For a moment, she was twenty-two again, full of hope and hormones, falling hard and fast, so sure that he would catch her.
And then Ian’s eyes met hers. His expression hardened.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she knew without touching him how it would feel to rest her hands on his soft gray cotton T-shirt. Her body remembered everything.
She forced herself to look away.
Kat took a step back and let Ian and Cammie have some space. The girls, oblivious to the tension, started clamoring for attention. “Money! Give us money!”
Ian reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed over a wad of singles without looking down. The girls squealed and jumped for joy.
Kat talked the girls through the process of giving change for the ten-dollar bill. Cammie and Ian stood, facing each other, staring over each other’s shoulders.
Kat cleared her throat and broke the silence. “Hey, Ian. I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Kat, Cammie’s cous—”
“I remember you.” He looked right into Cammie’s eyes.
“Great! Anyway.” Kat cleared her throat again. “Your daughters here—”
“Nieces,” he said, still staring at Cammie. “I don’t have kids.”
“Got it. Well, your nieces here strike a hard bargain.”
“Eight dollars a pint is a good deal,” the older girl informed Kat with great authority.
Ian smiled as he reached out to ruffle the girl’s hair. “Our farm uses environmentally responsible pesticides, and we give benefits to long-term employees. These go for twelve dollars a pint at the grocery store by the boardwalk.”
Kat helped herself to another berry. “I guess it’s not price gouging when it’s this delicious. This is seriously the best strawberry I’ve ever tasted.” She turned to Cammie. “You need to try one right now.”
Cammie didn’t need to try one; she remembered exactly how they tasted. She kept staring at Ian, fascinated by the mix of the familiar and unfamiliar. “You sell strawberries now?”
He paused for just a moment before answering. “I grow mostly strawberries now.”
Then he smiled at her the same way he had on the day they first met. Her breath caught. The past two years had been so full of worry and disappointment, it was a relief to feel something else: Desire. Anticipation. Wild curiosity.
She didn’t care that these feelings would never come to fruition. She’d gotten used to wanting things she couldn’t have.
“What happened to the sweet corn?” she asked.
His expression shifted ever so slightly. “You don’t like corn.”
She had nothing to say to that.
“We still grow sweet corn; that’s the big seller at the farmers’ market on weekends. But strawberries take up less land and we make a better profit.”
Cammie studied the lush red berries in Kat’s hand. “Are these the same strawberries we . . .”
He gave a brusque nod.
“You sell them?” A note of betrayal crept into her voice. “To anyone with eight dollars?”
He waited until she met his gaze. “It’s not like you were going to do anything else with them.”
Before Cammie could come up with a reply, Ian continued. “If you like the strawberries, you should try the blueberries.” He reached across the counter and took her hand. “Here.” He placed a berry into her palm.
Cammie let her hand rest in his until he finally pulled away. Then she tasted the blueberry, which was juicy and mellow, with just a trace of tartness. She didn’t have to say anything—he looked at her face and he knew.
He finally relaxed a bit. “Yeah.”
“Hey, don’t be selfish.” Kat elbowed her way into the conversation. “Share a blueberry with your beloved cousin.”
“Here.” Ian handed over a pint basket. “This one’s on me.”
Kat laughed. “First one’s free?”
Cammie could still feel the warmth of his skin against hers. They regarded one another for a moment, but before Cammie could figure out her next move, Kat started hissing in her ear. “Ask him about grapes.”
Cammie tried to hold her smile in place. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s a farmer,” Kat pointed out. “He knows about growing stuff in Delaware.”
“I’m not having this conversation right now,” Cammie muttered back.
Ian lifted one eyebrow. “What conversation?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. “Nothing.”
Kat kept widening her eyes and clearing her throat.
“We have to go.” Cammie jabbed her elbow in the general direction of Kat’s ribs. She missed, which sent her stumbling back toward the curb.
Ian stepped forward and caught her hand again. He held on a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing against the inside of her wrist.
Cammie squeezed his fingers, ready to pick up where they left off. Ready for anything and everything.
He let her go and stepped back. Then he turned and walked away.
Cammie blinked and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. She could smell the sweet, ripe strawberries in the air.
“What was that?” Kat demanded.
“That was me almost falling on my face because you weren’t where you were supposed to be.”
“You were throwing elbows,” Kat pointed out. “I’m not going to stand there and take that. Not when I have ninjalike reflexes.”
Cammie pivoted on her heel. “You got what you came for. Let’s go. Daylight’s burning.”
“Daylight’s not the only thing burning.” Kat gave her a knowing look. “Summer fling, my ass.”
“It was a summer fling! I haven’t seen that guy since the summer I turned twenty-two!”
Kat sighed and pressed the pints of strawberries to her bosom. “Star-crossed lovers, reunited at last.”
“Oh my god, for the last time, we just—”
“This is like the start of a romantic comedy! Hot local farmer, cute city girl who’s inherited a vineyard. Opposites attract. Lots of touching and glancing in the grapevines.”
“I didn’t inherit anything.” Cammie rolled her eyes. “I’m just here because you told me to come.”
