Always Yours

by Claire Raye

  “No, and he was a total moron too. Kept claiming that there’s no one who’s going to be able to fix it. After that he decided then would be a great time to hand me his card so we can purchase the best machine on the market from him.” Lauren lets it all out in one breath, her voice growing more and more annoyed as she relays the story to me. “We own the best machine on the market, even if it is nearly fifteen years old.”

  She’s intense when she talks about getting a new machine. It’s possible it may even save us some money if we do decide to replace it, but I know that won’t ever happen. It’s Lauren’s connection to Jack Wilson, the last one she has left. Memories only last so long and I imagine hers are beginning to fade.

  It’s been fourteen years, fourteen years of not speaking to him, of pretending she hates him, of her learning to live with the fact that she can never replace him. I even thought she was over him, but this latest incident has really taken its toll and now she needs a distraction more than ever.

  “What if I told you I think I have someone who can fix it?” I say, my expression turning sneaky as I narrow my eyes at her, knowing she will have her suspicions.

  “Bullshit,” she replies, her tone snarky, because she’s had more people here to repair it than the number of people who visit the Golden Gate Bridge each year. I’m the one who hunts them down, talks with them about the repairs, which they always insist they can fix, and then I schedule the visit. And it’s only that, a visit, because no one and I mean no one can fix the machine. It’s Australian, and it’s as difficult to decipher as Lauren’s feelings for Jack.

  But I’m the lucky one because my involvement ends there. It’s Lauren who deals with their stupid jokes, their sales pitches, and sometimes the random pick up line.

  “The guy I found is Australian, so I think it’s going to work this time.”

  “Do whatever you gotta do,” Lauren says, indifferently as she pumps an insane amount of soap into her hands and begins scrubbing.

  Without saying a word, I open the cabinet under the sink and pull out the Windex. Grabbing her hands, I spray them and watch as the deep purple fades almost instantly.

  The side eye she hits me with is comical and I laugh out loud as I give her a quick peck on the cheek and a swat on the ass, leaving her to clean up her hands.

  I’ve spent the last week trying to locate Jack Wilson to no avail. He has suddenly disappeared from Facebook as he if doesn’t want to be found. But I think I’m on to something now…finally. Even though Lauren and I don’t involve our parents in the day to day running of the vineyard and winery, I’ve called our father and he’s put me in touch with someone who used to work with Tony Wilson, Jack’s dad. It was Tony who initially installed the de-stemmer and crusher machine on the property years ago.

  It was how Lauren met Jack.

  It’s a long shot, but I need to get him back here.

  I sent an email to a guy named Mike Anderson, who my father says is a friend of Tony Wilson, and despite the time difference, I hear back from him in only minutes. While I’ve changed my last name after marrying Will, my email still bears the domain name of Somerville Vineyard which I know carries enough weight for this guy to not think I’m crazy for contacting him.

  He gives me an email address for Tony and asks a little bit about my mom and dad, chatting briefly about how the business is going and if we have anything new in the works. He’s cordial and I thank him for Tony’s contact information.

  Without waiting, I send an email to Tony and keep my fingers crossed that he’s as prompt in responding, but just as I go to check my email again, Lauren walks into my office.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, obviously aware of the weird smile plastered on my face as I sit alone in my office. “You watching cat videos again?”

  “No, but that cat video I tagged you in yesterday was really funny.”

  “I watched it like a hundred times,” Laurens says. “It gets funnier each time.”

  “How’s it going?” I ask, as if it’s a casual question, but there’s more to it than either of us will admit to.

  “I’m good. Kids are good,” she says, looking out my office window at the twins as they chase each other up and down the rows of grapevines. “What time’s Will leaving?” The abrupt change of subject doesn’t go unnoticed by me, but I don’t push it.

  “Flight leaves at six, so I think I’ll come by and stay with you tonight. What do you think?”

  “Sucks that he’s gotta leave for a business trip on your anniversary.”

  I shrug my shoulders, knowing it isn’t really a big deal. He never had much interest in the wine industry and I’m eternally grateful for the sacrifice he made in moving out to the west coast to be with me.

  “We had dinner together last night and there was this morning,” I say, winking at Lauren and she makes a gagging noise.

  “I don’t want to know what you and Will did this morning,” she says feigning disgust. “But yeah, you can come by and stay the night. The kids will like that and we can all watch a movie together and stay up late.”

  She sounds natural and normal, like she isn’t still a complete mess, and maybe she is getting better. Maybe things are settling down.

  But it doesn’t stop me from opening my inbox the second she walks out the door.

  And there it is, the email I’ve been waiting for.

  Hi Ellen.

  So wonderful to hear from you. I’m so sorry to hear that your crusher is acting up, and had you contacted me a few years earlier I would’ve been happy to help you. I’m now retired from the wine industry, but I can put you in contact with my assistant. She handles all inquiries and forwards them on to a list of contacts I have in place for situations like this. These people have all been hand selected by me and are quite capable of helping you. Just a word of warning, because you live in The States most will decline the offer to help you because of the travel and the expense, but I’m sure someone will be able to assist you.

