Limelight (Vino and Veritas)

by E. Davies

  I snort with laughter. Crouched on tiptoe like I am, I nearly fall over. “I’m like, the opposite of what he’s looking for.” I told everyone pretty clearly when I left that that was it.

  They didn’t believe me at first, but four years of total silence has persuaded them.

  “I told him that.” Roxy laughs. “Oh, to be twenty and dumb again.”

  “No way. I’ll take going-on-thirty and… well, still dumb.” It was glamorous and exciting and made me feel like I was important, but then I saw the walls closing in around me.

  At least I’m me now. I’m here, in the wide open free air.

  “Yeah,” Roxy murmurs, then clears her throat. The nostalgia fades as she tells me, “Right, I’ve got a bunch of calls to make. Look after yourself, hey?”

  “You too.” I smile and straighten up, fiddling with the hose to make sure it’s still fed by liquid and hasn’t run dry yet. “Tell Minnie I said hi—and good catch.”

  Roxy laughs. “Will do. See you later.”

  When I hang up and pocket my phone, I have a lot to think about. The minutes slide by until I’m done racking. All the clear, good stuff in the fermenter goes into one tub, and all the cloudy remnants into another.

  Over time, as things settle, it’ll all become clear.

  I can’t help myself. Once the product is all safe and sound, I scrub my hands and then head to the tasting room.

  It’s decorated, unlike the spartan brewing area. Accidents out there are frequent and sticky, but in here it’s warm and cozy. I’ve got long, plush benches and little dark wood tables, a bar top made from reclaimed wood… and up on one wall, a guitar.

  Not my best or most expensive. Nothing that would stand out and look too professional. But it’s my favorite, an old Cort I bought in Europe on our first international tour.

  Before I know it, she settles into my hands like a dream.

  I strum a chord, and then another. I close my eyes and let the melody out. It’s from Found Love, our first solo. It’s a sharp pop rock song, but in my hands, it’s almost a ballad.

  My chest is full and my palms are warm with something I haven’t felt in a long time. Then I stop myself and shake my head, the last note fading into thin air.

  What am I doing? Caleb will be coming over in just a few hours, and I haven’t even showered yet. I have a whole floor to mop, yards of stainless steel to polish. The meadery has to be spotless for this date.

  For the first time in a long time, my heart wants something that money can’t buy. Someone. Caleb—and then I picture the little open book emoji he added next to his name in my phone book, and I smile.

  Yeah. I want him.

  7

  Caleb

  If anyone’s Cinderella in this picture, I think it’s me. I snuck out at lunch today to get my hair trimmed, ironed my nicest white shirt and black trousers, and I’ve been drowning my lips in Vaseline.

  You know, just in case.

  I haven’t put this much effort into my appearance since high school prom. But my big night at the ball is going to be pretty unconventional. For a start, the carriage is a white pickup truck, and as far as I can tell, the ball is happening in my date’s garage.

  It doesn’t matter to me. The most important thing is who I’m sharing the night with, and he grins as he pulls up outside my apartment. I’m already waiting on the sidewalk, wrapped up warm in a puffy jacket and gray stretchy gloves.

  Because he’s literally the perfect man, Tag makes a move like he’s about to climb out to open the door for me. But I’m too excited to wait for him. I shake my head and rest my foot on the truck step, hauling open the cab door and flinging myself inside.

  “Hi—” I start, but before I can even get into the truck, I’m met with a warm tongue and furry chest. And I’m not talking about Tag. Someone’s already in my seat, furiously wagging her tail. That someone has a loud bark, and she’s not afraid to use it.

  “Oh!” I squeak and nearly fall backward off the step as Queenie lunges at my face to lick me, whining with excitement.

  Tag lunges toward me, but the seatbelt clicks tight and he stops short. Still, his hand is just close enough that when I flail for his hand, he grabs on tight and hangs onto me.

  His strong fingers don’t even slip for a moment. With him supporting my weight, I finally grab the edge of the door. My heart is racing a mile a minute, and I lose myself in a breathless giggling fit as the adrenaline hits.

