“What?” She had to force herself to unhand his shirt. “No, you shouldn’t!”
“You have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Not as early as you.” She ran her hands through his hair, then wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “And we haven’t even cracked open the tequila or the lemons or the marshmallows.”
“We have time,” he promised. “Not just tonight.” He gave her one last kiss. “We’ll both have something to look forward to.”
She knew this was the sensible choice. She knew they had all summer. The anticipation would be delicious.
But there was a lot to be said for instant gratification.
chapter 20
Cammie lay awake for hours that night, tossing and turning, her body primed and her heart racing. The house had been empty when she went to bed, but she could hardly spare a thought for her aunt and her cousin. She was consumed with longing, and it felt good to want something so much. She hadn’t let herself really want anything—or anyone—for a long time.
She finally drifted off but awoke at dawn, feeling refreshed despite the lack of sleep. She glanced over at her phone to check the time—still fifteen minutes before her alarm would ring. Ian had promised her that her brain and body would adjust to the vineyard lifestyle, and he’d been right. She was officially shifting over to Farmer Central Time.
She stretched, padded out of bed, and sent a text to the man who’d been on her mind all night:
Up with the sun. No rooster required.
Moments later, he replied: Coffee required?
She smiled and replied: More like a caffeine IV.
He responded: Meet at Jilted Café at nine?
She wrote back: Nine a.m. is the new nine p.m. It’s a date.
“Hey.” Kat was sitting at the kitchen table when Cammie came downstairs. Jacques was curled up under her chair. “What are you doing up?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
Kat was still wearing her dress and makeup from last night. Her face looked pale and drawn. “I’m just thinking.”
“Yeah?” Cammie pulled out a chair. “What are you— Hang on.” She squinted at a little magnet on the refrigerator door. “What’s that?”
Kat leaned back in her chair and grabbed the flowery magnet made of felt. Jacques snorted in protest as the chair legs scraped against the hardwood floor. “That’s my mom’s idea of folksy charm.”
“‘Bloom where you’re planted?’” Cammie read the message embroidered around the flower petals. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
“What do you mean?”
Cammie told her cousin about the wooden sign she’d been forced to take at the garden-supply store. “That’s two ‘Bloom where you’re planted’s’ this week.”
“Maybe it’s a sign from the universe,” Kat suggested. She glanced down at Cammie’s bandaged heel. “What happened to your foot?”
“Crab attack. I went to the beach last night with Ian.”
“Ooh, the plot thickens. What’s going on with you two?”
“Not much.” Cammie cleared her throat. “Just, you know, setting up our second date in twelve hours.”
“Rawr.”
“Here’s hoping.” She leaned in and confided, “We made out.”
“And?”
“And then he took me home.”
Kat made a face. “Well, that’s boring.”
“Au contraire. The sexual tension is blowing my mind.”
“Know what else might blow your mind?” Kat sipped her coffee. “Actual sex.”
“I know. But right now, I’m in that can’t-sleep, can’t-eat, can’t-concentrate infatuation stage.”
“I think I have vague memories of that from high school.”
Cammie fanned her face. “I’m feeling all the feelings.”
Kat smiled wistfully. “Well, enjoy them while they last.”
“Speaking of which, how’d it go with Josh last night? Did he finally answer the phone?”
“Wait. I need a PopTart if we’re going to have this conversation.” Kat rummaged through the cabinet, ripped open a foil packet, and handed a strawberry pastry to Cammie. “Okay, where was I?”
“Josh.”
“Okay, so yes, he did answer the phone. I told him I was sorry for pushing him away. I told him I was deeply remorseful and I’d prove it to him. I offered to do anything he wanted.”
Cammie took a little nibble of frosting. “What’d he say?”
“He said no.” Kat put down her pastry.
“Oh, honey.”
“I can’t blame him. I have this coming.”
“He’s angry, but he’ll get over it,” Cammie declared with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Give him some space and some time.”
Kat straightened up. “I’ve given him too much space already. We need to stop spending time apart and start spending time together.”
“But if he said . . .”
“You know what else we need?” Kat crumpled up the foil wrapper. “Less talk and more action. I got us into this mess, and I’ll get us out of it.”
“Okay, but if I could just be the voice of reason for one second—”
Kat rolled her eyes. “If you must.”
“You guys are partners. So you both have to take action. Together.”
“That’s what I’m saying—I’ll start the train rolling, and he’ll get on board.”
Cammie gave up on reason and common sense. “What do you think you’ll do?”
“Well.” Kat toyed with her paper napkin. “There’s a chess tournament in Rehoboth Beach next week. I could sign him up for that.”
“Josh plays chess?”
“He loves chess.”
Cammie wondered if this whole thing would make more sense after the caffeine kicked in. “And a chess tournament is going to save your marriage how?”
“It’ll show him that I’m willing to do anything to spend time with him. Including watching chess for hours on end. Something that’s all about him and not about me. It’s a start, right?” Kat brightened for a moment, then went back to looking glum. “But what if it’s too late? What if I threw away a great marriage because I had some stupid midlife crisis?”
