Eat, Drink and Be . . . Married

by Faith Andrews

  “I wouldn’t go that far, silly. I love Christmas. In December. Once Thanksgiving is over.” I giggle, so giddy it’s ridiculous. Talking to him is easy. Fun. How can someone I’ve just met make me so . . . happy? I’ve never believed in love at first sight—I’m pretty sure it’s only a myth—but Jude’s given me a reason to believe in connection at first sight. I’ve heard about this kind of lifetime bonding in certain species of animals. The last time I checked, Jude and I were very different from penguins and seahorses but, hey . . . stranger things have happened. Melissa found a forever love, didn’t she?

  Enjoying the comfortable silence and the balmy breeze, I allow myself to bask in the momentary fairy tale I’ve created in my head. I’m quickly and involuntarily snapped back to reality when the door to the tasting room swings open.

  Jude rushes to stand, brushing blades of grass and traces of soil off his rather nice backside. Our moment of intimacy and privacy vanishes into the sunlit air.

  “Oh, great,” I mutter, wishing I could freeze time and stay under the protection of this tree and Jude’s caring spirit just a bit longer.

  “Oh, Jude,” Melissa calls out, beckoning him with her finger. “We’d like a tour of the vineyard now.”

  He raises a finger of his own, indicating he’ll be with her in a moment. That alone makes me want to kiss the guy because no one ever makes Melissa Burke wait. Turning to face me again, he asks, “You ready to rejoin the party or do you want to stay behind? Grandma made a batch of her famous peppermint bark and there’re some sandwiches and cheese samples in the fridge back inside if you’re hungry.”

  I shake my head but extend my hand, summoning him me to help me up. He tugs, bringing me to my feet so we’re toe to toe. I search his eyes and find exactly what I knew I would. Sincerity. It’s then I decide it’s time to figure this out on my own. I can’t hide behind Jude’s generosity much longer. After this stop on the wine trail, I’ll be fending for myself again so I better get used to it. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry, and as much as I’d love to hear you tell us all about the vineyard, it’s probably best if I stay behind and lick my wounds. I’ll just head inside to use the ladies’ room and then wait for everyone back on the bus.”

  “Suit yourself, but I give a pretty impressive tour.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head.

  “I’m sure you do. You have a very impressive vibe all around.” I let a shy smile dance across my lips.

  Jude offers a grin that’s equal parts heart-throbbing and shy, as well. “Go ahead, then. I’ll tend to the wolves so the sheep can get away.” He winks and then swivels in Melissa’s direction.

  A pang of remorse coils in my stomach as I watch him leave. I hate that after today I’ll probably never see him again.

  5

  Jude

  Back at the ranch, I’m trying my hardest to give Melissa and her bridesmaids the full vineyard experience. The sun is unusually strong for a November afternoon in Seneca and I’m rushing the tour because I can sense these women aren’t at all interested in what I have to say. All the same, I deliver a brief but thorough rundown of the history of the area and how Becca and Trent got this whole thing up and running. I even go as far as telling them about the fun holiday-themed activities hosted in the towns of Geneva, Watkins Glen, and Cayuga. But all the while, my mind keeps trailing off to thoughts of Leila.

  I hope she’s okay. Is she thinking about me the way I’m thinking about her? I feel like a young boy with a helpless crush. What’s come over me? I swipe at the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand and lead the group in the direction of the tasting room. I can blame the warm weather, but I’m anxious to get back because of Leila.

  It’s all so unexpected because this isn’t the first time a pretty girl has passed through and caught my eye, but it is the first time I’ve thought to see it through. She’s different. Interesting. Our conversation under the tree was . . . I’m not quite sure there’s one single word for it. All I know is I left her feeling as if we were two old friends catching up rather than two strangers getting to know each other. Talking with her was refreshing. I could be myself; she didn’t judge me for wanting something other than this small town life. It was as if she really understood me. We connected. There go those ridiculous feelings again. Or maybe it’s the magic of the holiday spirit.