  “Queenie, no! Down, girl. Floor,” Tag orders her.

  The gorgeous chocolate Labrador doesn’t want to listen. Her ears go back as she whines in protest.

  “I mean it. Floor.”

  She reluctantly skulks into the footwell, still furiously wagging her tail as she grins up at me.

  I snort with laughter. “This is your dog? You’re right. She really wanted to meet me.”

  “My dog? Nah, I just borrowed her for the night so I’d look like a well-rounded guy.” Tag’s eyes sparkle mischievously.

  “Shut up,” I giggle, then realize I’m still holding his hand. And I really like it, but there are significantly less awkward ways to do it than perching on the truck step wrenching his arm out of the socket. Also, I’m sure it would be even better without gloves. “I mean, h-hi.”

  I finally let go of him and wipe my face with the side of my arm. I was hoping to be kissable for this man, not his Labrador.

  Tag’s face is flushing crimson. It’s adorable, watching the red flush from his beard straight to the tips of his ears. “Hi. I’m so sorry. I should have left her at home.”

  “No,” I laugh as the rush fades. I finally close the door after myself and reach for the seatbelt. “It’s okay. Better to get the most important meeting out of the way.”

  Once I’m buckled in, I lean over to scratch Queenie’s head. She’s a chocolate Labrador with soulful brown eyes. Her tail solidly thumps the floor, and she licks my wrist, wriggling like she wants to get into my lap.

  “I think that’s a yes from her.”

  “I’d say.” Tag’s teeth flash in a grin. “That’s the first boyfriend requirement met.”

  Boyfriend requirement? My pulse flutters in my throat. He’s thinking long-term, too. It takes all I have not to squeal out loud. Instead, I purse my lips and arch my eyebrows playfully.

  “Is that so? Is there going to be a test you haven’t told me about?”

  “I-I mean…” Tag trips over his tongue as he releases the parking brake and checks over his shoulder. “Uh, no, there’s not a test.”

  “What are the other requirements?” I tease him, but apart from flirting, I’m genuinely curious.

  His eyes flick sideways to me as he takes a moment to compose himself, then pulls into traffic. “I don’t have a list, but if I did, you’d meet it.”

  Damn, my mysterious man is keeping his cards close to his chest. But it’s okay, because his voice is a rumble that does things in my pants. Great things.

  “Good.” I grin, hoping I don’t sound as blissed-out as I feel.

  I’m a giggly mess the moment Tag turns his deep eyes to me. Like I’m drunk all of a sudden, before I’ve even had a sip. My hands are all tingly, and my head is floating in a cloud, or maybe another universe. It’s intoxicating just sharing space with Tag, finally alone.

  Nearly alone, as a nose pressing into my knee and wide, adoring brown eyes remind me.

  “How old is she?”

  “About nine months,” Tag tells me. “Every time I think she’s done growing, she’s even bigger. But she still thinks she’s a lap dog.”

  Hearing the affection in his voice just makes my heart flutter like a newly-emerged butterfly. It’s a relief to find out how much of a dog person he is. Animals don’t have any motivation to lie about who a person is, and Queenie trusts Tag.

  Despite all my brothers’ worrying, my instincts aren’t bad. It’s only experience I’m lacking… and somehow, I don’t think I’ll be lacking it for very long.

  I’ve fou
nd a catch and I plan to hang onto him.

  When we pull down his driveway, I can’t help staring around. There are so many pretty old farmhouses around Burlington, and Tag’s place is no exception.

  The first building on the left looks like a barn. It’s painted a cheerful, yet traditional dark red. A sign hangs above the door that reads Silver Crown Meadery, with a logo I’m sure I’ve seen before.

  On the right stands a yellow farmhouse with a brick chimney, dark roof, and blue-edged windows and white shutters. The front porch is screened in with white trellis, and garden beds underneath hint at plants that grow over the top in the summer.

  Attached to the side of the house is a small white garage, which is where the driveway leads. Tag presses a button attached to the sun visor, and the door rolls up.