  Please pass my contact info along to your father. I’d love to catch up with him.

  The email goes on to share his contact information and the information of how to reach his assistant.

  It’s my last ditch effort to pull Lauren out of this funk, either that or she’ll hate me for the rest of our lives.

  I immediately shoot off an email to Tony’s assistant and again with the punctuality, the woman gets back to me right away. She asks for my contact details, all the information on the machine, when we need it fixed by and how much we are willing to pay to retain someone for their services.

  I want to tell her I’ll pay anything and that I’m not looking for someone off the list Tony has left her, but that I’m looking specifically for Jack. Yet something about that feels like it will come across rather stalker-ish, so I decide to wait to hear back from her.

  I’m hitting refreshing on my inbox for the millionth time when Will appears in the doorway to my office.

  “What are you up to, beautiful?” he asks and my heart flutters at his words. After all this time he still makes me weak.

  “I’m trying to find Jack,” I reply, the determination evident in my tone.

  “But?”

  “But nothing. It’s just not happening as quickly as I would like, and when I say quickly, I mean instantly.”

  “You’ve never been the most patient person,” Wills says, winking at me.

  “Me, impatient? I distinctly remember someone being rather impatient this morning.”

  “I’m always that way when it comes to you,” Will murmurs as he leans down to kiss me. His lips are soft against mine and I stand, slipping my arms around his waist. “It will happen,” he adds, and I cock my head to one side, confused by his comment. “You’ll find Jack and if you don’t, something will come along for Lauren. I know it feels like it won’t right now, but it will. Time will help.”

  “You’ve always been so wise,” I say, teasing him with a pinch to his side and his arms tighten around me
just as my computer chimes out indicating I’ve received a new email.

  I shove Will away and nearly collide with my desk chair as I scramble to read the message that is waiting for me.

  “Yes!” I shout out loud and throw a fist up in the air when I see Tony’s assistant’s name on my screen.

  “It’s him?” Will asks, equally as excited.

  I open the email and quickly scan her words only to find my shoulders sagging and my excitement dwindling fast.

  “No, but she has someone who says they can fix the crusher and can be here in the next three weeks.”

  “Well, I know that’s not what you were hoping for, but hopefully one positive will come out of this. You’ll finally get that fucking crusher fixed.”

  “Yeah,” I say, feeling defeated.

  Will walks over to me and presses a kiss to the top of my head as he runs a hand over my hair.

  “Why don’t you just tell Jack’s dad you’re looking for him. Tell him about Lauren and everything that’s happened and how she still holds onto Jack’s memory after all these years. I’m sure he’d tell you how to contact him.”

  “Lauren would kill me!” I whisper-shout, hoping she can’t hear this conversation through the wall our offices share. “It needs to be sorta… It needs to not be a set up.”

  “It is a set up, Ellen,” Will says, nodding his head at me and giving me a look that says any idiot can see it is.

  “It’s not.”

  “It kinda is.”

  “Whatever. It was a bust anyway,” I tell him, as I reply to Tony’s assistant letting her know we’d like to move forward with having this person fix our crusher.

  It doesn’t take her long to send me all the information I need to secure a work visa and when I see the name it stops me in my tracks.

  John Wilson

  “Will, Will,” I call, jumping up from my chair and knocking on the window outside my office as I through my hands back and forth, trying to get his attention as he plays with Oscar and Olivia.

  “What?” he calls back, his hands thrown up in the air almost in annoyance.

  I motion for him to come in here, as the excitement explodes inside me. Just seeing the name on the screen has given me hope that maybe it could be Jack.

  “What?” Will says as he enters my office for a second time in just a few minutes.

  “She emailed me back, and the guy’s name is John Wilson.”

  “So? You’re looking for Jack Wilson.” For a smart guy, he can be really dense sometimes.

  “What if it’s actually Jack? What if his real name isn’t Jack? Like your name isn’t Will, it’s William.”

  “Um, Ellen, I think you’re losing it. Will is a nickname for William. Jack being a nickname for John is a bit of a stretch.”

  “JFK’s nickname was Jack and his real name was John,” I defend, my hands on my hips, hating that Will is raining on my parade.

  “Still seems like a long shot.”

  “It is, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  Want to find out if Ellen is right? Make sure you get your hands on a copy of Finally Yours when it releases October 10, 2019! Read on for a sneak peek of Finally Yours!

  Prologue

  Fourteen Years Ago

  Lauren

  “I hate you!” I scream, shrill and ear piercing as hot tears sting my eyes. I’m certain every person within a mile radius has heard my cry. That is except for my mother and father, who don’t bother coming to see if I’m okay.

  “Aww, come on, Lulu. It was joke. It was supposed to be funny.”

  Nothing he ever does is funny.

  He’s not funny in the least.

  Never has been and never will be.

  As I stand attempting to shuck mud from my hair, I’ve never been more grateful that today is his last day here.

