Just a Kiss: The Single Girls Wine Club (A Wine Country Romance #1) by Kate Kisset Page B
Authors: Kate Kisset
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think the kitchen is the best place for it, at least not with customers out front,” he teased. “Let’s get out of here. Let me take you away, or on a date or anywhere, anywhere you want to go.”
“Now?” Sarah asked. “You want me to just pick up and leave?”
“Whenever, it doesn’t matter. But make it soon.” Jamie tossed a killer mischievous grin. “I can only take so much dreaming Sarah. And I have dreamed about you. From the second I went to bed last night, to the moment I woke up, and all the hours in between. That’s what your kisses do to me.”
Sarah’s core temperature rocketed at the thought of being alone with him again, and her heart palpitated in a way that scared her, it beat so fast. She broke his gaze and stepped back, embarrassed by how much he turned her on.
“I’ve got a super busy week with the Harvest Festival,” she said. “I don’t know when I’ll have even a second to do anything.”
“Then let's go to the festival together,” Jamie said. “There’ll be lots of people there. You won’t be all alone with me.”
Sarah contemplated his mouth. Remembering the very talented way he used it the last time they were alone, made her skin hot.
“My family will be there. We donate wine and serve every year. That’s not too scary, is it?”
“It’s just that I’m serving at the festival. I’ve already committed and practically do the whole thing myself. I start the night before and bake all the way through.”
Jamie reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Then I’ll come in the night before and help you.”
“You really want to stay here all night baking?” Sarah moved her hand away. “I’m serious. Are you sure about this?”
“I am.” He took her hand.
She tried to pull away again, but Jamie held on. She gave him a sideways glance. “It’s not for the weak. It’s not even that fun. I have to make fifteen hundred cookies.”
“You can’t talk me out of it, so stop trying.” He reached his arms around her waist and pulled her into him. “You, me, here, with no customers, all alone. Sounds too good to be true.” He looked at the pastry table, started to say something and stopped.
Sarah struggled, trying to force sleep that refused to come. Her internal alarm rang at three thirty a.m. every morning no matter what, and she needed to sleep late today. At six, she lumbered out of bed and crept into the dark kitchen quietly, careful not to wake the house.
She put the kettle on and placed a bag of chamomile tea in a cup. Staying by the stove to catch the teapot before it whistled, she thought about how the plaza looked yesterday. The picnic tables and children’s play area were being scrubbed. Construction trucks with gigantic ladders held technicians who were stringing thousands of sparkly white lights through the trees. Huge spotlights were focused on a few of the stateliest heritage oaks.
She poured hot water into the cup, dawdled to the table, sat down and sipped. When she’d taken a break from the café yesterday to offer the plaza volunteer crews coffee, a lighting technician had chatted with her. He explained the plaza’s star, the magnificent palm tree, would have a special blue filter to wash it in a purple light and that the city had never spent more on any event.
After finishing her tea, sleep finally came. She woke up at four in the afternoon. The Harvest Festival would begin in less than forty-eight hours.
She reached the Vine Café, just after five. Manny would rest now and come in later for a second shift. Sarah flipped on the ovens, assembled her ingredients, grabbed her apron and got down to business. Jamie arrived when she pulled her first sheet pan out of the oven. Under the thick umbrella of butter and sugar aromas, they buzzed in their own little world with the music on low.
“Hey, you’ve got to stop eating the inventory,” Sarah said. Jamie had another one of her moons halfway in his mouth.
The
“Now?” Sarah asked. “You want me to just pick up and leave?”
“Whenever, it doesn’t matter. But make it soon.” Jamie tossed a killer mischievous grin. “I can only take so much dreaming Sarah. And I have dreamed about you. From the second I went to bed last night, to the moment I woke up, and all the hours in between. That’s what your kisses do to me.”
Sarah’s core temperature rocketed at the thought of being alone with him again, and her heart palpitated in a way that scared her, it beat so fast. She broke his gaze and stepped back, embarrassed by how much he turned her on.
“I’ve got a super busy week with the Harvest Festival,” she said. “I don’t know when I’ll have even a second to do anything.”
“Then let's go to the festival together,” Jamie said. “There’ll be lots of people there. You won’t be all alone with me.”
Sarah contemplated his mouth. Remembering the very talented way he used it the last time they were alone, made her skin hot.
“My family will be there. We donate wine and serve every year. That’s not too scary, is it?”
“It’s just that I’m serving at the festival. I’ve already committed and practically do the whole thing myself. I start the night before and bake all the way through.”
Jamie reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Then I’ll come in the night before and help you.”
“You really want to stay here all night baking?” Sarah moved her hand away. “I’m serious. Are you sure about this?”
“I am.” He took her hand.
She tried to pull away again, but Jamie held on. She gave him a sideways glance. “It’s not for the weak. It’s not even that fun. I have to make fifteen hundred cookies.”
“You can’t talk me out of it, so stop trying.” He reached his arms around her waist and pulled her into him. “You, me, here, with no customers, all alone. Sounds too good to be true.” He looked at the pastry table, started to say something and stopped.
Sarah struggled, trying to force sleep that refused to come. Her internal alarm rang at three thirty a.m. every morning no matter what, and she needed to sleep late today. At six, she lumbered out of bed and crept into the dark kitchen quietly, careful not to wake the house.
She put the kettle on and placed a bag of chamomile tea in a cup. Staying by the stove to catch the teapot before it whistled, she thought about how the plaza looked yesterday. The picnic tables and children’s play area were being scrubbed. Construction trucks with gigantic ladders held technicians who were stringing thousands of sparkly white lights through the trees. Huge spotlights were focused on a few of the stateliest heritage oaks.
She poured hot water into the cup, dawdled to the table, sat down and sipped. When she’d taken a break from the café yesterday to offer the plaza volunteer crews coffee, a lighting technician had chatted with her. He explained the plaza’s star, the magnificent palm tree, would have a special blue filter to wash it in a purple light and that the city had never spent more on any event.
After finishing her tea, sleep finally came. She woke up at four in the afternoon. The Harvest Festival would begin in less than forty-eight hours.
She reached the Vine Café, just after five. Manny would rest now and come in later for a second shift. Sarah flipped on the ovens, assembled her ingredients, grabbed her apron and got down to business. Jamie arrived when she pulled her first sheet pan out of the oven. Under the thick umbrella of butter and sugar aromas, they buzzed in their own little world with the music on low.
“Hey, you’ve got to stop eating the inventory,” Sarah said. Jamie had another one of her moons halfway in his mouth.
The
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