"I have a feeling nothing good ever follows those words when they're coming from your mouth," I said.

She shot me a smirk. "No, really. It's a good idea."

"Okay, what?"

"We should throw a party!"

I raised one brow, leaning my head back on the chair as I watched her. "A party? Why in the world would we do that?"

"Well," she said, sitting up completely, swinging her legs to the side so she could face me, "it seems to me the Napa community is . . . leery of you right now. It certainly couldn't hurt the Hawthorn Winery's image to obtain a better social standing in your own community. Am I right?"

"Well . . . I suppose." She was right. If I were going to have a fighting chance of bringing my family business back to life, it wouldn't help if I were the black sheep of wine country. Still . . . "How would a party help in that regard exactly?"

"It would just be a start," she said, looking thoughtful. "But word spreads, you know. If we invited some of the more influential people in the community and they felt welcomed by you, they'd be more likely to extend the same your way. Gossip has a way of making people forget the subject is a human being. Inviting people here would remind them of that. I think, innately, people want to understand and forgive."

"You give people too much credit."

She appeared to consider that, frown lines appearing between her eyes. "Maybe. But I like to think not. At least in most cases anyway." She suddenly looked vulnerable.

After taking a sip of wine, I said,  "You must be familiar with gossip."

"Well, of course. Much of my life has been in the public eye." Her expression looked pained and I had the sudden instinct to take her in my arms. I looked away, taking another sip of the buttery white wine, savoring the hints of butterscotch and pear.

"Anyway," I said, changing the subject, "how will people be reminded I'm a human being? I thought you considered me more dragon than human."

"True." She smiled. "You'd have to curb your reptilian tendencies for one night."

I chuckled, studying the shadows and highlights of her features in the dim light of the moon and the few house lights still on behind us.

"Seriously, though, I hardly have time to plan a party."

She shook her head. "No, of course not. I'd do it. It will keep me out of trouble. We could do an African safari theme! Or a tropical luau! I'll think of something perfect." She grinned, and I got a flash of that witchy little dimple. My heartbeat stuttered, and then I couldn't help the small chuckle that found its way up my throat.

"You're supposed to be helping me organize my books to stay out of trouble."

"I can do both."

I sighed. "Fine. Just wait until we get the check, please, to start spending money neither of us has yet."

"I will. Well, except for invitations. I'll pay for those. Do I have your permission to pick a date?"

"Go ahead. I can assure you I don't have any social plans on the calendar."

A few moments of silence settled between us. The mild night air was fragrant with nearby roses, the flavor of the wine crisp on my tongue, the rustle of the trees whispering all around, the iridescent mist floating in the grapevines beyond. I closed my eyes, relishing the assorted sensations, wondering when I'd lived in the moment just as I was now. Had I ever?

"Plan on restoring the pool when we get our check?" Kira asked quietly, nodding her head toward it.

"Probably not. I'd like to tear it out."

"Why? Don't you like to swim?"

"I like to swim just fine. I don't have very good memories of that particular pool. My father thought he'd teach me how to swim by throwing my puppy in to the deep end."

Kira drew in a breath. "Your puppy? Why would he do that?" she whispered.

Jesus. I hadn't thought about that in so long. Why was I remembering it now? I supposed because the pool was right in front of me . . . "I was six and I was afraid of the deep end. No matter how my father threatened me, I wouldn't get in. He would stand on the side of the pool in his damn business suit and rail at me as I cried." God, twenty-two years later and I could still feel the humiliation. "I had found this stray puppy wandering just outside our gates and begged my parents to let me keep it. They'd agreed as long as it was an outside dog only and I solely took care of it . . ." I let my thoughts wander, trying to picture that little dog I'd named Sport. It'd been a mutt, brown and white in coloring with these big trusting eyes . . .  "Anyway, we were out here for a lesson and I again refused to get in, so my father picked up the puppy who was sitting right there on the patio," I pointed my finger at the exact spot, "and threw him in. Told me either I jumped in after him, or he'd drown."

"Oh God, Grayson," Kira breathed, her hand over her mouth.

I gave her a small smile. "It was a long time ago." So why did my chest still ache as I recalled it? "I stood on the side of the pool crying and screaming as that puppy drowned, Kira. My father eventually scooped him out, but it was too late." And the guilt of that still tore at my soul. I'd been a coward. "I just wish I had it to do over again . . . I'd save him this time. I'd drown myself if I had to. But I'd save him."

"Of course you would. You're a man now, with a man's courage. You were practically a baby then," she said, moving over to sit on my lounge chair. "How did you ever learn to swim after that?"