Simply Irresistible Page 3

  He paused, as Jules plastered on a smile. OK, so this wasn’t the ideal reunion, but she could flirt and charm with the best of them, even with an extra grande whip mochachino smeared across her shirt.

  But Reeve just gave her a vague smile, as the silence stretched.

  Wait, did he not remember her name?

  Her jaw dropped. “Jules.” She reminded him tightly.

  “Right.” Reeve said politely, and Jules’ worry about embarrassing herself was quickly replaced with a fresher, hot emotion.

  Rejection.

  “We met yesterday. You kissed me,” she added pointedly.

  Cassie burst out in surprised laughter beside them, but Jules didn’t take her eyes off Reeve’s annoyingly handsome face. “In the rain,” she continued brightly. “Up at your vineyard. Ring any bells yet, or do you go around kissing strangers so often, we all just blur into one?”

  Reeve’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. “I think I recall something like that,” he said, with a lazy drawl.

  “What a relief,” she snapped back. “And there I was, thinking I was entirely unmemorable. Nice to meet you, Cassie,” she said, turning away from him before her self-esteem could take another hit. “I’m going to go clean up.”

  And she turned on her heel, held her head high, and walked away with as much dignity she could manage for a woman with chocolate syrup dripping off her chest.

  Reeve Hastings watched Jules march away and stifled a groan of annoyance. And frustration.

  What the hell was she doing here? She’d said she was just passing through town. It was the only reason he’d gone and lost his mind, and kissed her in the rain.

  That, and the fact he couldn’t not kiss her.

  “Wes said to invite you to dinner sometime,” Cassie’s voice came, drawing him back. She was smirking in amusement. “Come on over tonight, because clearly, there’s a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Thanks but I’ve got plans,” Reeve replied. He wouldn’t have minded catching up with old friends, but he wasn’t in the mood for gossip—especially not when it was about him.

  “Too bad.” Cassie beamed. “Another time then.”

  He gave a vague nod. “I better go,” he said, already backing away. “I have to go drop off a package—”

  “The postal counter in town closed last year,” Cassie stopped him. “You have to go into Wellfleet now.”

  Reeve stopped. “Oh. Thanks.”

  “Anytime. And I’ll be calling you about that dinner!”

  Reeve headed back to where he’d parked his dad’s old truck, which was run-down and sorely in need of repairs. Just another thing on his to-do list now, the list that was growing longer—and more expensive—by the day.

  So, the post office had closed. And the old coffee joint. There was a new sign over the pub, too, and as Reeve drove out of town, he noticed a dozen other details that didn’t match up with his memories.

  He should have guessed things would change. It had been twenty years, after all.

  Twenty years since he’d left, and sworn that he was never stepping foot back in Sweetbriar Cove again.

  * * *

  Reeve dropped off the package and headed back to the vineyard, taking in the ocean breeze. It wasn’t all bad on the Cape, he knew. In summer time, there was the scent of salt and suntan lotion wafting in the air; the sandy highway full of beachgoers and sightseers, loaded up with their coolers and kid’s toys. The ocean sparkled just beyond the trees, and he knew that the juiciest burger around was waiting at a roadside stand just up the Cape, perfect after a day spent out on the water.

  But it wasn’t the local amusements that had kept him away all these years.

  Reeve turned off the highway, trying to ignore the knot that formed in the pit of his stomach every time he drove up the winding driveway to the house.

  The Hastings Family Vineyard.

  He had to give a hollow laugh at the sign. Family. That was rich. This place had been his father’s dream, but it had turned in to an obsession that had torn their family apart. Now, Reeve was left to try and clean up the mess, but he didn’t even know where to begin.

  He pulled up outside the main lodge and called his sister, Margo. “I just mailed you some things for dad,” he said, heading inside. “A couple of books, his spare glasses.”

  “Thanks,” Margo said, sounding distracted. “Lucy, gentle!” she called. “Remember, soft hands with the puppy.”