  I laugh, thinking about Leila’s irritation over the town’s hasty rush to get the holidays in full swing. I try shaking off the warmth coursing through me at the memory of our hands touching, but I simply can’t. I should be focused on the tour or on minding the vineyard while Becca and Trent are away. I should be thinking about how I’ll get my album complete with what’s left of the only studio time I can afford. But the only thing I can concentrate on is the beautiful stranger and how I want to ask for her number when I get back from wasting my time with these women. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. She’s probably not from these parts, being as everyone knows everyone up here and I’ve never seen her around before, but it can’t hurt. Maybe I can steal her away from her wedding duties while she’s still in town. Hell, I’d do anything for even a little more time with her.

  “Jude?” One of the women stops me from racing back to Leila at the same hurried tempo as my thoughts. With a well-manicured hand on my shoulder, I’m prompted to turn around.

  When we come face to face, she’s closer than she should be given the fact she’s wearing an engagement ring of her own. She’s a good head shorter than me so she lifts her eyes to meet mine with a coy smile. “The girls and I . . .” She bites into the hot-pink tint of her bottom lip and giggles, peering over her shoulder to the huddle of whispering ladies a few feet behind us.

  “Yes?” I prod, and then regret my snarl. I’ve got to get back to Leila before I lose my nerve. And I hate that they call themselves girls. They’re too old to be acting so giddy and childish. Not to mention, they should have more class than to treat Leila the way they did back there.

  Unscathed by my obvious impatience, she tilts her head and speaks with a saccharine coated tone. “We have a few more stops left on the trail, but we were wondering if you’d like to join us tonight? We could really use someone local, like yourself, to . . . um . . . show us around town.” Her question sounds innocent but I can tell by the way her dull eyes have dilated that her intentions are anything but.

  I think fast—this could be my chance to spend more time with Leila, but it could also make me look very bad. To my family, for the business, to Leila. Nothing good could come of accepting a married woman’s invitation to be her boy toy disguised as a tour guide. There have been plenty of feisty bachelorettes willing to spend their last night of freedom with me, but none of them have been worth the trouble. This is no different.

  Nodding and smiling in a cordial manner, I let her down easily. “I’m sorry, but I already have plans. I’d be more than happy to jot a few places down before you leave if you’d like.”

  She’s instantly deflated, her pink lips forming a sulky pout. Without even trying to hide it, she rolls her eyes and turns back to the group, giving them a two-thumbs down as she skulks their way.

  When we return to the tasting room, everyone heads back inside to grab their bags and purchases. I hurry inside to find Leila but she’s nowhere to be seen. I remember her saying she’d wait on the bus for the tour to be over. I rush outside but before I can step foot onboard the luxury automobile, the driver assures me no one’s inside.

  “Leila, the young brunette? Have you seen her?”

  He shakes his head and shrugs. Lifting his arm to check the time on his watch, he brushes past me. “I have a schedule to keep. We have to get to the next stop, pronto.”

  I’m left perplexed. Not only is she missing, but doesn’t the driver have to account for all passengers? “Hey, you can’t just leave.”

  The capped man bobs his head with a grimy smirk. “Can so. I’m not a babysitter, I’m just a chauffeur. She must have found another way back because I haven’t see
n her around since you two were canoodling under that tree over there.” He points to the willow and wiggles a crooked finger.

  My attention darts to the spot where I last saw her, where we last shared our time. Not much time has gone by, but it seems like forever ago since I left her standing there. “Dude, this is so not cool. We have to look for her!”

  “Listen, kid.” The old man thrusts the same crooked finger into my chest. He’s lucky he’s a geezer or I’d knock him to the ground for getting in my face and disregarding Leila. “The charter company has a schedule. My job is to keep to it. That’s it.”

  My eyes narrow on the thoughtless man, anger melding into concern. “But what if something happened to her?”

