Chapter Twenty-One Memphis
Chapter Twenty-One
Memphis
The weather is turning. Temps dip into the low fifties in the evening, and the fall foliage that makes wine country such a desirable place to visit during the autumn is emerging. October brings a boom to the vineyard and the restaurant, and with the surge of guests, we expand our tours and hire a few more waitstaff.
We’ve made it through the hardest part of the harvest, and now we’re booking down the road at a steady clip.
Which should feel amazing.
And it does.
In some ways.
There are a lot of things to be grateful for.
My siblings’ excitement about the restructure and how they’ve jumped in with both feet. The profit the restaurant is bringing in and the impact it’s having on our bottom line. The positive energy around the vineyard that was missing for far too long.
Even though I still have a ton to do, there is a lightness to my work that I haven’t felt in ... maybe years?
Which is why it’s infuriating to realize that the heaviness I’d been carrying around on my shoulders for so long has simply relocated to my chest.
I feel like a fool, still pining after a woman who made it clear that this was only ever supposed to be a bit of fun. That things between us could never work.
And I’ve tried every mental game possible to remind my self of the realities.
That it was just two weeks.
That it was just for fun.
That we didn’t really know each other that well.
But those arguments are falsities. Like information that is completely out of context to the truth of what those two weeks were like, how those moments bloomed into something more, and how much deeper those feelings became.
It’s a vicious cycle of regret. I stop wondering if I could have done or said something different to have truly convinced her that we could figure it out. That we didn’t have to abandon our lives in order to create a new one together. That there was something here worth fighting for.
I didn’t, though.
I didn’t say any of those things.
Instead, I just let her go.
Just let her get in the car and drive away.
And my pride has kept me from calling her. Or texting.
Or fuck, driving down to LA and telling her how I really feel.
But she wouldn’t want that.
Look what happened with Theo.
He went after her, didn’t he? And she shut him down. Sent him packing.
Realistically, our situations are different. She communicated what she wanted, and I’m the kind of man who knows how to listen.
She wanted to say goodbye, so I let her.
If only I could fucking say it, too.
“I need your help tonight,” Murphy says, resting her hip against the kitchen island.
I glance at her, but continue spreading mustard onto a slice of bread, intending on eating an early dinner and then heading over to the warehouse to look through some inventory.
We’ve settled on January as the transition timeline for the restructure. We don’t want to rush things, but really give ourselves the time to brainstorm. Get through the busiest part of the year one final time before Micah and Murphy take on the full range of their new responsibilities.
As much as I’m looking forward to the day when we’re sharing the joys and hardships of this vineyard together, I don’t want to dump it all on them at one time. So for now, some of those tasks still rest with me.
Like inventory.
But I don’t mind. The knowledge that we’re in it together is almost enough to make it seem like I’m not working as much.
And my desire to keep busy and keep my mind off Vivian is definitely enough to make the continued work a nonissue.
“What do you need my help with?” I ask, putting the bread on the turkey sandwich and slicing it in half.
“I need to staff the booth at the Fall Festival.”
My lip curls slightly at the idea. “No thanks. I hate that shit.”
“I know you do. But we need two people—one to handle the wine samples and one for the game.”
“Ask Sarah.”
“She was originally who I asked, but she’s not feeling good.”
“Naomi.”
“You want her to work the last shift at the booth and then do a harvest at two a.m.? Besides, she’s covering crew dinner for Sarah.”
I sigh. “Micah. Dad. One of your waitstaff.”
“Micah’s in San Francisco meeting with a distributor. Dad is also working the morning harvest. And our waitstaff are busy with the restaurant. I’m telling you, Memphis. You were my last ask.”
Groaning, I take a bite of my sandwich.
I don’t dislike the Fall Festival. I used to love it when I was younger. But now that I’m in my thirties, I struggle to jump into community events anymore. Everyone always seems so happy and carefree, and that’s not the reality of my life right now.
Maybe it will be again. Someday.
I hope it is.
