LITMIR.BIZ

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not that anymore. We’re beyond that, don’t you think?”

      Sam felt the color drain from his face. Thank you, tinted visor. It wouldn’t be good for Red to see the effect her rebuke had on him.

      It looked like they wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. He sighed as he took off his helmet, tucked it under his arm, and adopted a comfortable stance, hoping this wouldn’t take too long.

      Red began buttoning her shirt. “Would you mind handing me my jeans?”

      He looked around, spotting them where he had chucked them in the heat of passion, draped across a clone of Pinot Noir 943. He lifted them off the fragile cane with the utmost care. “Rather see an orphanage burn than lose one of those grape clusters,” he cracked, to the sound of crickets.

      Balancing on one foot to slip into her jeans, she gave him a disapproving look, then stumbled on the uneven ground.

      Sam’s hand shot out to steady her.

      When she was decent, he raised his helmet to his head again.

      But instead of neatly rolling the blanket and handing it to him to bungee onto the back of the bike like she usually did, she reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

      “What’s that?”

      “A to-do list,” she replied, methodically unfolding it.

      “There are apps for that.”

      Her hand holding the creased paper fell to her side. “Listen up, Owens. I’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

      “Can we talk about it later? I’ve got to get back. I got buyers from Pennsylvania coming at two to talk about a state contract.”

      She pulled her phone from her pocket. “It’s only one fifteen.”

      He checked his watch, and it occurred to him: after they’d drunk a little wine and eaten some of the bread and cheese, the boom-boom part had only lasted about five minutes.

      “Did you need more time?” He yanked the tail of his belt free from its prong with a slapping sound and hastened to close the distance between them. “’Cause we can fix that.”

      She took a step backward. “Really? You can make time for more sex, but otherwise, you’re in a hurry to get going? Sit back down for a minute. Please.”

      Aw, jeez.

      Jeez? When had he started taming his mouth around Red—in his own thoughts?

      He had no choice but to hear her out. Small price to pay for having her, no strings attached. Not that he’d even looked at another woman since the first day Doc had put the moves on him. She was all he could handle and then some.

      With a sigh of resignation, he lowered himself back to the ground and slung a forearm over a raised knee.

      Wearing a serious expression, Red tucked in her shirt and sat down across from him. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. About us. Now, you know I’m no prude. I’ve been fine with us having uncommitted sex up till now. Maybe even a little bit smug. I told myself we were different than other people. Smarter. Cooler, keeping things fresh. But it’s not working anymore.”

      Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to scrounge up another excuse why they had to get going—now.

      “Hear me out…give me the respect I deserve. We can’t go on forever like this, pretending what we have is meaningless. Hiding our relationship—”

      “Relationship?”

      “That’s what it’s called when two people share their lives over a period of time. A relationship. I’m tired of hiding what we have from our friends and families and the whole town.”

      “Whose business is it what we do behind closed doors?”

      “And in vineyards and on hiking trails? What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned bed?”

      “You make it sound so shady.”

      “Your words. Hear me out. The past few years, I’ve been busy setting up my practice, struggling to pay the rent, trying to become known. The same with you and your consortium. We’ve barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone nurture another person. But now that the craziness is winding down, things have changed. I’ve changed.”

      Sam looked longingly over his shoulder at his bike resting on its kickstand at the crest of Ribbon Ridge Road.

      He scratched his chin. “What’s wrong with being spontaneous?”

      “What’s wrong is sometimes it feels like you’re only thinking of yourself, not considering what I want. What I need.”

      Red and her logical mind. How could you disagree with the way someone felt?

      “I feel like I’m ready to take what we have to the next level. And I need to be honest with you about those feelings.”

      Sam swatted at a fly on his pant leg. If she didn’t get to that stupid list pretty soon, they’d be here all afternoon.

      He jerked his chin toward the note. “What’s it say?”

      Red cleared her throat and wiggled her cute butt on the blanket, settling in.

      Why couldn’t she have been a hairstylist or an obstetrician or something…anything but a psychologist? This was disconcertingly reminiscent of when he got sent to the Freud Squad, shortly before he was informed that it might be a good idea if he were to, in so many words, “retire early” from active duty.

      “Don’t worry. There are only three items on this list. Number one. I want us to go to Junie and Manolo’s wedding together. As a couple.”

      Relief sluiced through him. This wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought.

      He nodded curtly. “We can do that.”

      “Thank you.” She granted him a prim smile. “See how easy this is? That leads to number two. We come out as a couple.”

      “Why? Why should we care what other people think?”

      “Because it makes it real. I care about you, Owens. You’re a big part of my life.”

      “You’re a big part of my life, too. Don’t we hang out with our friends every chance we get? Didn’t I just agree to go to the wedding with you?”

      “Being together as part of a group doesn’t count when you don’t act like my boyfriend. I mean, what are we? Friends? It’s more than that. Lovers? Or what?”

      “Why the hell do we have to put a label on it?” Sam scrubbed a hand over his jaw, hiding the zing of pain when he forgot and hit the spot where he’d been zip-tied to a chair with a bag over his head, pistol-whipped, and left for dead. Compared to this, those were the good old days.

      “I’m proud of being with you,” Red was saying earnestly. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

      He looked her over dispassionately, the way he’d study a human target. Generous, yet well-proportioned curves. Exuberant laugh that made her fun to be around. Scary-smart, and not afraid to speak her mind. No wonder Dr. Sophia McDonald had been voted Clarkston’s Best Therapist the past two years running.

      “Sam.”

      He’d forgotten that a response was required.

      “Hell, yeah. What’s not to be proud of? What else do I have to do? Spell it out.”

      “Go to functions with me instead of just meeting me there. When you walk into a roomful of people and I’m there, kiss me hello. Sit next to me at parties, put your arm around me. When you leave, kiss me good-bye, or take me with you. Do you think you can do all that?”

      He lifted a shoulder in assent.

      “Third.”

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