  A cackled laugh erupts from his wrinkled mouth. “She’s a grown woman, kid. There wasn’t anyone else here so it’s not like someone appeared out of thin air and took her. She hasn’t been getting on with the rest of these broads all day. She probably just ran off and made her way back to the hotel. And in case I haven’t made myself clear, that ain’t my problem. So if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to round everyone up and be on our way.”

  I’m clearly wasting my time with this guy, but he does have a point. Leila was pretty worked up from her argument with her sister so I wouldn’t put it past her for going her own way. But would she really leave without saying goodbye? Either way, I have to get to the bottom of this.

  I discreetly tell the driver to screw off under my breath and set to searching for her. She has to be here somewhere and once her sister and the rest of her circus clears out of here, I’ll be sure to figure out where my beautiful stranger has disappeared to.

  The girls line up without so much as checking to see if everyone’s in attendance. I open my mouth to say something—to inquire about Leila—but I think twice about it because it’s clear these women are not her friends. “Enjoy the rest of your time in the Finger Lakes, ladies,” I offer a phony smile as I wave each of them farewell. The bus takes off with a crunching of gravel and a cloud of brown dust. I slash my hands through the blinding puff of dirt and back toward the weeping willow. Our spot. Maybe she set out to meet back up there.

  6

  Leila

  I’m not the nicest person in the world, but I definitely don’t deserve to spend my last hours on this earth locked in a teeny tiny bathroom with the third version—in a row—of Carol of the Bells attacking my ear drums and my last bit of sanity.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” I scream again, hoping the group has finally come back from the tour and hears me, but no one responds. “Someone, please! Get me out of here!” My palms burn from my efforts, the same effect taking over my throat.

  I have no idea how long it’s been since I locked myself in here because I left my phone in my bag—on the other side of the locked bathroom door—but I do know the walls are starting to close in on me, little by little. Not cool, Leila. Not cool.

  Pounding on the wooden door with my fists has been fruitless so I try kicking at the stubborn surface with my feet. But apparently, I’m not making enough noise to attract attention, and if I keep this up I’ll have blisters. Someone has to find me sooner or later. Jude can’t be that careless, can he? Then again, who the hell knows? For all I know he’s frolicking out in the vineyard with Melissa and the Bitch Squad. Oh God, I really don’t want to die slumped over a toilet bowl. What a pitiful end to a life that hasn’t even started yet!

  “Help meeeee!” I cry again, panic setting in. “Someone. Please!”

  When I’m left alone again with my own ragged breathing and a helpless pit in my stomach, I slope down to the faux wood tile and start to cry. “I’ve cried more on this trip than I have in three years. Something’s not right here,” I admit aloud. Clearly, I’ve gone a little mad, but who wouldn’t, given these circumstances? I was forced to go on this trip, to endure Melissa’s bitchiness, and now I’m stuck to marinate in my self-pity, locked inside the smallest bathroom in the history of bathrooms, with the goddamn Pentatonix and their acapella rendition of this Godforsaken song!

  I drop my head into my reddened hands and cry with my back against the door. After a long pull of breath to steady myself, I hear something. It could be the sound of the walls settling or the floor creaking, but hope awakens in me, bringing me to my feet again. “Hello?” I call out, cupping my ear to the door. “Is anyone there?”

  “Leila? Is that you?” Jude’s voice grows closer and then the jammed doorknob twists from the outside.

  My heart leaps in my chest. It can’t have been more than an hour, but it somehow feels as if I’ve been trapped in here for days. “Yes! It’s me! I’m stuck in here. Can you get me out?” I slide my hands up and down the door, caressing it as if my soft touch will persuade it to open of its own volition.

  Jude jimmies the knob back and forth, pounding on the other side of the stubborn surface. “Shit! It’s jammed. Again. I thought Trent had it fixed last week.”

  I look up to the ceiling, my hands still pawing at the wood. I’m not as panicked as I was, knowing someone else is here. Knowing Jude is here. Even still, I can’t help being perturbed. The guy manning the place should’ve made sure the bathroom door was operational. “Uh, yeah. He obviously didn’t. So, can you get me out now? It’s kind of cramped in here.” I fail to mention that I’m losing my mind within these four pewter walls. Not to say the room isn’t lovely—farmhouse chic, decorated with a vintage vase full of fresh flowers and fragrant sage—but I’d be much happier on the other side of its charm.

