Zoe Brennan, First Crush

Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Darryl, we need a water, stat! ” Hannah’s launched into action, staggering around like a drunken, half-dressed general caught in a surprise attack. “Someone check Zoe’s face!”

“My fa—?”

Diego grabs me by the chin and peers into my eyes, then scans my face for imperfections and sniffs. “Looks good. Smells bad!”

“Got it, baby!” Teddy hurriedly shoves a stick of medical-grade mint gum into my gaping mouth. Then Laine’s pulling me up to my feet, smoothing down my wrinkled sundress with the heels of her hands. “You with me, boss? It’s showtime!”

“Wait, WAIT! Her hair’s weird, y’all!” Teddy screeches over his shoulder. “What do we do about her hair?!”

“I’ve got a curling iron up here!” Trish hollers back. “Plugs into the USB port!”

“Oh my GOD, stop it!” I slap all their reaching, frantic hands away, which sends me reeling backward into my seat.

Fuck, I am drunk .

“They’re not supposed to be here till tomorrow,” I wail at the van’s ceiling. Teddy tentatively picks up an errant lock of my hair, and I smack his hand away.

“You’ve missed ten calls and thirty-two texts.” Laine hands me my phone from where it fell on the floor. “Plans must’ve changed while we didn’t have service.”

Fuck! I take the wretched gum out and throw back the bottle of water Hannah thrusts at me, then shove the gum back in, chewing furiously. Willing the burning mint to dry out my brain. Everyone’s looking at me nervously. They know how crucial this moment is for Bluebell, and I’m drunk, smeared with sleep, and completely unprepared.

Well, so fuckin’ what?

I’m Zoe Nicoletta Brennan, boss-bitch through and through, and I’m about to win me that goddamn showcase. I grab the headrest in front of me and haul myself to standing. “It’s ho-time .”

“Showtime,” Mattie corrects.

“I said what I said!”

The van cheers as I push past them to the front. “Darryl, you go first, and I’ll follow. That way if I trip, I’ve got something soft to land on.”

Laine pumps her fist. “ Yeah! ”

Bacchus must be watching over me, because my black zip-up boots carry me swiftly and confidently across our gravel parking lot to the front doors of our tasting room, where a small group of people wearing rumpled white linen and heavy black sunglasses stand looking distinctly put out. Olinda’s there, too, wringing her hands, but when she sees me, relief washes over her face. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Zoe! My shuttle broke down right there in the road, and it’s going to be at least forty-five minutes until the backup can arrive to transport my guests to their accommodations.” She winks at me then, with a mischievous smile only I can see. “I know you’re closed for the evening, but could you find it in your heart to let us in to get out of this heat?” Olinda waves her hand at her face. “My god, it is hot, though.”

“Yes, of course!” I pull my keys out of my bag with a flourish, which sends them flying through the air. Laine appears out of nowhere and catches them deftly in one hand despite being a few sheets to the wind herself.

Fucking athletes.

“So sorry to hear about your shittle troubles, er , shuttle troubles,” I say over my shoulder as I unlock the doors, praying Tristan remembered to wipe down the counters before clocking out. “Olinda has the best airport service in town. But since you’re here, might as well come in and take a load off while you wait.” I’m striving for nonchalance, feigning complete ignorance as to who these disgruntled fashionable people are. “Are y’all in town for a wedding? Family reunion, maybe?” Reunion comes out more like roonyin , but overall, I’m doing great. Very sober, three fishing rods up, me.

“We’re here on business, actually,” says a lovely older woman with silky, silver hair tied up in a simple topknot. To be that elegant after a long day of flying. Jesus , I am out of my league. “And a bit of pleasure,” she adds with a laugh as silky as her hair. “This is quite a coincidence, really.”

“Oh? How so?” I flip all the lights on, unable to hide my sigh of relief. The place is spotless.

Bless you, Stan. Bless you.

“We’re with Everyday Bon Vivant . I’m head of events, and this is my team,” Silver Fox says, offering her hand to me in a genteel shake. “Marisol Torres. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Brennan.”

I command my eyes to widen just so in amazement. “I heard y’all were looking at Blue Ridge for your annual festival! I’m so excited to meet you. What a surprise!”

