up a storm. Molly knew she should join in, make some acquaintances. That was what last night had been for—breaking the ice. Right now she held back. She was still irritated by her father’s call and that work life had intruded when she’d been gone only twenty-four hours.
Eric was standing by the sliding doors, talking to the couple she’d met at dinner last night. He was relaxed and smiling, and suddenly he laughed at something, the warm sound carrying across the lobby and sending goose bumps over her arms. She lifted her coffee and took a gulp, the hot liquid burning her throat.
He looked over and the smile slid off his face as he offered a basic polite nod.
Well, bully for him. He had a very closed mind, judging her for her job just because he was divorced. It wasn’t her fault that negotiations hadn’t gone his way.
She wondered why they’d split in the first place. There was always a reason. She’d heard them all in her years in the firm. A few had caused some raised eyebrows but little surprised her now. She looked at him, standing with his weight on one hip, his hand tucked into the pocket of pressed khakis and his shirt taut against a broad chest. Appearances didn’t count for a whole lot when it came to a lifetime of happiness, but she couldn’t discount the way her breath caught just a little when she looked at him. It wasn’t just that he w
as handsome. There was a quiet confidence that was magnetic. Yesterday he’d been insufferably overbearing when he’d barged into her room, but something told her he wasn’t always so abrasive.
So he didn’t like what she did for a living. So what? She hadn’t come on this trip as some sort of way to meet a man or hook up. She’d done it to expand her own horizons. To take charge of her own life and live a little. Eric Chambault wasn’t going to stand in the way of that, so she adjusted her shoulder strap, put a smile on her face and made her way to the congregated group standing just outside in the sun, waiting for the luxury passenger vans that would take them to their next destination.
* * *
Eric tipped back his head and let the sun soak into his face. Their tour guide, Shawn, had told them that the first day of the trip was their easiest one—wine tours and tastings. While it wasn’t really on the extreme adventure list, the tour centered on showcasing what Vancouver Island had to offer.
Right now Eric was sitting on a patio just outside the town of Duncan, with the sun beating down on his face and the smell of tart wine and freshly cut grass touching his nose. On his next deep breath, he thought he could taste the tang of the ocean in the air. Maybe this was the “easy” day, but the relaxation came as a welcome relief from his hectic schedule.
He was one of the first back from the tour of the cellars, but his solitude was short-lived as the other eleven in the group made their way, talking and laughing, to the stone patio for lunch. He straightened and smiled as people approached, already flushed from stopping at two other wineries before their late meal. A light laugh caught his attention and he looked up to see Molly—Ms. Quinn—smiling up at someone he’d met named Rick, who was a real-estate developer from Arizona. Rick was at least fifty with a booming laugh, so Eric wasn’t sure why on earth he’d feel the least bit of jealousy.
Maybe because when Molly looked at Eric she tended to scowl, rather than smile, like she was doing right now.
The group congregated around the collection of tables, and within moments the staff began delivering wine selections and platters of local cheese, freshly baked breads, olives, roasted vegetables and fruit. Once again, Molly seemed like the odd person out, like him. Everyone else was either part of a couple or traveling in pairs with a buddy. His skin tingled as her skirt brushed his arm when she pulled out a chair and sat beside him.
“This was a consequence I hadn’t anticipated,” he said quietly as she picked up her napkin.
“What’s that?”
“Being a single in a group full of doubles. It seems as if we’re paired up once again.”
“I apologize.”
Her voice was soft but there was an underlying steel that made him smile. “I should be the one apologizing,” he replied, feeling a bit like a jerk. “I shouldn’t have used the word consequence. It has a negative connotation.”
And yet the correct word seemed just out of reach.
She met his gaze, and he was momentarily lost in her clear blue eyes. “I’m sure that as we go on, we’ll make friends in the group so we’re not always stuck with each other.”
As in, she was also stuck with him.
A server poured wine into Molly’s glass and she tasted it, savored and nodded. He indicated he’d have the same. The pinot blanc was buttery and with notes of pear, and while Eric tended to prefer reds, he found it really quite nice. For a few minutes they focused on filling their small plates with selections from the platters. Then Eric turned to her and offered an apology.
“I’m sorry for what I said last night. I’m still bitter from the divorce. But clearly it isn’t your fault.”
“Just people like me.”
He swallowed tightly, unsure of how to respond. She wasn’t wrong.