Once Upon a Wine

by Beth Kendrick

  “This was your doing,” Kat said. “Too late for cold feet now.”

  “It seemed like such a good idea at the time.” Cammie smoothed her skirt. When she’d agreed to this, she’d been drunk on sunset and sky and the prospect of keeping the grapes alive. And wine. But over the past two days, she’d realized that the whole situation was fraught with pitfalls.

  “Come on, let’s get this over with.” Kat reached for the door handle. “I’m having dinner with my husband, you’re having dinner with the swarthy strawberry guy, and we’re all going to have fun, dammit.” She got out of the car and waited for Cammie to follow.

  “Why did I agree to dinner? Dinner’s a lot of pressure.” Cammie shut the passenger-side door with a bit more force than was necessary. “We’ll have to sit there, staring at one another, small-talking for an hour and a half, and we’ll have to deal with menus and servers—”

  “Oh, I know what this is about.” Kat smote herself on the forehead. “This isn’t really about the restaurant, is it? This is about the restaurant guy.”

  “NO.” Cammie spoke so loudly, several nearby pedestrians turned to look at her.

  “It’s okay.” Kat nodded. “Of course you’re all triggery about restaurants after what Zach put you through.”

  “This has nothing to do with Zach,” Cammie insisted. “This has to do with me. I’m just not ready for this—with Ian or anyone else. My life is complicated enough right now.”

  Kat stopped with the pep talk and started commiserating. “Listen, I’m not ready to face my lawfully wedded husband, either. But we made a commitment—well, you made a commitment—and now we have to honor it.”

  They stood on the sidewalk, Kat in jeans and a blouse, Cammie in a flowery dress, both of them primped and powdered and petrified. Kat grabbed Cammie’s elbow and hustled her into the cozy café. “And remember: If you can get him talking about farming, everybody wins.”

  They entered the café and spotted Ian at a table by the back wall. Cammie smiled, though just the sound of clattering silverware from the kitchen made her heart rate pick up. He stood to greet them. She sat down next to him and picked up her menu with trembling hands.

  He noticed the shaky hands. She noticed him noticing and put down the menu.

  He directed his attention to Kat. “We’re meeting your husband, right?”

  “Yeah. Josh.” Now Kat looked edgy. She kept glancing at the doorway.

  Cammie tried to reassure her. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute. You know how bad beach traffic is on Friday evenings.”

  “Where’s he driving in from?” Ian asked.

  “Maryland,” Kat said.

  “But you live here?”

  Kat’s smile was as huge as it was fake. “Just for the summer. We’re figuring out a few things.”

  Ian turned to Cammie and wisely changed the subject. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks.” She knew it was her turn to make small talk or ask a question, but she had no idea what to say.

  Kat jumped in on her behalf. “So, Ian! Did you always know you wanted to be a farmer?”

  Ian shrugged. Cammie could see the faintest trace of sunburn near the collar of his shirt. “My parents made me get up every morning at four thirty to check the fields and feed the horses, so yeah.”

  “But you like it?” Kat persisted.

  He seemed confused by the question. “That’s what my family does. We’ve had the land for generations and it’s not going to farm itself.”

  “It’s your calling?” Kat rested her chin in her hand, a captivated listener.

  “I guess.”

  Josh arrived, his shirt and khakis rumpled from a long drive in a hot car.

  “Sorry I’m late.” He settled into the chair next to Kat. “Traffic was brutal.”

  Kat gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Thanks for coming all the way out here.”

  “Well”—Josh doffed his baseball cap—“it’s not like you were ever going to come to me.”

  Kat ignored this. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’re going to have a lovely dinner. No distractions.” She shot Cammie a look of desperation. “Isn’t it great to be able to just focus on each other?”

  “It certainly is,” Cammie said brightly. “Ian, this is Josh. Josh, this is Ian.”

  Everyone shook hands and complained about traffic and scanned the menus. Cammie started to relax. This wasn’t so bad. They were normal people having a normal double date.

  As the server arrived with their drinks, Kat’s phone chimed. She reached for it, and Josh said, “No distractions.”

  After they ordered their entrées, Summer Benson walked through the front door. Kat waved and prepared to get up to say hi. Josh intoned, “No distractions.”

  A few seconds after their meals arrived, a teenager with spiked hair and tattoos galore approached the table. He stared at Kat as though she were an exotic zoo animal.

  “May we help you?” Josh asked.

  “Are you Kat Milner?”

  Kat nodded and smiled, though her eyes were bleak. “That’s me.”

  “You guys!” the boy shouted to his table mates in triumph. “I told you it was her! Can I please have your autograph?”

  “Sure.” Kat scribbled her name on a napkin and hissed at Josh out of the corner of her mouth, “I’m not going to be rude.”

  Josh set his jaw.

  Her fan pulled out a phone and prepped for a series of selfies. “Can me and my friends take a quick picture with you?”

  “Um, sure.” Kat turned to her dining companions. “I am so sorry. This will just take a second.”

  And Josh was out the door.