Laine catches my eye and mouths, Oscar-worthy , and I beam.

“This is my vintner, Laine Woods. She worked at Le Jardin before coming home to Blue Ridge, and now, we’re lucky enough to have her here.”

Laine freezes, and I realize belatedly maybe listing off her California disaster-train exodus wasn’t a great idea? Shit.

“Laine Woods?” Marisol pauses, looking at Laine thoughtfully. “I’ve heard your name somewhere.” She taps a long nail on her chin.

Laine laughs a little, but it sounds strangely choked. “Oh, well. If you’re in the wine business long enough, you get around.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you both.” Marisol’s voice is a little distant, evidently still trying to pin Laine to whatever she’s heard about her. But then her friendly eyes land back on me. “We were already planning on visiting Bluebell Vineyards this week while in town. Unannounced, of course.” She smiles demurely. “You understand.”

“I do indeed.” I don’t know why I’m speaking like a debutante at her first cotillion, but here we are. “Well, I’m honored to have you here on this unannounced visit, though I’m sorry it’s under your present circumstances. Hopefully a little wine can help?”

I sidle behind the bar, grabbing a still frozen Laine by the arm as I go. “Give us just a moment, and we’ll be right back.” I give the team a gracious smile, then pull Laine into the back. The door swings shut behind us.

“Laine? You’ve gotta snap out of it.” I wave my hand in front of her spooked face. “You hear me?”

“She’ll remember,” Laine whispers, her eyes still trained above my head at the wall behind me. “She doesn’t right now, but she will. Then what?” Her eyes flicker down to mine, fearful. “They’ll write off Bluebell Vineyards as soon as they find out who I am.”

I grab her by the shoulders, sinking my fingers into the firm muscles there. “No. They won’t.” My voice is commanding, deep. It forces her to focus on me. “We won’t let them write us off. You know why?”

Laine blinks, her eyes begging me for rescue. “Why?”

I step closer, tilting my chin up, defying her crackling insecurity with a million volts of pure boss . “We’re about to charm them out of their goddamn minds. They’re going to be in love with us, with Bluebell Vineyards, with all of it by the time they leave here today. We’re going to do whatever it takes to make that happen.” Laine swallows as I run my hands along the line of her shoulders, smoothing her shirt. One hand goes renegade and tightens around the back of her neck. “ Whatever it takes ,” I say, repeating our mantra from Rachel’s field day. “Do you understand?”

Laine sucks in a breath, her eyes flashing heat. The alcohol’s loosened all my impulses, and I let go of her suddenly, shaking my head to dispel the horniness that’s descended upon me like a fog. “I’m—sorry. I—”

Laine catches me by the wrist, deliciously present once more. “Don’t be, boss.” She runs her thumb over my pulse point, sending a thousand shooting arrows of lust straight through my core. “Now, let’s go win this thing.”

We each grab a few bottles to bring out. My head feels woozy from the encounter with Laine, like I drank a bottle of her , and it’s gone straight to my head.

We bustle back into the tasting room, and Laine, full of a sexy, new confidence, pulls out the corkscrew and begins describing the crisp acidity our grapes achieve in this climate. The team listens enraptured, and I lean on the counter, placing my chin in my hands, listening to her, too. This is going great . Laine is pure competence and grace. I am the picture of sobriety and good cheer. Hospitality personified. I am—my chin slips out of my palm, and my head jerks toward the counter, but I save myself before I crack my jaw open. One of the others, a short brunette with suspicious eyes, frowns at me.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes.” I wave a hand at her. “Allergy season, that’s all.” I grab a bevy of stemmed glasses before anyone can think too long about that excuse and set the glasses down artfully in front of each of the events team, thanking the Universe for muscle memory kicking in. Altogether, there are four of them. Marisol; the suspicious little brunette whose name is probably Agatha (she just looks like an Agatha); a younger man with hip metal glasses and a tablet, positively dripping with executive assistant energy; and a softly jowled man who looks like he eats Tums by the barrel.

I push a small pour of Electric Daisy toward the nervous man first. “You must be the logistics person,” I say conspiratorially.

He blinks at me with wide, owllike eyes. “How did you know?”

