by Lucy Score
“Of course, I figured he could get this information from you if he’d just ask,” Anastasia said.
Davis had been avoiding his father’s calls since Ferguson had sicced the sheriff on Eden. He didn’t want to give his father any more reason to fly home early.
“What did you tell him?” Davis asked.
“I told him your family pays me to tend the vines and make the wine, and if he wants me to take time away from that to play snitch, he’s going to have to pay me extra and hire me an assistant.” Anastasia took no crap and doled it out by the shovel full.
“Thanks for not telling him… anything.”
“Maybe you all should work on your family communication so you don’t have to put employees in the middle of it,” she suggested pointedly.
A tremendous snore erupted from under Davis’s desk.
“You got a girl under there so long she fell asleep?” Anastasia asked.
Davis leaned down to ruffle the mound of fur at his feet. “It’s Chewy, Eden’s dog. He followed me over today.”
“Eden know you stole her dog?”
“I didn’t steal him. He came willingly.”
“Uh-huh.” Anastasia rose. “Well, I’m getting out of here before you turn me into an accessory to dognapping. Enjoy the blend,” she said, leaving the beaker on his desk. “I’m going to top up and head out.”
“Thanks, Stasia.”
Davis stared down at the dog slobbering on his shoe. “I guess maybe I should let her know that you’re here,” he said. He didn’t need yet another reason for her to hate him. He thought they’d been making progress that night over eggs and business talk. But once again, his parents had bullied their way in, wrecking things.
He leaned down and snapped a picture of Chewy. Attaching it to a new email message, he wrote:
To: Eden
From: Davis
Subject: To Whom It May Concern,
Found. One narcoleptic dog with a snoring problem. Will return to rightful owner this afternoon.
He hit send. And waited for the reply. She had one of those watches that told her every time she got a text, received an email, or the temperature dropped a degree. He waited five full minutes before her reply came through.
To: Davis
From: Eden
Subject: Beware the back end
Tell Chewy to enjoy his last hours of freedom. He knows he’s not supposed to cross the property line. In the meantime, watch out, he tends to let them rip in his sleep. He’ll make your stink bomb seem like an air freshener.
To: Eden
From: Davis
Subject: Gas mask on
I’ll bring him back for snack time. If no one lights a match in my office between now and then.
There. See? They could communicate without fighting. Without sniping at each other. He drummed his pen on the desk. He needed to move, needed to think.
The newsletter could wait, Davis decided. He wanted to get out and stretch his legs. “Come on, Chewy. Let’s take a walk.”
He led the way down the back hall of the building that housed the main tasting room and the event space and pushed open the door. There had been a time when he’d thought he and Eden could be the end to this ridiculous feud. That they could be friends, or dare he hope, something more. Buttoning an olive green wool jacket that smelled vaguely of mothballs, he signaled for Chewy. The dog trotted outside, a pile of yellow fluff and lolling tongue. “Let’s walk the vines, Chew,” Davis suggested.
Together they wandered down the slope to the neat rows of grapevines. They were coming up on Thanksgiving soon, which meant winter. The bulk of the harvest was already over. They had a small plot of late harvest grapes to deal with next month for ice wine, another experiment he’d yet to discuss with his father. Work had moved indoors for the winter. And while wine fermented and fined, Davis would focus on operations. Marketing and community outreach and the never-ending tasks that fell between operations and winemaking.
He’d been ready to come home to Blue Moon long before his parents gave him the go-ahead. This was home. And these sloping acres were where he belonged. California had been one long, fun adventure, but he’d never viewed it as more than a stopover. While he’d lived there, tended vines there, built a career there, his thoughts had always been of Blue Moon and, occasionally, the dark haired beauty he’d disappointed.
Chewy dashed ahead of him and trotted down the first row of vines. Davis took his time, breathing in the crisp air. There’d be frost tonight and snow soon enough. The winter was when he focused on planning. Last year had been a banner year for Blue Moon Wines, and he hoped to continue the trend.
