Page 30 of Just for Tonight

He offers his hand and I hesitate a second before I shake on the agreement. I’m thinking of the feel of his skin beneath my hands last night. The feel of his grip gives me the very best kind of tingles. I fiercely want to finish what we barely started the night before.

Just one more time.

But I won’t be the one to ask.

His smile is quick and warm. “I’m only in town one more night,” he says. “Any chance of celebrating our agreement with dinner?”

“You invite her to Patrick’s house?” Opa demands with his customary lack of tact.

“Oh, there must be a nice restaurant around.”

I don’t want to go to The Carpe Diem Café with Jake, because I know rumours will abound. Before I can decide what to say, Opa turns to me. “You must take him to that Italian place, the one that serves our wines.”

“Ah, the place with the excellent taste,” Jake deadpans and Opa steps right into it.

“The very one!” he crows. “They make their own pasta fresh every day.” He kisses his fingertips. “I send everyone there for the best meal of their lives.” He wags a finger. “You must have our Baco Noir, no matter what you order. It is best with Italian sauces.”

“If we’re celebrating détente, Opa, you should be there.”

“I will fall asleep too early. You go and have the pasta del giorno.” He smiles mischievously. “Bring me some tiramisu.”

“That would be great, if you’re free tonight,” Jake says, his gaze clinging to mine. “Sorry there aren’t a lot of options. I head back to the city tomorrow.”

“But you will be back,” Opa says.

“Not if I can help it,” Jake says with a rueful smile.

“Tonight will be fine,” I say. “Why don’t I pick you up, so we’re not both driving the same route at the same time?”

Jake hesitates only a second and I smile a little more. A guy who has a car like the one in the driveway must prefer to drive. But he nods agreement.

I pull out my phone and call up the website of the restaurant to make a reservation. “Seven? Or would eight be better?”

“Eight might be easier for me.”

“Me too.” I nod and taps, then his phone pings. It’s a confirmation of the reservation that I’ve sent without thinking and our gazes meet for a hot minute.

Caught! I shouldn’t have his email.

Opa doesn’t notice, though. “Put that thing away,” he chides me. “You spend too much time with it, like it is a lover. What you need is…”

Jake is starting to smile, evidently having guessed the direction of my grandfather’s thoughts.

“What I need is lunch, and I see that Mrs. O’Neill has left soup and sandwiches. Are you hungry?” I ask Jake. “She always makes enough for an army, so there will be plenty.”

He’s startled and doesn’t hide it quickly. I wonder how many people have been nice to him on this trip. Probably not very many. “That would be great, if it’s not an imposition.”

“Nonsense,” Opa says, seizing his cane to make for the kitchen. “I have not told you about all of the grapes yet. Look upon them. So green. So vigorous. It is the care of our family, the climate and the terroir…”

Once again, my gaze meets Jake’s in mutual understanding. I shrug and he smiles just a little, then follows my grandfather toward the kitchen. Opa is talking non-stop and his hands flying as he gestures.

Jake is going to know way too much about the vineyard by the time he finishes lunch.

I suppose it’s better than my grandfather playing matchmaker and talking endlessly about me. If he does that, I’ll talk about ice wine instead.

9

Jake