CHAPTER TWELVE

      “YOU CAN’T JUST SAY bucket list and assume it’s the end of the discussion.”

      Nichole was walking a step ahead of him now, laughing over her shoulder as they approached the intersection.

      “Sure I can,” he answered, watching with satisfaction as she turned an arched brow on him, her mind about as far from the two guys who’d torn up her life as possible. This … now … it was about them.

      “Sure I can?” she demanded, that one betraying curve at the corner of her mouth spurring him on.

      “Uh-huh.” Reaching the corner, he moved into her space, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her against him as he reached around her to flag a cab a block down. “You know you can’t resist this face.”

      “Garrett,” she growled at him, in a way that was more laughter than anything else.

      “Nichole,” he rumbled back against her ear, loving how her body almost melted into his as a result. “It’s Crush, Napa Valley. A single weekend a few months from now. I want to take you.”

      They’d have fun. Hit a handful of wineries. Get drunk on each other for a few nights out of town.

      “Trust me, Nichole. It’ll be amazing.”

      “I do trust you. Trusting you isn’t the problem. It’s just—”

      “What? It’s just a weekend. Two like-minded adults, on the same page, getting away for a little not-so-serious fun.” He nuzzled her ear, catching the shell in the light grasp of his teeth for barely a second and then pulling away. “Say yes.”

      Her breath was soft and warm against his neck.

      “I’ll think about it, Garrett,” she whispered as a cab slowed to a stop behind them. “How about that?”

      “Perfect.”

      For now. He had plenty of time to convince her.

      Nichole glanced at her nightstand and let out a frustrated sigh. Three a.m. and still her mind wouldn’t slow down enough to sleep. And it had nothing to do with the coffee she’d had after dinner. Her thoughts had been ping-ponging around her head for half the night. Working out justifications. Trades. Negotiations with herself to ensure this tightrope of emotional investment she was walking didn’t trip her up and cause her to fall.

      Garrett had said they were on the same page, in the same place. And maybe if Paul and Joel hadn’t come up that evening she wouldn’t have thought twice … but, oh, she really didn’t want to fall. She didn’t want to be the one who got swept away. The one who cared too much.

      What she wanted was everything to continue on with Garrett the way it was. Her remaining just this side of in too deep. The place she already stood. Without Garrett taking her on some romantic weekend getaway.

      To Napa.

      They’d talked about wine a few weeks ago—Garrett’s surprise years ago on discovering his appreciation and interest in it, her curiosity about what set one vineyard apart from another, her amazement at the idea of air infused with the scent of fresh picked grapes.

      And now he wanted to take her to wine country for Crush.

      It would be incredible. Romantic. Fun.

      They could find a little bed-and-breakfast. Rent bicycles or take the wine train. They could roll around in bed all night. Laze around through the morning.

      Make love.

      Sure, it was more than a few hours out with a group of friends and then a night spent getting creative between the sheets. More than laughing on her couch as they talked the night away. More than some quick kiss before darting out the door at the break of dawn to hit an early meeting. It was intimacy on an extended basis. The kind of romantic with the potential to rock the status quo.

      Garrett understood her fears. Knew what held her back. He’d whispered in her ear that she didn’t need to worry about their relationship going too far. That even if she got carried away he’d keep his feet on the ground. That she could count on him.

      Closing her eyes against the yawning void of night, she drew a deep long breath and pushed it out. Tried to let her body go lax and find a quiet spot in her mind. Only she couldn’t stop thinking.

      About the way they talked. Laughed. And played.

      About how she felt when they were together.

      She knew she could trust Garrett. But she was beginning to wonder if she could trust herself.

      Garrett threw an arm over his eyes and let out a feral growl.

      It wasn’t like he and Nichole spent every night together.

      They only saw each other three or four nights a week. Okay, sometimes five. But it had become something of a standard when they did get together … they stayed together. And he liked it.

      Last night he’d dropped her at home, though, without even an attempt at going in. He’d seen that flash of panic in her eyes at his Napa suggestion and recognized what she needed was a little time to get used to the idea. To let it sink in that they could make plans for a weekend in the future without the worry of it being about building a future together. She needed to trust in both of them so she could enjoy what they had to its fullest potential.

      She’d come around, he knew. But he’d figured the space would help.

      Only now he’d been awake all damn night.

      At four forty-five it didn’t even make sense to keep trying to sleep.

      On a grunt, he jackknifed up from the bed, swinging his legs over the side as he scrubbed a palm over his jaw.

      How the hell was he going to make it through the day? He had meetings scheduled back-to-back until six. He’d never make it. Not like this.

      If it were just the sleep deprivation he’d be fine. Hell, with the load he’d been carrying these last years he was no stranger to pulling all-nighters. But the lack of sleep coupled with this other problem—this hunger and ache that seemed to have permeated every damn cell in his system …?

      Yeah, that was going to get in the way.

      He had to do something.

      Twenty-five minutes later Garrett was standing outside Nichole’s door, a tray of espressos in one hand and a bag of Danish in the other. Balanced on one foot, he kicked