I believe it can be.
But not right now.
So the idea of handing out wine samples, or worse, managing whatever idiotic game has been set up, sounds like the exact last thing I want to do tonight.
“Fine,” I grumble. “What time do we need to leave?”
“Probably thirty minutes?”
I give her a sarcastic thumbs-up and she laughs, telling me she’s going to get ready and we’ll head out soon. Then I’m left behind to enjoy my sandwich in peace.
About forty-five minutes later, Murphy and I are pulling into the dirt lot across the street from Rosewood High School. The bright lights from the football field are like a glowing beacon to anyone looking for a fun evening. It takes a few minutes to park, and then we’re walking across the field, weaving between families and couples holding bags of popcorn and stuffed animals.
“Hey, guys! We’re here to release you into the wild,” Murphy says as we approach the booth with the big Hawthorne Vines banner across the top.
Mira and Enid wave and smile at us, then do a quick overview of how they have everything organized.
“How does the game work?” I ask, peering at the table with dozens of wine bottle corks sticking out of it, each with a red or black dot on the end.
“Okay, so it’s ten dollars to play. Each person gets three rings, and they toss them onto the board. If it lands on one of the red dots, they get a standard bottle. If it lands on a cork with a black dot, they get to pick from the nicer vintages we brought.”
“And if they miss on all three?”
“They get a ticket for a free glass of wine at the restaurant.”
I smirk at Enid. “That’s smart.”
“It was Murphy’s idea.”
I glance at my sister, who is listening to Mira explain how she’s been handling the wine samples and showing Murphy where the wines are boxed under the table. I need to stop being surprised by the things my sister does, by the mind she has and the things she’s capable of handling. But for whatever reason, she keeps impressing me all the same.
Eventually, Enid and Mira take off, and then it’s me and my sister, manning the booth and interacting with festival attendees. We stay pretty busy for about the first hour, doling out samples and encouraging people to play the cork and ring game. It’s not as horrible as I thought it would be.
When there’s a lull, we take a seat in the camping chairs set up behind the table, enjoying the break.
Murphy glances at her watch. “They’re supposed to start the bands up on the stage soon,” she tells me. “Apparently Gigi invited everyone who has ever performed at open mic night.”
There have been some incredible performers over the years. The monthly open mic night is a beloved tradition in our small town. But of course, my mind immediately pulls up the memory of Vivian on the stage, singing that song she wrote while she was here. The sound of her beautiful voice filling the bar, everyone staring at her, enraptured. Including me.
I don’t doubt I’ll hear her singing on the radio someday. She’ll take the world by storm and achieve all those big dreams she has for herself.
It’s what I want for her.
Not that it matters what I want.
But still, a part of me is glad she wasn’t willing to let go of the big things she’s dreamed of for ... some guy.
My chest still aches at the idea that maybe that’s all I was to her, though, when she was so much more to me.
The music that’s been pumping through the speakers comes to an end, and then we hear a familiar voice making announcements.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen, you’re in for a treat tonight!” Gigi says, her voice echoing around the football field. “Tonight, we have a handful of incredible performers ready to bring this Fall Festival to life!”
I turn to Murphy as Gigi continues her announcement.
“Ten bucks says the first song is an off-key version of ‘Indian Summer,’” I joke, referencing a Brooks & Dunn classic that I hear somewhere in town at the start of autumn like clockwork.
Murphy smirks at me.
“Welcome to the stage, all the way from Santa Monica ...”
My head spins back toward the stage, my brows furrowing.
“. . . Vivian Walsh!”
I blink, certain I’ve misheard. But sure enough, there’s that familiar red hair as she walks onto the stage, a guitar slung around her shoulder. I push out of my chair and take a step forward, my hands on my hips as I watch her get set up, adjusting the height of the mic and plugging her guitar into the sound system.
“Hello, Rosewood!” she says, her voice ringing loud and beautiful and clear through the speakers as she steps in front of the mic. “Some of you might remember me from when I visited this incredible town last month and did a little performance at The Standard. Well, I’m back with a few songs, and I’m excited to share them with you. I hope you enjoy.”
