As if we've done this before, everybody takes a platter or bottle or some other vessel off the granite topped kitchen island and heads out the sliding glass door to the patio. It's already set up with a long, rustic table and a mismatched collection of chairs. Candles in jelly jars line the top of the table down the middle. As I come to the door, somebody flips on set of string lights. It looks like a scene out of a movie. It’s all so rustic and sweet, yet completely perfect, I find myself almost giggling about it.
“What's so funny?” comes a voice very close to my ear. I feel a trickle of ticklish breath slide over the seam of my neck and shoulder then dribble down between my breasts. It feels like I've just been kissed.
“Nothing…” I stammer, flinching away to glance at Tim, or is it Tom? They really do look so much alike. “It's just all so pretty.”
He pauses for a second, then winks at me, a smirk curling up one side of his mouth.
“It sure is,” he says meaningfully.
My belly clenches dramatically, releasing a gush of wetness into my panties. Literally, I gasp, afraid somehow they're going to notice that I've turned into a puddle of hormones and high school stupidity right in front of them. To cover my embarrassment, I take my bowl of salad and lean over to place it in the middle of the table. As I do so, I feel someone brush against the back of my thigh, or maybe it was just the wind lifting my skirt?
Startled, I glance to my left and see one of the twins settling into a chair at the end of the table, he smiles at me, his gaze direct and unflinching. Did he just do that?
Did that really just happen?
My cheeks are hot and I feel like I can’t breathe. My panties are so wet I feel them dripping between my thighs.
I really need to get away from these men. I don't know what's happening to me, but I'm confused, almost dizzy. I feel breathless and dumb. I need to get to the other end of the table… which is now impossible. Mom, Dad, Margie and Ben all chat pleasantly together as they settle into seats on the other side of the table. Looking around, I see I've got only one choice now: sitting between Tim and Tom, and their matching smirks.
I swallow, nervous but determined to act cool. Holding my skirt deliberately around my thighs I drop into the seat, wishing I had worn something longer with more coverage. I feel both of the brothers glance at my thighs as I sit, noting the way the skirt rides up immediately and reveals my admittedly plush leg flesh.
But when I glance up to my left, he doesn't seem judging at all. His dark eyes are intense but smiling.
“I'm starving, you?” he murmurs, his voice practically a whisper.
He leans in so close I feel like he's going to reach out and touch me. My hand slides across the table, finding my glass and gripping it defensively.
“Actually, I’m pretty thirsty,” I choke out. “Did you say something about wine?”
“You’ll want to take it easy on the wine,” says a voice on the other side of me. Still, he takes my glass from my hand and fills it with a splash of the golden liquid. “This is strong stuff. Not a lot of people can handle… all of it.”
“I'm sure I can take it,” I snap back, instantly realizing how outrageous that sounds.
But now that I have said it, I don't want to retreat. I stick my chin out defiantly and take a swig. The flavor is deep and sweet; refreshing, with a little hint of effervescence. I feel it trickling through my body and remember I haven’t eaten breakfast or anything today. I was too nervous to do anything like that. Instantly I'm warm and almost as golden as the liquid itself.
“That's it,” the first brother whispers as he watches me swallow. “It's good, right?”
“Actually, it's amazing!” I breathe. I stare at the glass like it holds some kind of magical artifact. “What did you say this is? Wine? I've never had anything like it.”
“No, you haven't,” the first brother smiles. “It’s our wine. Special reserve, for special occasions only.”
The other brother refills my glass nearly to the brim.
“Special reserve?” I repeat, feeling the glass drift automatically back to my lips.
The second glass is even better than the first one. I detect almost a caramel flavoring and the bubbles tickle the back of my tongue.
“Yes, we only make a few bottles a year.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. “You added something to this? Tim?”
“No, I'm Tom,” he chuckles. “It’s what we do. On our farm, next door. Did you notice it?”
“Oh,” I mumble. I think back to the orderly rows of trees that I saw on my way in, t
he house beyond. “That's an orchard? That's your farm?”
“Only for the last hundred years or so,” he shrugs. “Course, it's a little different now, with all the trendy organic stuff. The specialty stuff. But, yeah. That's what we do.”