“For the last time, Katherine, you’re too young for a midlife crisis.” Aunt Ginger strolled into the kitchen, still wearing her cocktail dress and chandelier earrings.
Cammie heard the faint rumbling of a car engine outside. She gaped at her aunt. “Are you just getting home from the wine festival?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. What are you girls doing in here?”
“We’re up for the day.”
Ginger glanced at the clock, her expression horrified. “Oh God. It’s practically time to start weeding.”
“That’s life on a farm.”
“I need a nap, at least, before I can work in the fields.” Ginger stretched her hands above her head and yawned.
“Take today off.” Cammie remembered all the mornings in high school and college when she’d slept in while her aunt made breakfast and cleaned the house. “Jacques and I can go count the rows.”
Jacques jumped to his feet and wagged his stump of a tail.
Ginger didn’t argue. “Fine. I’m going to turn in. So if there’s nothing you need . . .”
Cammie pointed at Kat. “She’s trying to save her marriage with a chess tournament.”
Kat pointed at Cammie. “She went parking with her ex.”
“We will sort out both of those issues after I get some shut-eye.” Ginger started for the staircase.
“Not so fast,” Kat called after her. “Where have you been all this time?”
“The very best thing about being the parent is that I don’t have to answer those questions.” Ginger hummed a little tun
e. “But I will tell you this much: While you two were creating all sorts of drama with all sorts of men, I was networking and lining up business contacts.”
Cammie narrowed her eyes. “What business contacts?”
“That lovely gentleman I introduced you to, for one.”
“The one you were flirting shamelessly with?”
“That’s the one.” Ginger nodded. “He’s going to make our wine this fall.”
Cammie and Kat exchanged a look. “Uh . . .”
Ginger tapped her fingernail on the doorjamb. “What?”
“We get that he’s lovely and all . . .”
“But he’s not actually qualified for that.”
“He’s more qualified than any of us,” Ginger retorted.
“Jacques is more qualified than us,” Kat said. Jacques’s ears pricked up at the mention of his name.
“We don’t have to make a decision right now,” Cammie said.
“It’s already made. It was made hours ago,” her aunt declared. “It’s my vineyard, and I’ve selected my winemaker. Deal with it.”
Kat and Cammie exchanged another meaningful look.
“Don’t.” Ginger’s tone sharpened. She walked back toward the kitchen table so she could tower over them. “I know you think you know better because you’re young. But let me tell you something: I’ve had to be tough to make it this far. Do you really think I’d risk my financial future over a one-night flirtation?”
Cammie and Kat shook their heads and mumbled apologies to the tabletop.
“If I say he can do it, he can do it. And with that, I bid you both adieu. Hold my calls.” Ginger strode up the stairs and shut her bedroom door firmly enough that the sound echoed down the stairwell.
“We’re going to have to give her a curfew,” Kat said.
“I don’t know, maybe she’s on to something,” Cammie mused. “Maybe we should watch and learn. She’s nothing if not a survivor.” She glanced over at the freezer door. “She’s blooming where she’s planted.”
“Whatever. I’m off to do damage control on my marriage.” Kat shoved the rest of the PopTart into her mouth.
“Smile when you say that.”
Kat twisted her face into a positively macabre grin. “Have fun counting the rows.”
Jacques yipped and wriggled with joy.
Cammie got to her feet and started looking for sunblock. “Oh, I will.”
• • •
Two hours later, Cammie knelt on a blue piece of foam, her fingers sifting through the cool soil, the warm sunlight filtering through the brim of her woven straw hat. Jacques scampered up and down the row, tripping over his own feet and trying to catch a fly in his mouth. When she looked up, all she could see was green and gold.
She should be wearing gloves. She should apply a fresh coat of sunscreen. But right now, she didn’t want to interrupt the flow. She wanted to keep checking the budding vines, pulling weeds, and smelling the faint trace of roses on the morning breeze. This was hard work, but she welcomed the opportunity to do something productive. To be part of this cycle that had started before she arrived in Delaware and would continue long after she left.
Maybe, just maybe . . . she was starting to like farming.
Maybe, after all her frustration and trepidation and disparagement, she was starting to understand why Ian would never be able to walk away from this life. Because that’s what it was—a life. Not a job with an eight-hour shift you could forget about once you clocked out. This was an ongoing relationship with the land and the seeds and the rain and the sun.
Maybe she, too, was blooming where she’d been planted.
Her spirit soaring, she doffed her hat and looked up to the sky.
A majestic bird flew overhead . . .
And pooped on her forehead.
Screaming and swearing as she wiped her skin with the hem of her shirt, Cammie accepted the unfortunate truth: She wanted to like farming, but she didn’t. She wanted to have the kind of relationship with her grapes that Ian had with his strawberries, but she never would.
She wanted Ian, but not enough to give up everything else she wanted. There had to be a compromise here somewhere—some way they could be together without one of them having to sacrifice too much.