  I can’t wait for him to go back to that damn island nation he came from. The one filled with the world’s deadliest animals, where I can only hope he’s taken hostage by an angry mob of koalas or he gets bitten by one of those ridiculously over-sized spiders I’ve seen pictures of.

  He begins to walk toward me and I take a step back, putting my hands up to tell him to back the hell off.

  “Don’t you even dare!” I yell, my voice now growing an octave higher than before. To say I’m angry would be an understatement. It’s not just my hair that’s covered in mud but basically my entire body. The only things possibly salvageable are the red rubber boots on my feet.

  He doesn’t listen and continues in my direction, although in his defense, his glasses are speckled with mud, and I wonder if he can even see me.

  Just moments ago, I was mindlessly walking through the vineyard, enjoying the quiet when I was taken down from behind.

  Normally I’d have been able to take him down, but he caught me off guard.

  Jack can’t weigh more than a buck with bricks in his pockets; tall and skinny, an awkward gangly boy with glasses and dirty blonde hair.

  He’s been my worst nightmare since his arrival over a month ago. My only saving grace has been school, something the average fifteen-year-old would never say. It is six and a half hours of non-Jack contact time, but I’m now on winter break and he has tried his best to ruin every second of it.

  For some reason our parents thought we’d get along famously given we are the same age, but he’s pretty much the most annoying person on the planet.

  My parents own a vineyard and winery in Napa, California. Sounds great, right?

  Not exactly. It’s in the middle of nowhere and I’ve been trapped here with this jerk for my entire winter break.

  My parents hired Jack’s dad, some world-renowned winemaker, to come in and help get their new machinery up and running. He’s been here for several months building wine barrels and teaching them the ins and outs of wine making. Not that my parents are novices or anything. The business has been in our family for generations.

  Eventually my sister and I will take over the business, but for now, she’s away at college in Michigan and missing out on the wonderful experience of getting to know Jack Wilson.

  Just his name makes me cringe inwardly. He’s spending his summer break from school here, visiting with his dad, helping with tours and just being an all around pain in my ass.

  The tourists love him though.

  I’m spending my school holidays visiting my dad.

  They find his accent endearing, and his stupid Australian lingo entertaining.

  First of all, it’s called summer break, and why the hell does he add an “s” to the end of words unnecessarily? Every time he speaks I want to punch him in the mouth and knock his stupid accent out of him.

  Today is no different, but my rage is definitely at peak capacity.

  Jack is now within inches of me, his hand reaching out to wipe the mud from my face, but I swat at his hand, slapping it away.

  “Don’t touch me,” I huff out, stepping back and turning in the other direction. I’m not sure where I think I’m going because behind me is nothing but rows and rows grape vines.

  “Lu, where you going?” he calls after me, and I can hear the mud sucking at his bare feet as he jogs to catch up with me. “Let me help you get cleaned up.”

  I let out a riotous laugh, which slows to an offended chuckle.

  He’s got to be kidding me!

  “What?!” I ask, my body whipping around to face him, the shocking disgust in my tone unmistakable. “Why, so you can cop a feel? Try to grab my boobs and claim it was an accident?”

  He shakes his head, but says nothing, and the look of fake surprise on his face is almost comical. He’s a great actor.

  “While I was on holidays in the States, I felt up some stupid American girl I met,” I mock, trying on my best Australian accent. “Great story, mate.”

  Without letting him speak, I flip him off and shove past him, heading back toward the house so I can get cleaned up.

  Two hours and three showers later, I’m forced to say good
-bye to Jack. When I say forced, I mean my mother literally had to pay me to come out of my bedroom, bribing me with twenty dollars and a bag of Twizzlers.

  “He does these things because he has a crush on you,” she whispered through the closed door and I rolled my eyes. If she thought that would make me leave the safety of my room she was sadly mistaken.

  Eventually she changed her tactic and I emerged twenty dollars richer and a little less angry. I’m sure drowning my anger in Twizzlers will catch up to me someday, but for now my skinny ass is shoveling them down.

  I’m standing with my arms crossed over my chest, now in the driveway of my parents’ house as I watch Jack and his father put their suitcases into the trunk of the car.

  Good riddance!

  My mom, in her over the top ways, is crying and hugging both Jack and his dad, and my dad is shaking hands and wishing them safe travels, but I have yet to move.

  It’s Jack who leans in to hug me, and I make it as awkward as possible by not uncrossing my arms. But when his arms wrap around my rigid frame I feel my body relax with his touch. My heart suddenly begins racing, pounding hard and loud in my chest as my stomach fills with butterflies.

  His touch ignites something inside me, something new and fiery and exciting; something that makes me think I just might miss him.

  “Bye, Lulu,” he says, a slight sadness to his voice, but it doesn’t make me hate that nickname any less. With his mouth next to my ear he mutters, “I can still smell the mud in your hair, you dirty street rat.” He pulls back with a smug grin on his face.

  And just like that he makes it so easy to say good-bye.

  Here’s to never seeing Jack Wilson again.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Jack