My Favorite Night by Claudia Burgoa

Author:Claudia Burgoa [Burgoa, Claudia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Literally Alpaca Publications, LLC

Chapter Five

Caspian

We Spearmans tend to gather strays and adopt them as part of our family. We did that with Benedict Farrow. Since he’s like a little brother, it’s easy to text him something like: I’m going to be entertaining your friend. Make sure to disappear for a day or two.

Did I get a warning back?

Of course. He told me not to be a fucking asshole to Rys—she’s not a fan of his.

That intrigues me since Ben is the friendliest person on the planet. But he’s a secondary character in this escapade, so I don’t even bother to ask Rys what her deal is with Benedict. We spend the afternoon on the veranda just outside the master bedroom of the guest house. I’m glad Mom went on a retreat with my aunts. No one will interrupt us tonight.

“If I ever retire, I’ll move to a place like this,” she says, drinking some water.

She stopped accepting wine after the third glass. It’s a shame because our wines are some of the best in the world. But it’s also good because if anything happens between us, I want her sober.

“You’re welcome to visit,” I offer.

“This town would be perfect if there’s a small hotel around.”

“Where are you staying?”

She checks her watch and then her phone. “In San Francisco. We didn’t find any rooms available around the area—”

I interrupt her. “It’s festival season. The next time you want to come, call the vineyard. Someone will be able to tell you what’s happening around town.”

She nods, and I finally dare to ask about the small tattoo she has on the inside of her left arm. “Is that a constellation?”

Rys stares at her ink and sighs. “It’s Ursa Minor.”

“What’s the story?”

“Do I have to have a reason?”

“There are three reasons a person gets a tattoo. They’re drunk, they’re sad, or they’re in love.”

“In love?”

“You could be in love with the idea of something, not necessarily a person. Which one is it?”

She moves the pendant that she’s wearing. It’s a P.

“Was his name Peter, Paul, Princeton…”

“Ha, it’s not a guy. My name is”—her voice trails off—“it’s not important.

“Your name starts with a P, and the constellation has to do with it?”

She nods after a couple of seconds. “My name is Polaris Vega—I’m named after Ursa Minor. My parents call me Polly, but I use Rys.”

“That’s a beautiful name and a great reason to have a tattoo.”

“So how many tattoos do you have because you were…what was it?”

I laugh. “A few of them were done because I was sad.” I pull up my shirt and show her the black and white milky way tattoo on my chest, which also has the date when Dad died.

She traces it, and I shiver. “This is beautiful and meaningful.”

It is the only non-stupid tattoo I have and the tenderness in her eyes makes me take her into my arms and kiss her.

Our lips meet, and then I pull her closer, embracing her into a tight hug. Our tongues intertwine.

I breathe into the kiss I’ve wanted to give her since we were in the tasting room.

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