  Reeve smiled. His sister’s house was always teetering on the edge of chaos, with two kids running around, several pets, and now their father, Frank, in residence, too. “How’s he doing?” he asked reluctantly, as he headed inside.

  “Better,” Margo replied. “His physical therapy is going well, the doctors say we were lucky, the stroke won’t leave any permanent damage.”

  “You’re a saint to take him in.”

  “It’s nothing. There’s a rehab center right here, and you know the kids love him.”

  “Still. I appreciate it,” Reeve said sincerely. They’d got the call about his health scare just a week ago, and Margo hadn’t hesitated to offer up her guest room until Frank was back on his feet. “God knows the man doesn’t have anyone else to take care of him,” he added. “There’s been no calls, nobody asking how he’s doing. Apparently, he’s barely stepped foot in town these past few years except to give everyone a hard time.”

  Margo sighed. “Let me guess, he’s been closeted away in that wine cellar, obsessing over the grapes.”

  “Looks like it,” Reeve glanced around at the dusty floors and smudged, dirty windows. “He definitely hasn’t been keeping the place up, that’s for sure. It’s like a ghost town around here.”

  “That reminds me, he said the insurance people need to sign off on the fire damage. The paperwork should be there somewhere.”

  “You mean, buried under the mountain of letters he hasn’t opened in a year?”

  Reeve’s response must have been sharper than he thought because Margo paused. “I’m sorry you got stuck with this,” she said in a quiet voice. “You have your whole life out in California, and I know that vineyard is the last place you want to be.”

  He felt a stab of guilt. “It’s fine,” he lied. “Look, I better get back to it. I’ll wire you some money, to cover dad’s bills.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Reeve hung up. He crossed through the empty, dim tasting room and into the restaurant-style kitchen—which now was cluttered with boxes and old equipment. He went to the fridge, and remembered, too late, that it was empty. He’d meant to pick up groceries in town, but running into Jules like that had scrambled all his plans.

  What was it about that woman, and her knack for showing up at just the wrong time?

  He’d been in the worst mood from when she’d breezed in yesterday, all damp brunette curls and dangerous curves under that wet T-shirt. He’d just about given himself a headache trying not to stare—and to keep up with her dizzying switch from charm, to anger, to a torrent of emotional confession. And just like that, he’d forgotten about his own troubles: lost for a blissful while in her sparkling blue eyes and that tempting, stubborn smile. Clearly, she was still smarting from that breakup, but after just five minutes, Reeve knew without a doubt that her ass of an ex would be the one left regretting it.

  She was irresistible.

  She was also the last thing he needed right now. A woman like that had ‘distraction’ written all over her, and Reeve wasn’t about to get pulled into the hurricane.

  He grabbed a beer instead, and headed outside to the back patio. The rains were long gone now, leaving clear blue skies and a warm breeze behind. Reeve took a long gulp from the cold bottle, taking in the expansive views: snaking rows of green, leafy vines, lush valleys, and fallow pastures stretching all the way down the hill and out to the edge of the woods.

  It was stunning, the kind of views you found on a picture postcard, or a tou
rist brochure, but Reeve couldn’t forget what the vineyard really represented. Five acres of soil, and sweat. Grapes and hard graft.

  His father’s dream—and his worst obsession.

  Frank had bought the property forty years ago, investing every cent the newlyweds had in the promise that the sandy, fertile soil could be cultivated for growing grapes. It was a risky bet. Grapes thrive in warmer climates, and although summers on Cape Cod were mild, the winter frosts scared off even the most experienced winemakers. But Frank Hastings believed.

  Growing up there had been paradise to Reeve, at least, in the beginning. He roamed every inch of the land with his father, learning about the soil and grapes. Summers were for tending to the vines, keeping them fed and healthy, winters were spent indoors by the roaring fire, or hiking through the brisk outdoors. But gradually, the cracks started to show. For all his dreaming, Frank couldn’t make the vines bear fruit the way he wanted, and as one failed harvest followed another, the happy, carefree days became a thing of the past.

