“Th-thank you,” she responded, finally. Quietly. As if she couldn’t get the breath for much more—and it was little wonder why after her altercation with the manager.
He should really go back in there.
Would have. If she didn’t beam a grin at him and turn in the direction of the path that would lead to Vos Vineyard. The path he would have already gone down if this unruly woman hadn’t dragged him from his routines in such an adorable—no, criminal—way.
“I still want to know about the alien documentary.”
“I suspected as much,” he muttered, ignoring his watch. “A few years ago, I was asked to be part of an untitled documentary film. A student film. I assumed it was a semester project, something they would be turning in for a grade, so I didn’t read the fine print on the release form.” He shook his head over such uncharacteristic negligence on his part. “They asked me to speak on camera about the timekeeping methods of the ancient Egyptians. I was not aware that my theories would, in a roundabout way, support their belief that aliens are responsible for influencing certain time-measuring devices. They got a B minus on the film, but somehow it was picked up by Netflix, and now I’m an unwitting participant in an alien documentary. My students find it all very amusing.”
“And you clearly do not.”
“Correct.” Reluctantly, he added, “It’s called Time Martians On.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth, then let it drop, giving him a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but that’s extremely clever.”
“I suppose it is,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, I was not. And now I’m on film talking about a very important subject and they’ve edited it in such a way that I appear to be . . . very passionate about the existence of aliens.”
Looking ahead, she said something under her breath. It sounded like How did I not know about this? He must have heard her wrong. And then he got distracted by the way a dimple appeared in her cheek when she tried to bury a smile. It was adorable, really, and he had the insane impulse to fit his thumb into it.
“You’re lucky I don’t have Netflix or I’d be watching that sucker tonight with a bowl of popcorn.”
“Don’t have Netflix?” He couldn’t hide his shock. “Their documentary section alone is worth the membership, Time Martians On notwithstanding.”
“Oh no,” she deadpanned. “I can’t believe I’m missing out on all that excitement.” Whatever his expression—he guessed it was affronted—it made her giggle, the sound making him swallow thickly. “Oh, come on. There are worse things to be passionate about,” she said. “At least it wasn’t a Bigfoot biopic.”
The giggling was over, then? “That’s the only silver lining.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Amusement spread across her face, and a corresponding ripple went straight through him. “It was kind of nice watching Tweed Twit get starstruck in the midst of his tirade against me.”
They’d reached the beginning of the trail leading to the vineyard. He needed to wish her a good rest of the weekend and be on his damn merry way. But he hesitated. The full half an hour hadn’t passed yet. Changing his plan of action twice in one morning would throw him off even more, wouldn’t it? Yes. So he might as well keep talking to her. And ignore the relief sinking into his gut.
“Where did you go to high school?” He asked the question without thinking about it. Because he was genuinely curious, not just making the necessary small talk as he tended to do with women. He needed to know where a woman like Hallie sprang from.
A few beats of silence dragged out. Very briefly, her smile dimmed, and his stomach dropped with it. “Napa High,” she said, continuing on without giving him a chance to process that bombshell information. “You would have been three years ahead of me, I believe. A cool senior.” Her shoulder jerked. “I’m sure our paths didn’t cross very often.”
But they obviously had.
And he’d forgotten? How?
Who wouldn’t remember every detail of Hallie?
This was why she’d been disappointed in him the first time they’d met. Now he’d made the blunder twice. He’d be terrible at the job of full-time provider of smiles for this woman.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Stop.” Cheeks red, she waved off the apology. “It’s fine!”
Uh-oh. Not fine. Definitely not fine. He needed to get that smile back on her face by the time they parted ways, or he wouldn’t sleep tonight.
“Let me guess,” he said, equally determined to find out more about her. For reasons that couldn’t possibly be wise. “You were in drama club.”
“Yes. But only for a week. Then I tried playing the trombone in the marching band. For a month. Then I got a pair of nonprescription horn-rim glasses and joined the newspaper. And that was only sophomore year.” She looked into the distance at the rows of grapes on his family’s property, the sun bathing the earth in gold. Bathing her in gold. Her cheeks, her nose, the wild ringlets buried among the bigger curls on her head. “By junior year, my grandmother had gotten ahold of me. Helped me settle down.”