“At the end, they whip up some fancy wine that’s so good, everyone in Napa cries with shame.”
“Despite the fact that the cute city girl has no clue about how to grow, harvest, or make wine?”
“Yes. It’s a miracle. They make tons of money, move to France, and live happily ever after.” Kat snapped her fingers. “We’ll call it Once Upon a Wine.”
“That’s quite a tale,” Cammie said drily.
“It could be your life.”
Cammie shook her head. “Nope. Ian would never move to France.”
“Fine, whatever. They can live happily ever after in Napa. I’m not picky.”
“Ian won’t live anywhere but Delaware.” Cammie turned her face away as she ducked into the car. “And if we could live happily ever after, we would have done that when we first met.” She took a breath. “He, um, he asked me to stay. At the end of that summer.”
“You never told me that!” Kat exclaimed.
Because Cammie had never thought she’d see him again. She certainly never thought he’d want to see her, after the way they’d parted.
Then this is it, Cammie. I asked you once, and I’m never going to ask you again.
They got back into the car, but her cousin was not about to let this juicy tale go untold.
“I’m listening.” Kat gestured to the open road stretching out before them. “Spill your guts.”
“I’ll tell you later,” Cammie lied. “Shh. I’m trying to read about tannins.”
For the next two miles, Kat continued to badger and Cammi
e continued to deflect. Then they came to an overgrown turnoff from the main road, marked with a little painted sign: LOST DOG VINEYARDS.
Kat hit the brakes and switched on her turn signal. “Ready?”
Cammie looked at the sign, looked at Kat, then back at sign. “No.”
“Too bad. Here we go.”
chapter 4
“Oh my god. It’s the Chateau of Woe.”
The pine trees and tall grass gave way to sloping hills lined with neat, orderly rows of staked plants that Cammie assumed must be grapevines. At the end of each row, there was a short, scraggly bush.
Across the field, she could see a weathered red barn with a crooked metal roof, and a small white clapboard house with green shutters and a sagging porch that looked as though it might collapse at any moment. Huge wooden barrels were stacked into pyramids alongside the barn. In the midst of all this quaintness, Aunt Ginger’s gold sedan gleamed in the sunlight. Kat parked her car next to her mother’s.
“This is . . . not what I was picturing.” Cammie made no move to get out of the car. “This looks like an abandoned summer camp.”
“A haunted abandoned summer camp,” Kat added. “And the crazed killer is still hiding out in the hayloft in the barn.”
“There’s no central air, I’m guessing.” Cammie gaped at the house’s peeling paint and ancient windows. “How much did she pay for this?”
Kat gripped the steering wheel tightly. “A lot.”
“Define ‘a lot.’ I’m going to need an actual number.”
Kat shook her head. “You don’t want to know the actual number.”
“Yes, I do. Come on, I can take it.”
Kat sat back and took both hands off the steering wheel.
“Just tell me,” Cammie said. “I’m a grown woman.”
“Fine. But remember, you asked for it.” And then Kat named a figure so impossibly high that Cammie actually felt dizzy.
“Oh no,” she murmured. “Oh no, no, no, no, no.”
“See? I told you you didn’t want to know.”
“I had no idea she even had that much.” Cammie covered her mouth with her hands.
“Me neither. Apparently, all those years she was brown-bagging lunch and using old jelly jars for water glasses, she was socking money away. Very Millionaire Next Door.”
“The millionaire next door doesn’t spend forty years hoarding money and then blow it all on a whim,” Cammie said. “How could you have let her do this?”
“Me? How was I supposed to stop her?” Kat sputtered. “You know how she gets!”
“Couldn’t you get power of attorney? A legal guardianship? Something?”
“On what grounds?” Kat demanded.
Cammie gazed at the dilapidated barn, the farmhouse, the rows and rows of grapevines that she had no idea how to care for. Then she glanced down at the wine magazine by her feet and started to laugh.
Kat scowled. “I’m glad this is amusing to someone.”
Still laughing, Cammie tried to explain. “We are so far past Wine & Spirits magazine. It’s time to pray for a meteor and a good insurance payout.”
Kat bowed her head, clasped her hands, and prepared to lead them in prayer when the screen door of the house banged open.
“Girls! You made it! Welcome to paradise!”
Ginger had always been a bit eccentric. She felt it was more important to be true to herself than to follow trends, which resulted in wardrobe choices that could be best described as bohemian and hair colors that changed with the seasons. Today, she was wearing threadbare navy leggings and a billowy purple and turquoise caftan, and had honey-colored hair shot through with a bit of silver. Her neck, ears, and wrists were heaped with gold and silver jewelry, and she appeared to be almost vibrating with energy.
Cammie turned to Kat. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Ask her.” Kat glanced away. “I’m not allowed to say.”
Ginger yanked opened Cammie’s door and literally dragged her out into the sweltering inland humidity. “Let me give you a hug, sweetie! It’s been too long since we were all together.”
Cammie struggled to regain her footing in the loose gravel. “You bought a vineyard?”
“Yes. Isn’t is fantastic?” Ginger spread out her arms to encompass the sky, the vines, the soil.
“Couldn’t we have just rented our usual beach cottage for the summer?”