  All three buildings are set among trees that are flush with the last of the red, orange, and yellow maple leaves that mark the turning season. Winter is close. I can just picture the postcard scene when the snow settles on the huge lawn that surrounds the farmhouse to every side.

  This is cozy. It couldn’t be more different from my little rented apartment in the city, but just ten minutes’ drive away. How crazy is that?

  Queenie puts her paws on the door handle so she can see out the window, wriggling around with excitement. She obviously knows we’re home. Her tail thumps my leg insistently.

  “She’ll run around a bit when we let her out,” Tag warns me and grins. “Don’t worry. It’s fenced in, and she loves supper too much to run far.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” I laugh. Sure enough, when we pull into the garage and Tag switches off the truck, I open the door and Queenie flies out at airplane velocity.

  I laugh, twisting in my seat as I unbuckle. She’s prancing around the driveway, barking and sniffing here and there. “What a character.”

  “She is,” Tag murmurs fondly. He opens his own truck door and smiles, all his attention on me. “So, shall we?”

  Suddenly, the excited nerves return. I spent most of today lost in this feeling, but it vanished with a sweet overgrown puppy begging for scratches. Now it’s back—and full force.

  I swallow hard and jerk my head in a nod. “Yes,” I whisper. “Let’s.”

  Tag leads the way out of the garage, hitting the button to close it after us. We head for the meadery as I steal a moment to look around. Despite the chill in the air and the evening darkness closing in, the property looks so big and private.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I tell him. “I love this place.”

  Tag smiles. “Thanks. I bought the farmhouse and barn about four years ago when I moved. Fixed it up a little bit myself before admitting I didn’t know what I was doing.” He flashes an open grin. “Took another year to get people in to renovate everything. But it’s worth the work.”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, and I find myself brushing against his shoulder as we come to a halt in front of the meadery door. I try to pull away hastily, but Tag takes my hand in his as he fumbles with his keys to flip the right one to the top.

  His big hand around mine makes my heart squeeze tight with excitement. It’s a quiet promise, but I don’t know what exactly he’s promising me. Whatever it is, I’m on board.

  We walk into the tasting room. It’s elegant and cozy, with dark wood all around the room, plush purple velvet seats on the benches, and a gorgeous bar top. The light fixtures are gold and glass spirals, and on one wall hangs a beat-up old guitar.

  If this were a classy little bar downtown, I’d come here every night. How didn’t I hear about this before?

  Before Tag closes the door, Queenie slips inside and finds a spot on the floor to curl up and put her chin on her paws.

  “Wow,” I murmur. “This is amazing.”

  “Thanks. Again, hah.” Tag pulls away from me and heads behind the bar, lifting bottles onto the bar top. His eyes are alight, an excited little smile on his lips as he fetches glasses, too. “We’ll just try a few things. I’m sure accounting with a hangover isn’t fun.”

  “But worth it,” I grin. “Where should I sit?”

  “Wherever you like. You’re the guest.”

  I choose a table for two with high, wooden stools upholstered in that same plush purple. Then Tag carries over a bottle and a few glasses. “If you hate it, you don’t have to pretend. I won’t be offended.”

  “I’m sure I’ll love it,” I promise, rummaging in my pocket for the carefully folded squares of printed poetry, unfolding and laying them flat on the table. “Same goes for my poems.”

  “Ah, but I’ve tried them before,” Tag tells me with another sparkling, heart-melting grin. “I already know they’re to my taste.”

  Then he sits across from me, so close that the insides of his knees brush the outsides of mine. I’m not quite done marveling over how so many sparks can rush through my body at once when he holds up a glass.

  “To new beginnings.”

  “T-To beginnings,” I whisper and sip the amber-colored liquid.

  I expect something super-sweet, but I blink with surprise as a crisp, yet fruity taste washes across my palate. I can taste the layers of flavor like a good local honey, but not the sugar.

  “Wow,” I whisper. It’s just as well that I don’t even have to pretend to love it. “That’s amazing.”