  Two minutes later, still smiling and waving as her fans snapped photos, Kat dashed out after him.

  Ian and Cammie regarded each other over the bread basket.

  “And that’s my family,” she announced. “We’re a little . . . intense.”

  “What does your cousin do that she gets autograph requests at dinner?” Ian asked.

  “She’s a professional skateboarder. Well, she was. She just retired. Spine injury.”

  “I didn’t realize there were professional female skateboarders.” He offered her a wedge of bread, and she passed him the butter.

  “There aren’t very many. She was one of, like, three. But she was big-time—she had posters and corporate sponsors and a line of boards she designed and everything.” Cammie took out her phone and showed him some photos of Kat modeling her gear.

  “That was her calling?”

  “Oh, yeah. She really, really loved it.”

  “What’s yours?” he asked. “I thought you were going to be a restaurateur in California.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Her whole body felt aflame with humiliation. “That didn’t work out.”

  He hooked one arm over the back of his chair and waited for her to elaborate.

  “I opened a restaurant. It went bankrupt.” She glanced up at him, expecting a long-overdue “I told you so,” but she could see in his eyes he wasn’t thinking that.

  “What happened?”

  “My original plan was to open a bar, like a fancy cocktail lounge–type deal. But my boyfriend wanted to be a chef. We decided to open a restaurant together. He’d run the back of the house, and I’d run the front.” Somehow, they’d also decided that since Zach would be providing all the culinary know-how, Cammie should provide all the start-up capital.

  Ian remained carefully neutral.

  “A wise man once told me that ninety percent of restaurants fail in their first year,” Cammie informed her napkin. “I couldn’t beat the odds.”

  “What happened to the boyfriend?” Ian wanted to know.

  “He was part of why the restaurant failed.” Cammie had to close her eyes to endure the burn of shame. “Two months after we
opened, he left.”

  “For someone else?”

  She shook her head. “For another restaurant. One of the big-name New York chefs was opening a place down the street and needed an executive chef. He jumped ship.” And now he was lapping up accolades at a Hollywood hotspot where everyone wanted reservations, while she was broke. In Delaware. Farming against her will.

  Ian was still listening, so she wrapped up her story with, “So now I’m in the wine business, which also has a pretty high failure rate.”

  “But you’re keeping the grapes alive.”

  “They were alive when I left them tonight.” Cammie allowed herself a little smile. “So far, so good.”

  “And you’re going to have help from an expert.”

  She looked at him quizzically.

  “I’ll be your consultant,” he offered. “You can pay me in strawberry baked goods.”

  “But why?” She had to ask. “We didn’t exactly end on the best note.”

  He didn’t break eye contact. “That was a long time ago.”

  She nodded, trying to remember what she had felt like before life got so convoluted and expensive. Before she’d put up all the defenses she couldn’t take down.

  “Farming’s a community.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Everyone helps each other out, because everyone needs help eventually.”

  “Well, that’s very enlightened.”

  “Yeah.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Plus, I have a thing for you.”

  “Oh.” She rearranged herself in her chair and tucked her hair behind her ear. She knew she should say something. Anything.

  “You liked it?” Ian’s gaze intensified as he let go of her hand.

  “I . . . What?” She blinked.

  “The restaurant you opened.”

  “It had its moments.” Her knee rested against his under the table. She could feel the coarse denim of his jeans against her bare skin. “I liked the pace. Something different every day, new people every night. In a weird way, I liked running around, putting out fires. It was a challenge. And you know I’m a night owl.” She shifted her leg against his. “Which is why this whole getting-up-with-the-sun thing is killing me.”

  He acknowledged this with an incline of his head. “Yeah, it’s work, work, work, work, work all morning, and then nothing to do all evening.”

  “Except check the weather,” she said.

  “Yeah, except that. Hey, did you see that it might rain tomorrow morning?”

  “It might?” Cammie frowned. “My app didn’t say anything about that.”

  “Oh, you can’t just look at the app.” He pulled out his phone to show her. “You always have to check Weather.com. It’s the best.”

  They huddled over his phone, comparing sites. And, just like that, they were completely at ease. She asked about his family and his house and his crops, and then, finally, when the waitress came to ask if they wanted dessert, she asked the question she’d been wondering about since she first saw him on her way into town:

  “How are you not married? I figured you’d have settled down by now.”

  “‘Settled down’ is a state of mind.” He signaled to their server and pulled out his wallet. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

  • • •

  Cammie looked around for Kat and Josh as she followed Ian out of the café, but they had vanished. Maybe they were having a mature, productive talk that would lead to a clear resolution. It wasn’t likely, but it could happen.

  Anything could happen, apparently.

  “I’m serious,” Cammie said as they walked toward his truck. “A guy with your agricultural expertise? You must be knee-deep in women.”

  “Don’t forget the strawberry-seed patents,” he said drily.

  “How could I possibly?”

  “We do get a lot of women in this town,” he allowed, “especially in the summer.”

  “I heard! All the heartbreak tourists.”