“I’ve passed the beach cottage stage of my life,” Ginger decreed. “It’s time to think bigger.”
“But why? What’s going on? Kat said—”
“Kat didn’t say anything,” Kat interjected with a quick glance at her mother.
“This isn’t like you,” Cammie finished.
“Oh, but it is.” Ginger smiled serenely. “This is exactly who I am. This is what I’ve always wanted. I just didn’t have the courage to go after it. And then when I saw the doctor—”
Cammie lifted her chin, dark suspicions mounting. “What kind of doctor?”
“Um.” Ginger started up the fluffy white clouds. “An oncologist.”
“Why did you see an oncologist?” Cammie’s chest tightened.
Kat was staring down at her sneakers as fixedly as Ginger stared at the sky. “You have to tell her, Mom.”
“Tell me what?” Cammie demanded.
“Just a little scare.” Ginger’s voice was almost frantic. “No big deal.”
“You were sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t sick. They thought I was sick, but doctors don’t know everything.” Ginger sounded supremely smug.
“What?” Kat couldn’t contain herself any longer. “You were totally sick. You had pancreatic cancer!”
Cammie clapped her hand to her heart.
“I barely had pancreatic cancer,” Ginger insisted. “It hardly even qualified.”
Kat, perhaps sensing that Cammie was on the verge of passing out, hastened to explain. “I know what you’re thinking, and yes, pancreatic cancer is usually bad.”
“Terrible.” Ginger didn’t sound quite so smug anymore. “A death sentence.”
“But they caught it super early.” Kat crossed her arms, her expression both exasperated and relieved. “Mom had surgery. They got it all out; she’s fine now.”
“I’m better than fine. I’m living the dream.”
“You had surgery and you didn’t tell me?” Cammie wrapped her arms around herself. “You had cancer and you didn’t tell me? How could you?”
“It all happened so suddenly, sweetie. I went in to urgent care one night because I had a stomachache that wouldn’t go away—”
“They thought that might have been her appendix,” Kat chimed in.
“And they ended up sending me to the emergency room for a CT scan. That’s when they saw it.” Ginger lowered her voice. “A little dark spot on my pancreas.”
Cammie stopped breathing for a moment. Her aunt patted her arm.
“They weren’t sure what it was, so they decided to take it out. And it did turn out to be cancer, but it’s gone now. We caught it in the nick of time.”
“You are so lucky you had that stomachache,” Kat said.
“It’s a miracle.” Ginger tugged at the hem of her caftan. “Want to see the scar?”
“No,” Kat said firmly.
“When did all this happen?” Cammie couldn’t disguise the hurt in her voice. “Why didn’t anybody call me?”
“It happened a few months ago. I didn’t want to worry you until I knew what I was dealing with.” Ginger squeezed Cammie’s hand. “You’ve already been through so much with your mother.”
“Everything I’ve been through with my mother is why I need to know the minute either of you even thinks you might have cancer!” She turned to Kat. “You knew about this? You knew and you didn’t tell
me?”
“She swore me to secrecy.” Kat pointed at Ginger. “She made me promise.”
Cammie blinked back the hot sting of tears.
“Please don’t cry.” Ginger looked as though she was on the verge of tears herself. “I just wanted to protect you. And see? It was a good thing I waited, because I would have upset you for nothing. I would have said ‘pancreatic cancer,’ and you would have worried.”
“I would have flown out for the surgery,” Cammie said.
“And it would have been a waste of your time and money. I don’t have cancer.”
“You actually did have cancer,” Kat pointed out.
Ginger waved this away. “We’ve moved on.”
“I haven’t,” Kat said.
“Me neither,” Cammie said.
“The point is, I didn’t die. I’m alive. I’m alive and I have a vineyard.” Ginger beamed and threw out her arms. “Isn’t it incredible?”
“It’s . . . something,” Cammie murmured.
“We didn’t really know you wanted a vineyard,” Kat said. “You never mentioned it the whole time we were growing up.”
“I had more important things to focus on.” Ginger eyed her daughter’s collection of scars. “How could I possibly think about vineyards when I was trying to make sure Little Miss Adrenaline Junkie survived to adulthood?”
“Whatever. I was a great daughter.” Kat ticked off her virtues on her fingers. “I never did drugs, I never got arrested, I never dropped out of high school—”
“You cut class to go to the skate park!” Ginger cried.
“Yeah, but I graduated.”
“You dyed your hair blue,” her mother countered. “The week before senior pictures.”
“Only because you were going to make me wear pearls and that pink dress with the damn bow at the waist.” Kat appealed to Cammie. “She can’t force pearls and a pink bow on me and not expect retaliation.”
Cammie nodded sagely, but she couldn’t really relate to Kat’s teenage-rebellion phase. She had devoted her own high school years to striving. She’d wanted to look and dress and behave just like her cute, carefree classmates. Classmates who had real families and normal lives. Cammie had felt like a field anthropologist studying the customs of an exotic and emotionally volatile tribe: Flirting. Shopping. Applying three hues of eyeshadow so it looked “natural.” Bitching about your mother.
Once Upon a Wine Page 3