The phone in her back pocket chimed as a text message from Ian arrived:
Mite emergency. Have to cancel breakfast. Will make it up to you.
“Farming sucks, yo,” she said aloud, so that the grapes and the roses and the birds could all hear her.
She had to figure out what she was doing with Ian. She had to figure out what she was doing with her life. And figure it out she would—right after she took a hot, steamy, soapy shower to get all this freakin’ nature off her.
chapter 21
“What happened to you?” Kat asked when Cammie straggled back into the house.
“Farming.” Cammie made a face. “Farming happened to me.”
Kat got off the couch and put her laptop aside. “I’ll come help you.”
“I don’t need help.” Cammie wrinkled her nose at her stained shirt hem. “I need a shower, a spa day, and a ticket back to civilization. Oh, and a working tractor would be nice. Those dead vines aren’t going to uproot themselves.”
A knowing grin spread across Kat’s face.
“What?” Cammie demanded.
“You know what you look like right now?”
“Hell?”
“You look like Ian McKinlay’s dream girl. You guys are living the R-rated version of Green Acres.”
“We’re not living the R-rated version of anything. I don’t think we’re going to move beyond making out in a pickup truck.” Cammie pointed to her besmirched forehead. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wash off bird poop.”
“What?” Kat got to her feet and motioned for Cammie to follow her to the kitchen. “You’re a grown woman. Why on earth wouldn’t you go all the way with him?”
“Because, for one thing, grown women don’t use the phrase ‘go all the way.’ And for another, he made it very clear that he’s not ever going to ask me to settle down again.”
“What? When did he say that?”
“The summer we were twenty-two.”
Kat pulled a cold bottle of water out of the refrigerator and handed it to Cammie. “That doesn’t count! He doesn’t even remember that.”
“Oh, I assure you, he does.”
Kat looked unconcerned. “Well, then, you’ll just have to make him change his mind.”
“Gee, it’s so easy. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“It sounds like you did.” Kat winked. “In the pickup truck in the ditch.”
Cammie got serious. “The thing is, before I ask him to change his mind, I have to be really, really sure I’ve changed mine.”
Kat’s expression sobered. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“It’s one thing to spend a summer growing grapes and pretending to be a vintner—”
“There’s nothing pretend about it. I’ve seen the bank statements.”
“—but it’s quite another to give up on the city and my career, such as it is, and decide to devote the rest of my life to growing strawberries. Farming isn’t just his job; it’s his life. He comes with a lot of baggage—the early mornings, the uncertainty of the weather, the constant responsibility . . .”
“Plants never sleep?” Kat said.
“Exactly. At least a restaurant has a closing time. In LA, I just had to commit to the late nights, the uncertainty of the reviews, the constant responsibility . . .”
“See? You’ve spent your whole life prepping for this!”
“To be a farmer’s wife? Or even a farmer’s girlfriend?” The phrase sounded just as jarring to Cammie now as it had when she was twenty-two. “That’s not who I am. Anyway, I
can’t talk about this anymore. I have to clean myself up for another meeting with the bride and groom who have been together since seventh grade.”
• • •
“Let’s talk about strawberries for a moment,” Vanessa, the mother of the bride, examined her manicure as she considered her options. “I’ve heard the local produce is delicious.”
“COB strawberries.” Cammie couldn’t suppress a smile. “They’re incredible.”
“We’d like to do a shortcake for dessert instead of a traditional cake. Do you happen to know any good local bakers?”
“I’ll get you some names.” Cammie jotted down the request, then glanced up to confirm with Bronwyn that this was acceptable. But Bronwyn was no longer following the mothers around the vast green lawn. And Jeanie and Vanessa were only too happy to plan without the bride.
“Now.” Vanessa strode over to a patch of grass near the barn. “I’m thinking we start the aisle runner here. The officiant will stand right over there.”
Jeanie nodded approvingly. “I can see it. I like it.”
“We’ll put the reception tents right over there, with lots of twinkle lights. Dance floor there, tables there, band on that side.”
“Perfect,” Jeanie agreed.
“Yes. Well. We’ll hope for beautiful weather, of course, but we still need to come up with a plan for rain.” Cammie tried not to show fear. “Just in case.”
Vanessa heaved a weary, put-upon sigh. “We’ve been over this already. It won’t rain.”
Cammie didn’t blink. “But it might.”
“It won’t.”
“But if it does . . .”
“Moving on.” Vanessa dismissed these petty concerns with a wave of her hand. “What appetizers should we serve while Bronwyn and James are doing photos?”
Cammie managed to keep her screams of frustration contained as she scanned the vineyard grounds for the only member of this bridal party who could be counted on to be reasonable. But she didn’t see Bronwyn anywhere.
While the mothers prattled on about canapes, Cammie excused herself and walked toward the barn. When she rounded the corner, she glimpsed the beautiful bride-to-be clutching her smartphone in both hands.
Once Upon a Wine Page 18