  “We even had a designated rebound guy for a while.”

  “Get out.” Cammie loved everything about this. “That was his job?”

  “It wasn’t an official position or anything. He just hung out at that wine bar down the street, buying drinks for women who had bad breakups.”

  “Is he still there?” Cammie turned toward the Whinery. “I need to get a look at this guy.”

  “Too late. He retired.” Ian steered her back toward the parking lot. “I think he met someone.”

  “What about you?” Cammie tried to sound casual. “Did you meet someone?”

  “While you were off opening a restaurant with your California boyfriend?” He pulled out the keys to his truck. “I met several someones.”

  She expected this, had set herself up for it, but was still surprised by the twinge of jealousy. “And . . . ?”

  He looked at her for a moment. “And they were all great.”

  She crossed her arms, feeling more defensive by the moment. “But . . . ?”

  “But it was never the right woman at the right time.”

  She squinted through the evening shadows, trying to discern his expression. “You’re telling me that all your exes were great but it was never the right timing?”

  He nodded. “Timing’s important.”

  “If you turn this into a farming metaphor, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  “No farming metaphors.” He opened the truck door for her. “Get in.”

  “Are we going to the wine bar?” she asked hopefully.

  “Nope.”

  She didn’t want the night to end. “You’re taking me back to the house?”

  He settled into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. “Eventually.”

  chapter 13

  The ocean looked amber under the light of the huge golden moon as they drove by the beach. “We could take a little stroll on the sand.” Cammie inched toward Ian on the truck’s wide bench seat. “I haven’t been to the boardwalk yet.”

  “We’re not going to the boardwalk.” Ian gave her a knowing look. “We’re going back to the fields. Putting it off is just making it worse.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “You’re scared,” he said.

  She pulled back a bit. “Of what?”

  “The grapes. The dirt. All of it.”

  “I’m not scared of the grapes,” Cammie insisted.

  “Have you tasted one yet?” he challenged.

  “No,” she blustered. “They’re for growing, not for eating.”

  He turned off the coastal highway and headed inland. “You and those grapes are going to be spending a lot of time together. You need to get comfortable with them.”

  She shot him a sidelong glance. “Because grapes can smell fear?”

  “Damn straight.” He draped his arm along the back of the seat.

  “We just had a lovely dinner and drove by a gorgeous full moon over the ocean. This night has potential. Let’s not ruin it with grape talk.”

  “I’m not ruining anything.” He let his arm settle across her shoulders. “I’m about to make your whole life better.”

  “In the vineyard? At night?” She considered what she just said. “That sounds so romantic. Too bad the reality is so . . .”

  “So what?” he prompted.

  “Nothing.” She sighed. “There’s just so much to know. There’s nothing arty or creative about growing grapes. Everything’s technical and exact.” Her voice got thinner, higher. “Water, but not too much water. Heat, but not too much heat. Fertilizer, but not too much fertilizer. If you make one mistake, everything’s ruined for the season. You fail.”

  All she could hear was the rush of the wind through the open windows. Then Ian said, “Don’t ruin this for yourself.”

  “I�
�m not.”

  “They’re just grapes. It’s just sun and earth and water. Think of it like this,” he suggested. “A few years ago, this vineyard didn’t even exist. It’s an experiment.”

  She held one hand just outside the window, feeling the push of cool air against her palm. “How can you be so relaxed about it?”

  “I have to be. That’s how it goes with farming. You can’t control the weather or the soil or the bugs. All you can do is work with what you have. If it doesn’t pan out, wait for a season and try again.”

  “Timing is everything?”

  “Exactly.” He brushed her hair aside and rested his palm on the nape of her neck.

  Cammie knew she should be enjoying the here and now, but her anxiety mounted with every mile they drove. Facing down a field of grapes in the dead of night was the stuff of nightmares. She would have to admit all her ignorance and inadequacies to him. Again.

  She lapsed into silence until Ian turned down the winding gravel road and parked by the grapevines. “Let’s go.” He walked around, opened her door, and offered his hand. “Come on.”

  “We could just sit in here and make out,” she offered.

  He took her hand in his and led her toward the field. She could smell the faint trace of roses in the humid night air. Ian kept going until they reached the center of the vineyard, where all she could see was tender young vines and the man next to her. When she looked up, the vast, starry sky stretched out forever.

  He looked down at her. She looked up at him.

  “Now what?” she murmured.

  He rested his index finger on her lips. “Listen.”

  She tilted her head and strained her ears. After a few moments, she heard the soft, persistent whisper of the breeze against branches. The rustle of growth and greenery. Undetectable, unless you knew to listen for it. The sound of life.

  She gazed up at him, a smile spreading across her face. “I hear it.”

  He leaned down and kissed her softly, and she felt something spark within her. Everything shifted, even as the earth remained solid beneath her and the stars remained fixed overhead.

  • • •

  Cammie made it back to the house just after eleven. All her warm, fuzzy feelings faded when she saw Kat crying on the sofa in the parlor.