“In here,” his low voice calls out from a hidden room. Sidestepping a few stray oak barrels, I find my way into his own private cellar. Bottles of his favorite wines are scattered about the room. A proud smile curls at my lips realizing Owen has really found his own place here at Bella Luna’s. When the construction was in full blast through the fall, he worked long, hard days under the sun. With Nick by his side, he was a force to be reckoned with. His poised control is the principal reason the main structure was done in just over three months. Now, the remainder of the task is left to my charge. Sure, Nick and Owen will lead the crew in hanging drywall and running electric, but the interior design, the overall feel of the venue is left to me.
I watch on dreamily as Owen scribbles a few notes into a notebook on his makeshift desk. “What are you working on?” My voice pulls him out of his work.
After popping a quick kiss to my cheek, he pulls me onto his lap. “A new pinot noir Peter and I have been working on. The grapes were perfect for it and now we’re just working out some of the details.” Reading over his shoulder is like looking at gibberish. Actually making the wine is something I never really got into. That was Vincent and Peter’s job. I learned all the internal organization. Now that Owen’s here, I couldn’t be happier knowing that the lifeblood of this company is in his hands. He’s become passionate and creative in his new venture, promising nothing but a bright future for our company.
“Can I get you a glass?” he offers after he closes his notebook.
Tipping my cup to him, I shoot him a look. “Like you have to ask?”
“So I spoke with Nick earlier,” he mentions casually as I twirl the stem of my empty glass between my fingers.
“And?” I prompt, gesturing with my hands as excitedly as I can. He knows I’ve been waiting on pins and needles to see if we’ve cleared inspection and now he’s dangling it in front of me like some proverbial carrot.
“We’re all good, love. You knew we would be.” His words settle the bundle of nerves that have been in my stomach all day. Watching him uncork and pour two large glasses of wine also help abate some of the nervousness.
“Cheers!” We clink our glasses together and drink, knowing that we can go ahead and start booking parties for the end of the upcoming summer. In a mere six months, we’ll be hosting our first wedding. All of a sudden, a new knot of nerves bunches where the previous one had been.
Owen feels me tense in his lap and he rubs his hand over my back. “Relax, Elle,” he coos into my ear before turning my face to meet his. “Remember when this whole thing started?” I nod at his question, seeing exactly where his line of reasoning is going to go. “You thought you couldn’t land an investor. You thought I would walk away. You thought there was no way in hell we could make us work. And yet here we are.” His broad smile eases away any lasting concerns I may have had.
Nuzzling into his shoulder, I relax against him. “You’re right, babe. With you, anything seems possible.”
“Anything?” he arches a seductive eyebrow. “You up for a round of cellar sex?”
Slapping him on the chest, I gasp, “Owen Christopher Carmichael, you make it sound like some kind of hardcore BDSM thing when you call it cellar sex.”
He purrs against my neck. “Hmmm….I wouldn’t mind tying you up.” Despite my protests from moments ago, the thought of him holding me hostage down here sends shivers across my skin. “See, I knew you secretly liked the idea.” His husky laughter sends a new round of goose bumps skittering everywhere.
“As much as I’d love to, we can’t. Your mother– ” his blank stare cuts my sentence short.
“Way to throw ice on it, sweetheart,” he jokes.
Standing from his lap, he adjusts himself behind his pants. “We need to be at Romano’s in a half hour to meet your mom for dinner. Or did you forget it’s her birthday?”
His movements take on a sudden hurried rush. “Uh, no. Of course I didn’t,” he offers a lame-ass excuse, clearly indicating that he had in fact forgotten his own mother’s birthday.
Lacing our hands together, I pull him away from his work. “It’s okay. That’s why you have me,” I quip as we leave the cellar together.
***
By the time we make it to the restaurant, Owen’s mom is already there. She stands to greet us, tapping the face on her watch as she does. “Sorry, Mom,” he says as he leans in for a kiss on the cheek.
“Yeah, yeah,” she laughs him off, moving to his side to greet me. “Elle, you look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Ms. Carmichael and happy birthday.”
Shooing away my formality, she pulls me into a tight embrace. “It’s Celia. Please stop with the Ms. Carmichael crap.” My cheeks turn pink at her admonishment, but my heart swells. She’s always made a point of making me feel welcome, even that first day I showed up at her doorstep to drag Owen to work. Never having had a close relationship with my own mother, I’ve really come to enjoy the one Celia and I are cultivating.
After the waiter takes our orders, Celia clears her throat and holds up her glass of water. “I know it’s my birthday and all, but I’d like to propose a toast.” We raise our glasses, letting her say her piece. “Cancer sucks,” she laughs, flipping her middle finger oh-so-discreetly at the invisible beast that was her cancer. Her spunky attitude is one I admire so much; it’s the same one I see mirrored in Owen.
He laughs, adding, “Sure does, Mom. Hear, hear.” He raises his glass, thinking that’s the end of her speech.
“I’m not done,” she chides, shooting him a rueful look. “So, like I said, cancer sucks, but I kicked its ass!” Her smile could light up the night sky. Reaching over next to me, I squeeze Owen’s hand in mine. He grins broadly at his mom, his eyes shining with all the emotion he feels for her. “Today marks six months of being cancer free and I couldn’t be happier.”
We both wait for her to clink her glass to ours, not wanting to cut her short. “This is the perfect way to celebrate, Mom.” Owen’s voice is filled with love and appreciation.
“There’s no one else I’d rather spend my birthday with.” Her voice is sweet and kind as she smiles at me. “And you’re not so bad either,” she adds jokingly, looking at Owen.
“Very funny,” he rolls his eyes, taking his pinot noir from the waiter.