Then her fingers begin to pluck and strum her strings. I turn back to Murphy, finding her up and helping someone at the cork and ring game.
“Did you know about this?” I demand.
“Of course I did,” she replies, laughing as she accepts cash from the couple standing, waiting to play.
I face the stage again, my ears soaking up the sounds of Vivian’s voice as she plays that song she played at The Standard. “Sweet Escape,” I think she called it. Listening to her play soothes something inside me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. I watch her until the song finishes, and she begins playing another.
“Why is she here?” I call back to my sister, uncaring that she’s supposed to be working.
“Why do you think?”
I look back at her, finding Murphy handing over a bottle of wine to the couple. She looks at me, a smile on her face.
“She’s in love with you, dummy. This is her grand gesture.”
I spin back around, my heart pounding at what my sister just said, wondering if it’s really true. Hoping that it is.
I head toward where Vivian is on the opposite end of the field, leaving Murphy behind to handle the booth. I weave into the crowd surrounding the stage, getting close enough that I can see those freckles that I love so much.
God, she’s a fucking queen up there. Commanding the stage and the attention of everyone listening.
And I can’t do anything but drink it in. Bask in her presence.
Any attempt I’d made at moving past the feelings I’d begun to develop ... is gone. Dust. Blown away in the wind of the storm that surrounds my heart when I’m near her.
She finishes singing, her eyes closed and her head tilted up on that last note, and then the crowd around me cheers and shouts, applause sweeping through the entire event.
That’s when her eyes find me. Like she knew where I was standing the entire time.
“Technically, I’m only supposed to do two songs,” she says, giving me a smile, “but I have one more. Something I wrote over the past few weeks. It’s about that time in your life when your idea of home becomes less about a place, and more about a person. I haven’t named it yet, but I’m thinking about calling it ‘Where You Are.’”
Then she’s strumming her guitar again, a folky-country sound that I find myself swaying along to, my fingers tapping lightly against my jeans as I listen.
She sings about running away, about not knowing what she was looking for, and I’d have to be an idiot not to understand instinctively that this song is about us.
And then she gets to the chorus, and her eyes lock on me, not straying for a moment as she launches into the lyrics.
I’ve been to the mountains, the valleys, the sea
Searching for something that might maybe set me free.
When all of that time all I wanted to be
Was home, home, home in your arms.
Home, home, home is where you are.
She hits another verse, this one about finding a place where she’s known, and a shiver slides through me. I’m almost under a trance.
When she finally sings the chorus again, ending on that last line, the audience erupts in cheers. The people around me must surely know they’ve witnessed an incredible talent. A once-in-a-lifetime moment.
Gigi steps out onto the stage, thanking Vivian and making some announcements about whoever is next. But I don’t hear any of that. All I can hear is the sound of my heart thumping in my ears as she walks off the stage, meeting me where I’m already waiting for her off to the side.
As confident as she was up there, now that she’s on the ground, just a few feet away, I can see the hint of nerves in her eyes as we approach each other.
“Hi, Memphis,” she says, her voice soft.
“You’re here.” I’m unable to hide my smile at that fact.
“I wanted to talk to you. To apologize. To ... see if you’d reconsider what you said about us making this work ...”
I step forward and pull her into my arms, cutting her off midsentence.
Her surprise is evident at first, but barely a beat passes before she melts into me, her mouth opening as I kiss her thoroughly. As I pour out every moment that I’ve missed her over the past month.
“I just really wanted to do that.” I pull back slightly, resting my forehead against hers.
“I had a whole speech planned,” she whispers, her eyes closed and her lips tilted up at the sides. “An apology and an explanation and everything.”
“I don’t need it.”
Vivian laughs, wrapping her arms around my middle and tucking herself snugly into me. It’s like a puzzle piece sliding into place.
God, I love you.