He’d had several irons in the figurative fire before the actual fire. He was expanding his distribution to restaurants and scheduling weekend events in the summer that would bring people out for a night under the stars between the vines.
And now that he and Eden were on speaking terms—sort of—he hoped they could discuss a partnership of sorts that would benefit both businesses.
They weren’t so different, he and she, Davis mused. They were both single-minded entrepreneurs who loved what they did. Who lived and breathed work. He admired that about her. And if she could forgive him for being eighteen, maybe someday they’d get their second chance at more than just a partnership.
She was still as beautiful as ever with that short dark hair and those wide blue eyes. Still had that edge to her. She still gave him that thrill in his blood when he caught her laughing. He’d spent a very large portion of his years since high school regretting that he’d hurt her. Unfortunately, she’d spent those same years remembering that he’d hurt her.
He and Chewy walked the vines until his cheeks were pink and his hands were cold. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go home,” Davis suggested. Chewy’s lopsided ears perked up and he pranced off in the direction of the inn.
Davis and Chewy found Eden frantically stripping bed linens from a suite on the third floor. “Wow, great room,” Davis said, admiring the carved molding that circled the interior of the turret. The walls were a deep slate blue, the furniture heavy and masculine. There was an oversized chair angled to take in the view. The perfect spot for reading or daydreaming.
Judging from Eden’s constant full-steam-ahead pace, he guessed that she rarely attempted the latter. He turned to admire her, in fast forward as she bent over the mattress. That view was even more spectacular.
“Thanks,” she said dryly and dumped the pillow sham on top of the growing pile on the floor. Chewy jumped up on the bed and flopped down in his favorite napping position. “Chewy, I love you, but if you don’t get your furry ass off this bed, I’m going to sell you to the gypsies,” Eden threatened.
Davis snapped his fingers and Chewy cheerfully hopped off the bed. He wasn’t sure why that pissed Eden off, but she was glaring at him like he’d just punched her grandmother in the mouth. He searched his memory, wondering if any of his relatives had done such a thing.
Seeking to ease the tension he grabbed the first pillow on his side of the bed and shucked off the fabric casing.
“You don’t have to help,” she snapped, hurrying into the bathroom and returning with an armload of damp towels.
“You don’t have to do it all yourself,” he pointed out, moving on to the next pillow. “Is there a linen emergency I wasn’t made aware of?”
Eden dumped the towels on top of the sheets and returned to the bathroom. “No, just a husband who forgot his anniversary and desperately needed this room for the night. I have to get it turned over with fresh everything in the next two hours. Oh, and have a bouquet of baby pink roses waiting. And a gift.”
She moved like she was the prima ballerina in a high-speed ballet. All grace and efficiency.
“A gift?” Davis asked, eyebrow cocked.
“Just anything I think a wife might like on her tenth anniversary to make it look like her husband hadn’t completely forgotten,” Eden said grimly.
“You’re saving th
is guy’s marriage,” Davis pointed out.
Eden used her foot to shove the lump of laundry toward the doorway. She swiped an arm over her brow.
“Where are the fresh sheets?” Davis asked.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“Do you really want to get into that conversation now, or do you want me to make the bed and dust or vacuum or whatever needs done while you go get flowers and a marriage-saving gift?”
She blinked at him. It was only a quick flash, but Davis saw it all the same. Relief.
“Are you screwing with me right now?” she asked.
“Despite my actions fifteen years ago, I’m not a horrible person out to screw you, Eden. At least not in that sense. There are other meanings behind the word that I’d be happy to discuss the potential of with you. Go. I’ve got this.”
She hesitated. “Sunny’s coming in in half an hour for snack time.”
“Then she can handle the front desk. Just show me where the linens and those little bottles of shampoo are.”
“Thank you.” She said it like it pained her. And Davis felt a fifteen-year-old knot loosen somewhere in his chest.