  “That’s the thing,” Jude says, a faint chuckle wrapped around his words. I picture him raking his hands through his hair in frustration, his steel blue eyes roving the door for a way to let me out.

  “What’s the thing?” I call out, still leaning against the reason for my imprisonment.

  “Um . . .” he sings, his voice further away this time. “The lock is tricky. Been giving us trouble for a while. I know not to lock it when I go because, well, because I know the lock is tricky, but . . . shit!”

  My patience is waning and my hope is diminishing. I know this isn’t Jude’s fault, but I really want to get the hell out of here. “You could have put a sign up, you know? Out of Order or Lock Broken.” The walls are folding in again, my heartrate kicking up. “Jude? You still there? Come on, there has to be a way to get me out.”

  “I’m still here. I won’t leave you. I’m just looking for . . .” he trails off again, his doubtful tone bouncing around the room as he moves about. I hear a shuffling that must be his feet, the dragging of some kind of chair or stool, a bang and a crash and then silence. Oh, no! Is he okay?

  My twisted imagination gets the better of me as I picture an impaled Jude, bleeding out, leaving me locked in here, helpless. My throat aches with fear as I open my mouth to scream out and then he calls for me again.

  “Leila?”

  “Still here. Can’t exactly go anywhere.” I snort, wishing something was funny enough to snort about. Fact is, I’m relieved he’s okay and I’m kind of losing it.

  “I’m going to break down the door, okay?”

  I nod, looking around the tiny room, and then realize he can’t see me. “Uh, yeah, but—”

  “I know there’s not much space in there,” he says, reading my mind, “but maybe—stand up on the tank of the toilet for a minute. Carefully. Once you’re out of the way, say the word.”

  I take a deep breath. I’m overreacting to the whole situation. This isn’t life or death. But I guess it takes a silly incident like this to bring out all your intermittent fears, like the claustrophobia I never knew I had, or the blatant fear of being alone with my thoughts for too long, or my abhorrence to this particular Christmas song.

  “Leila? You okay?”

  I wave off my ridiculous come-to-Jesus moment, and step onto the lid of the toilet and up one more level to the tank. “All clear,” I shout. “Do your thing.” My hands fly up to my head, fists covering my ears, arms protecting my face, as I ready my
self for the blow.

  I hear him stumbling then heaving before the first loud thud shakes the door. Shaken, not broken. “Jude?”

  “Yeah,” he croaks. “This shit is heavy, but I . . . think . . . one more might . . .” BAM! The door splits open and Jude drops the two by four to the ground, smiling. “. . . do it.”

  Without thinking, I jump off the toilet and through the doorway to wrap my arms around his perspiring neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I sing, feeling like a damsel in distress rescued by the handsome superhero.

  “You should be slapping me, not thanking me. I’m so sorry you got stuck in there. And I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner.” He holds me at arm’s length, appraising me, and then he gazes into my eyes.

  “How long was I stuck in there?” I ask, pretending our intimate proximity and our embrace isn’t lighting me on fire.

  “Um.” He lifts a hand to scratch his head and scrunches his nose. “Roughly . . . ninety minutes.”

  “An hour and a half and no one came to look for me?” Wow, that’s sad. Am I that unimportant? I step out of his grip, stripped naked from this warmth. Looking around the tasting room, I ask, “Where is everyone?”

  Jude’s lips form a straight line and his eyes speak an apology. “Gone,” he whispers with a wince.

  “What do you mean gone?” I rush to the entryway that welcomed us into the room, and expect to find the bus and the Bitch Squad waiting for me impatiently. Only, there is no bus, there are no bitches, and I’m in total and absolute shock. “They left me here? Melissa actually left me here?”

  Jude mutely joins me at the door. I look over to him and he’s bobbing his head and worrying his lower lip.