“I still need to say it,” she says, her words coming quiet into my ear. “And you’re a liar if you think you don’t need to hear it.”
I sigh, closing my own eyes and pulling her in even more tightly.
“Maybe I do,” I finally say. “But not right now. Right now, I just want to enjoy that you’re here, in my arms, where you belong.”
She hums, rubbing her hands gently on my back.
“My home,” she whispers.
I kiss her again, not wanting to miss the opportunity.
God, if it’s up to me, I’ll never miss a chance to kiss her again.
And then I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and we wander into the crowd.
Vivian’s body lies on top of mine, her chest heaving, both of us exhausted and thoroughly spent.
We stayed an hour or so at the Fall Festival. She helped at the booth for a little bit, and then Murphy shooed us away, telling us to go enjoy ourselves.
So we strolled along, hand in hand, until by mutual agreement, we left and came back home.
Where we lost ourselves in the physical connection that we so clearly have.
I know we need to talk. Vivian was right when she said I need to hear whatever she has to say. And I do want to hear it.
But I also wanted to feel her in my arms. Watch her writhe underneath me. See her fall apart at my touch.
Our physical connection is just as important as our emotional one, and I can’t complain that that’s the one we both wanted to focus on first.
She slides off my chest and tucks herself into my side. She draws lazy doodles along my abdomen as we sit in the silence for long moments before she finally speaks.
“I left because I was scared.”
Her words are shy. Quiet. Filled with an emotion I’m not accustomed to hearing in her voice.
Fear.
“The things I feel for you are just ... so much bigger than what I’ve ever felt before, and I was scared of what it would do to me when this eventually fizzled out.” Her head tilts up, and she looks me in the eyes.
“Why were you so sure it would fizzle out?”
“Because everything does,” she answers, her words quick. “Nothing lasts forever, right?”
“Of course not, but that seems to be an argument for taking what you want with both hands, not avoiding it altogether.”
Vivian closes her eyes and tucks her face into my neck, and I wrap her up with both arms, knowing she clearly needs it.
“Talk to me. What’s going through that head?”
“That’s the thing,” she whispers, not looking me in the eye. “I’m not used to sharing what’s going on in my head. I don’t ... really let people in.”
“Why not?”
She sighs. “I use my music to share how I feel, as a way to let people see parts of who I am. But I’ve always been afraid that if I let someone really see me—if I share the deepest, darkest parts of me, my fears and hopes and secrets—it’ll be used as a list of reasons why I’m unlovable.”
I push Vivian onto her back and bring a hand to her face, cupping her cheek, my thumb stroking down her jaw.
“You could never be unlovable,” I tell her, my voice stern, wanting her to know how deeply convicted I feel on this very important point. “Ever.”
Her lips tilt up at the sides, and she lifts up to press a gentle kiss to my mouth.
“You might be the first person I’ve ever really shared that with,” she whispers. “And like I said, it’s scary. Because it’s me giving you all the tools to tear me apart if you wanted to.”
I shake my head. “Not in any world could I ever take the things you tell me and use them against you.”
She nods, something like resolve hidden within her gaze.
“I know that. I trust you. I trust you with the parts of me I’ve never shown to anyone before. With the things I’m scared to share.” Vivian pauses, her hand coming up to my face, her eyes roving across it. “I want you to know me. I want to be known by you. I want this between us to be more than just ...”
She trails off.
“More than just bene-mies?” I ask, grinning at her.
Vivian laughs, and the sound sinks into my skin, healing me in ways I didn’t realize another person could.
My chest is tight, but I speak anyway. “It was never just a fling, you and me. Nothing I’ve ever felt for you has been small enough, or meaningless enough to have ever been a fling.”
At that, she smiles, and that tightness in my chest settles.
“I’m sorry I left. I ran instead of giving this a chance.”
“But you came back to me,” I tell her, placing a kiss against her cheek, and then her nose, and then her lips.
And then I look her in the eyes and tell her a truth I know to be true.
“We can make it through anything if we always come back to each other.”