  Tag beams at me. “That’s what I like to hear. Now, choose a poem that goes with it and hit me.”

  Okay, tonight is going to be awesome.

  8

  Caleb

  I love tonight so much.

  Okay, I’m probably a little tipsy. Tag has been pouring only a bit at a time, but he’s given me a dozen different drinks, and I’ve loved almost all of them.

  The one that made me wrinkle my nose was the hopped mead. It wasn’t bitter like beer, but still, the fruit ones are better. True to his word, Tag wasn’t offended at my reaction. He just laughed and told me that it’s a love-it-or-hate-it sort of thing.

  And every time I read out a poem, Tag gazes at me like he did that night we met. It seems like nothing else in the world exists when he fixes me with that stare.

  The world isn’t quite spinning around me—I don’t want to let myself get to the point where I might not remember every single glorious detail about this date. But I’m pleasantly buzzing, my laughter coming freely at all of Tag’s teasing and flirting.

  It seems like we talk about anything and everything, the conversation flowing as freely as his mead. I’m happy to share my fears and hopes and dreams, and he takes everything I say perfectly seriously.

  Hours must have flown past already. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself this much. Eventually, I feel like the end of the night must be approaching. I don’t want to check the time, but I’m growing tired.

  So before I lose my nerve, I wait for a lull in our conversation and finally bring up what’s been on my mind all night.

  “You said I’m boyfriend material. Are you looking for… another queen in your life?”

  I giggle at my own pun. He’s been telling me about the queen bees in his bee hives, and Queenie is still lying right there.

  Tag laughs richly and strokes his finger down the back of my hand. In fact, if my head is spinning, I think it’s his touch that’s doing it. All the blood in my body seems to heat up an extra degree when he does this.

  It’s very distracting when I’m trying to flirt.

  “Yeah. I think so,” Tag murmurs, not looking away from me. “What about you?”

  I nod jerkily. “I do. I’ve just struck out a lot,” I admit softly. “Everyone seems to want to start in bed and then see if they’re attracted to me in more of a… boyfriend sense.”

  Tag snorts. “I don’t need to hop in bed to figure that out,” he tells me without hesitation.

  I blush and try not to die of happiness on the spot. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Tag hesitates like he wants to say something, then sets down his glass and takes my hand in both of his. His big eyes
are serious. “I really like you. I want to keep getting to know you. And if we’re both happy after a few more dates… if that’s what you want?”

  “Then I’d let you ask me out,” I tell him and bat my lashes.

  Tag laughs again, the sound beautiful and rich. His voice just captivates me. Everything about him does, really.

  I’ve never fallen for someone like this before. I don’t know if this is how love is supposed to start—doesn’t it take longer? Shouldn’t I know everything about him first?

  My heart isn’t listening to any rules. I’m just charging in heart-first and head-last.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  Oh my God, finally! “Um, duh,” I whisper, staring at Tag. Then I blush. Is that too forward? Maybe a little. But nobody could accuse me of hiding my true feelings.

  Tag laughs and scoots his stool around the side of the table, his big arm sliding around my shoulders. I lean into him, resting one hand on his knee and the other on the low back of his stool.

  My heart pounds against my rib cage as anticipation floods my body. I’m hot all over, and I can’t deny that I’m already swelling to life down south. Arousal sweeps away every stray worry until all that’s left is anticipation.

  Tag’s lips are just inches away, his big, warm body so close. I feel at home against him, so I cuddle up and smile, turning my face up towards his.

  “Hi,” Tag whispers. His free hand rises between us, and the back of his warm knuckles brush along my jaw.

  I’m spellbound, just waiting on his move. “Hi,” I manage, my voice tiny.

  Tag’s palm flattens on the curve of my cheek, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just in front of my ear. Then he leans down, all at once, and all thought disappears.

  He’s kissing me, his warm lips sliding and seeking. I close my eyes and let him take anything he wants. I part my lips, gasping as sparks shiver through my sensitive, smooth lips. I don’t expect the bumps of his nose against mine, or the tickle of his beard, but it feels so right.