“You’re welcome. Now go.”
She made it to the doorway before he stopped her.
“Eden?”
“Yeah?”
“Did he give you a budget on the gift?”
She shook her head. A slow smile spreading across her pretty face. “Nope.”
“Make sure he never forgets another anniversary.”
BEAUTIFICATION COMMITTEE GUIDELINES
SECTION 147, SUBPARAGRAPHS B-XXY: ASSISTED WOO-ING
In some trickier matches, Committee members may find it necessary to give the match a helping hand on the road to their happily ever after. While we are constantly striving to improve our capabilities, these are options that have served us well in the noble quest for true love:
The use of harmless fibbing in guiding matchees to each other.
Manipulating environments for amorous and romantic mood enhancement.
Crafting situations in which matchees will be required to spend large amounts of time together.
Creating false realities in which matchees are forced to reconcile their feelings.
Hypnosis (note: used only as a last resort and with varying degrees of success).
16
Eden put her hatchback in gear and accelerated down the driveway as quickly as she could without squealing her tires. Blue Moon was five minutes away, and everything in town was within five minutes of town limits. If she called ahead for the flowers, she could hit the jewelry store because Forgetful Husband was definitely going to make up for forgetting and swing by the grocery store for the essentials on the growing list on her phone.
She used her voice activation and dialed the flower shop.
“Every Bloomin’ Thing. This is Liz. How can I help you?”
“Liz. I have a flower emergency,” Eden told her.
“I just so happen to have some emergency flower arranging time available.”
“Good because I need an over-the-top bouquet of baby pink roses that say ‘I’m sorry for forgetting our tenth anniversary.’”
“Budget?” Liz asked, all business. As a flower shop owner, she had her fingers on the pulse of every stupid thing that spouses did to each other.
“Impossible to forgive,” Eden said.
“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll have it ready for you in forty minutes.”
“You’re a gem. A miracle worker. People sing songs about you,” Eden gushed.
“Yep. So how’s it going with Davis?”
Eden drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and came to an abrupt stop at a stop sign. She gritted her teeth and eased through the intersection. “He’s fine. Everything is fine.”
“Such a shame what happened to him,” Liz continued. “He’s the nicest guy.”
“Yeah, he’s peachy,” Eden said dryly.
“Well, I’m gonna get to arranging. See you in forty.” Liz disconnected the call, and Eden cranked up her music. At least Van Morrison wouldn’t insist on telling her how great the man who had dented her teenage heart was. Even if said heart-denter was currently turning over a suite for her. “No!” Eden smacked her steering wheel. She would not allow herself to entertain the idea that Davis Gates might not be the devil incarnate. He was a bad, bad man. And she couldn’t be bought with a half-assed bed linen offering or late night conversations, or her dogs’ obvious affection for him.
Resolve fortified, Eden headed toward Blue Moon.
The universe was working with her today. Eden squeezed into a parking space directly in front of Wilson Abramovich’s jewelry store and hopped out. The damp chill of the November day seeped into her bones, and she envisioned a quiet night by the fire, maybe a hot bath. She’d earn it today. It was days like this that frustrated and energized her. She loved being around people, loved surprising them with things that made their day just a little better. And she would make sure that Forgetful Husband was not only forgiven but revered before he and his wife left tomorrow.
She pulled the glass door open, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
Wilson, the town’s jeweler, was a tidy little man with a halo of gray hair fluffing out under his growing bald spot. He wore a watch on a chain and glasses that constantly slipped down his nose.
“Ah, Eden. How lovely to see you,” he said, rising from the desk with a loop still attached to his glasses. “Oops. Now, I can see you,” he said, swiping the contraption off his head.
“Wilson, I need something that will get a forgetful husband forgiven,” she said, leaning over the display glass at all the sparkly perfection perched on plush pillows and waiting to adorn lucky men and women.
Wilson tapped his chin. “How forgetful was he?”
“Tenth wedding anniversary.”