  Reeve’s mom had begged him to give it up. The land was worth something, even mortgaged to the hilt. They could sell the property, and start their lives over somewhere else. Frank could get a real job, maybe using his expertise with one of the big wine companies, where he wouldn’t be working around the clock on a dream that seemed doomed to fail.

  But Frank wouldn’t listen. He just needed one more year, he would tell them. One more harvest, and they’d see, he was doing the right thing.

  It never worked out. The frost came too early one year, and the rains too late the next. The soil stayed too acid, or not enough. They produced a few batches of wine here and there, and even won some acclaim, but not enough to give them any breathing room. There was always new equipment to buy, new technology that his dad was convinced would turn it all around. And in the end, his mom just had enough.

  Reeve didn’t blame her. By then, he was sixteen, and tired of all the fights and tension. Tired of being ignored by his dad, and watching his mom run herself ragged trying to keep the bills paid and food on the table. She gave Frank an ultimatum: their family, or the vineyard.

  His father chose the vines.

  So, they moved across the country, near his aunt in California. His mom remarried, his sisters thrived, and his relationship with his dad soon dwindled from obligatory phone calls through college, to polite family Thanksgivings at Margo’s house, where Frank would chat enthusiastically about his latest breakthrough, and the new variety he was testing out.

  Reeve could talk about wine, at least. He had too much knowledge rattling around his brain from childhood to let it go to waste, so after working for one of the bigger wine companies straight out of college, he’d found a niche consulting Hollywood stars who wanted to launch their own private labels. His dad saw it as a betrayal, of course, and ranted about him giving a free pass to soulless corporate giants, but Reeve liked the variety, the travel, and the steady paycheck, most of all.

  He’d seen what taking risks had done to his family, and he swore that he wasn’t going to make the same mistakes his father did. The Hasting vineyard was in his past—at least, it had been, until Frank’s unexpected stroke had brought him back to Sweetbriar Cove again.

  Now, he was finding out just how far his dad’s obsession had gone these past few years. Because behind the gorgeous views and charming old buildings, the place was just about bankrupt. Unpaid bills, debts piling up… Reeve had barely scratched the surface of the piles of paperwork stacked in that dusty office, but it was enough to make him want to book a one-way ticket back to California and never look back.

  What had his father been thinking, letting things get so bad?

  Reeve looked out at the rolling green hills, with the ocean sparkling beyond, and felt another headache coming on. So much for leaving his dad to make his own bad decisions. Now, the family was counting on Reeve to pull the place together and keep him out of bankruptcy.

  How the hell was he going to fix this mess?

  3

  Of all the indignities that Jules had gone through in the past week, a random stranger pretending as if she didn’t exist should have been at the bottom of the list. But for some reason, Reeve Hastings and his blank stare had gotten under her skin, and Jules just couldn’t forget about him.

  “Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” she exclaimed again, stretched out in the sun at the town beach with Evie the next day. “He was the one who kissed me. And he acted like he’d forgotten I was alive.”

  Jules felt another pang, just recalling the vague look in his eyes. Maybe her heart was still raw coming off the breakup, but Reeve’s rejection was cutting deeper than she liked. “How is it even possible to forget something like that?” she asked, despairing. “You would remember making out with me, right?”

  “Of course I would.” Evie laughed from under her massive sunhat. With all her guests out for the day, doing touristy things, they’d decided to grab a slice of vacation themselves, and had set up on the sand with a massive umbrella, blanket, and cooler full of snacks. “Here, you need more sunscreen.”

  “Thanks,” Jules said, taking the tube, but even slathering on a fresh layer of zinc couldn’t break her focus. “I’m not saying I wanted the guy to fall to his knees and declare his undying love or anything,” she added. “But that kiss… It was memorable. It was downright epic!”

  At least, in her mind it had been. But not according to Reeve. And sure, the guy seemed like he had a lot on his mind, according to that phone call she’d accidentally overheard, but it would have to take a comet hurtling towards earth to make Jules forget a kiss like that.

  And even then, she’d probably just find Reeve for Round Two, and guarantee they went out in style.

  “I’m sorry,” Evie said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Maybe it’s for the best he’s not your Mr. Rebound,” she added. “You can actually pause for breath this time.”

  “What do you mean?” Jules glanced over.

  “Nothing,” Evie blurted quickly. “I love that you’re always willing to get back out there and look for love again, it’s just… You haven’t been single in forever.”

  “Sure I have.” Jules said automatically, stretching out in the sun.

  “You met Rory a week after that Eduardo guy left for France,” Evie reminded her.

  “To attend the super-exclusive program that I wrote his application for,” Jules winced. “He thanked me for getting him accepted, and broke up with me, all without taking a beat.”

  “Jerk-face,” Evie agreed. “And before him it was Rugged Outdoors Guy, and Smarmy Actor Dude, and the man who cat-called you on the subway—”

  “But only because he thought I was his old college friend!” Jules quickly protested. “He was a really sweet guy. Until his visa ran out, and I wouldn’t marry him for the Green Card.”

  She paused, thinking back over the past few years of dating and relationships, and all her misadventures in search of love. They couldn’t have been more different, except for one thing:

  She’d barely stopped for air.

  “You’re right,” she said slowly, realizing the truth for the first time. “I’m never single.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Evie said loyally. “You’re such an outgoing person, you always meet new people. And I don’t know how you manage to ensnare them in five seconds flat. I mean, you could teach classes. But… ” she trailed off.

  “But maybe diving headfirst into another epic disaster isn’t what I need in my life right now,” Jules said with a sigh. “And Reeve the forgetful makeout artist has ‘disaster’ written all over him.”

  Delicious disaster.

  “Look on the bright side,” Evie said, smiling. “Kissing someone passionately in the rain is like a bucket list item. You’ve got it all checked off now.”

  “Or do I?” Jules couldn’t resist one more dig. “If you kiss a guy and he doesn’t remember you, did it even happen at all?”

  Evie l
aughed. “Deep,” she said. “Now I know why you aced Philosophy 101!”

  “Who wants slushies?”

  They looked up. It was Evie’s boyfriend, Noah, wearing his Sweetbriar Cove Fire Department shirt and bearing two enormous paper cups.

  “Perfect timing, I was just getting thirsty,” Evie said, greeting him with a blushing smile. They’d been together a few months, and were definitely still in the honeymoon phase; Jules thought it was adorable to see her sensible, level-headed friend reduced to a bundle of giddy hormones, and Noah looked pretty smitten too as he gave Evie a kiss and settled on the blanket beside them.

  “How’s your busy schedule of relaxation going?” Noah asked, handing Jules a drink.

  “Great so far,” Jules replied, happily slurping the slushy ice. “We had a leisurely breakfast at the bakery, picked up some sandwiches in town, and now we’re thinking about ice cream… ”

  Noah chuckled. “So basically, you’re eating your way around town.”

  “Pretty much!” Evie agreed. “How was your shift at the firehouse?”

  “The usual,” Noah gave a casual shrug. “The big drama of the day was a dog wreaking havoc in Helen Babbingdon’s azalea patch.”

  Jules couldn’t help but smile at the gentle pace of small-town life. “Remember the last time we had to call the fire department in Boston?” she asked Evie, teasing. “Because there was a pack of drunk sorority girls brawling outside our building at 3 a.m. and we feared for our lives!”

  Noah laughed.

  “It wasn’t so funny when they started wielding their fake nails like offensive weapons,” Evie added. “Those things can take someone’s eye out!”

  “I think they did,” Jules recalled. “At least, something left one hell of a bloodstain.”

  “Luckily, you’re in Sweetbriar Cove now,” Noah said, dropping a reassuring kiss on Evie’s forehead. “No street fights allowed. Unless you count the fevered town meeting over whether to decorate with red or blue ticker-tape for the LobsterFest parade.”