“Let’s begin with gold and work our way up from there,” he suggested, sweeping an arm toward a case at the front of the store.
Twenty minutes of discerning browsing later, they’d settled on the perfect gift—two, actually. Wilson handed over one of the tiny boxes to an assistant for wrapping and Eden scrawled her signature on the credit card receipt.
“I heard that Davis Gates is staying with you while Calvin’s crew works on his house,” Wilson said. In any other town, it would have been making small talk. But Wilson Abramovich was a member of Blue Moon’s Beautification Committee. Matchmaking was in his blood… and his business. Ninety-nine percent of all engagements in Blue Moon were sealed with a sparkly something from his jewelry store. Wilson was fishing for information. Damn it. She really needed to dig further into that binder. She was on the chapter about laying the groundwork for a solid match. Suggestions included surveilling said couple and watching for flirtatious exchanges and identifying each half’s definition of love.
“Yes,” she said, pasting a smile on her mouth and slipping the unwrapped gift box into her purse. “He’s staying in a guest room.” She put emphasis on “guest room” lest Wilson delusionally believe Davis had moved right into her bed. Davis Gates in her bed. Her brain decided to run with that fantasy and Eden felt her cheeks flush scarlet.
Wilson accepted the wrapped box from his assistant and placed it carefully in a festive gift bag. “I must say, it’s wonderful seeing you step up to offer Davis a place to stay.”
“Because he’s such a great guy?” Eden guessed. The entire town was convinced that Davis was a heart-of-gold sweetie pie with a quick grin and a desire to lend a helping hand. And maybe he was that… to everyone else. But to her, he was a sneaky, cowardly, dog-stealing son of a Gates. Who looked excellent in a suit, even better naked, and was occasionally quite thoughtful. Oh my God. She needed a vacation. Far far away from Davis and his nice ass.
Wilson chuckled under his mustache. “Well, that, of course. But also seeing you take the first step to bury the hatchet in this ridiculous feud is simply wonderful. Blue Moon has long suffered under th
e bad vibes created by your two families, and seeing it finally come to an end is something to celebrate. People won’t forget how generous you’ve been,” Wilson predicted.
Eden suddenly didn’t feel like stomping her foot so much. In fact, there was a warm flush creeping over her cheeks.
“I’m just doing the neighborly thing,” she mumbled.
Wilson handed over the gift bag. “It won’t go unnoticed,” he predicted, giving a not-so-subtle nod to the two Blue Moon Business of the Year awards on a shelf behind the cash register.
“Um. Thank you… for your help with this and… everything,” Eden said, waving the bag.
“Good luck to your guest,” Wilson called after her as she rushed out.
Eden checked her watch, ignoring the new texts from Layla and Sammy. She had enough time to swing by Farm and Field Fresh, the grocery store. Her personal cupboards were bare. She backed out of her space and drove down Main Street. Even on this gray day, the colorful people of Blue Moon were out in droves. Righteous Subs and Peace of Pizza were doing a brisk early lunch business, and there was a steady flow of customers in and out of Overly Caffeinated on the corner. She turned right on Lavender Street and then headed west on Karma Avenue. Farm and Field Fresh was a large brick building on the edge of town. It was organic and free trade, and it had three entire aisles of vegan and vegetarian foods.
Eden dodged the employee offering samples of beet juice smoothie just inside the door. But she did make a pit stop to taste a gluten-free, vegan oatmeal raisin cookie. It tasted a little like cardboard, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She pushed her cart into the produce section and grabbed her usuals for weekly lunches. She stocked up on organic, cage-free chicken breasts and her secret obsession: chili lime popcorn. She’d have a bag of it in front of the fire tonight and put her feet up, Eden decided.
She made it into the dog food aisle without being stopped for more than a quick hello or seventeen. In Blue Moon, even strangers weren’t strangers. One trip around the grocery store and a visitor could meet half of the town if they weren’t careful.