“You look like you’re planning a hundred different contingencies right now based on this unexpected detour.” I wink at him. “Always ready to save the day. Am I right?”

“Well, I—” He laughs a little, slides a finger under the tight collar of his shirt to make room for his sweating neck, then undoes the top button. “I do have an eye for detail.” He sniffs the wine’s bouquet appreciatively. “Like wildflowers. Lovely.” He smiles shyly back.

One down, three to go.

I slide glasses toward Marisol, Agatha, and Mr. Bright Future and watch with as casual a gaze as I can muster as they sniff and sip their wine.

Marisol’s smile is as kind as ever as she declares Electric Daisy a perfect refresher on a hot summer evening, but Agatha winces subtly. Laine and I both see it, and we trade apprehensive glances.

“If you’re ready to stretch your legs after the long drive from Atlanta, how about a tour of the property?” Laine’s tone and manner are professional, congenial, perfect. It’s hard to believe the same woman was singing Faith Hill songs unironically at the top of her lungs a couple hours ago at Jamal’s Keep Calm and Karaoke Wednesday afternoon programming. It’s harder to believe she was ever scared at all. She’s slipped her tortoiseshell specs on, which goes a long way toward hiding the relaxed set of her face that comes from a long day sipping wine in the sun. “Zoe can tell you the beautiful story of Bluebell while the sun sets over the vineyards. It’s one of the prettiest places in the world.”

My insides warm with happiness. “You really think that?”

Laine glances at me, her cheeks pinking beneath her frames. “I do.”

“Oh my goodness, you two are just the perfect pairing, aren’t you!” Marisol exclaims, delighted. “My son just married his partner of ten years last spring. Beautiful wedding.”

“Congratulations,” Laine says with genuine feeling, her eyes soft at the corners, completely unshaken. “You must be so proud.”

“I am! With two sons, I like to say I’m surrounded by handsome men now. Were you two married here, as well?” Marisol’s smile is warm below her twinkling eyes, rendering me speechless at how quickly this misunderstanding has escalated. But I can’t regret it. Marisol’s vibes have gone from polite professionalism to sweet, caring, and maternal, her eyes glowing with happiness for the young queers in love.

“Um, n-no,” Laine stutters out while I stare, dumbfounded. She adjusts her glasses and smiles nervously. “At least, not yet.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes. My heart explodes into a gaggle of red and pink confetti, as fooled by her words as the Everyday Bon Vivant team.

Stupid heart, get your shit together!

“Well, lead the way, lovebirds. We’ll take this delicious wine to go.”

Laine’s eyebrows rise over her frames as she smiles giddily at me, then offers her arm. “Shall we?” The question’s layered, and though my head is spinning on a different axis than the rest of my body, I know she’s asking more than whether I’m ready to go right now.

Shall we give the people what they want?

Whatever it takes, right? I grasp her arm, bringing her close to me.

“Yes, we shall.”

We set out on the new gravel path that winds through our vineyards. It’s magic hour right now—the last kiss of sunlight gilds the rows of leafy canopies, turning green grapes golden as we make our way to the top of the hill, toward Mom’s tree and the first majestic viewpoint. The blue skies are ablush with apricot and honey, pinkest where the emerald-green curve of the Appalachian Mountains presses against them in the horizon. The whole world feels vivid and alive.

“Story time,” Laine says fondly down at me, and Marisol agrees cheerily. I clear my throat, looking out on the vineyards, and summon this untold story, forbidden for so long, from my heart.

“Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Julie who worked on her family’s farm in the foothills of Appalachia, where she helped with a little of everything.” I didn’t intend to tell it like this, but the story flows out of me like a fairy tale, the way Mom always told it when I was a kid. Every night, I’d beg to hear it, and she’d indulge me more often than not, sitting on the side of my twin bed, her hand resting gently on my covers. Sometimes Dad would listen in the doorway, his eyes starry as he leaned against the frame. How I loved seeing them in love.

“Julie’s favorite pastime was helping her father cultivate a small patch of Merlot vines and turning grapes into rich, red wine. She longed to turn her father’s hobby into her own future, but her family didn’t approve. There weren’t any vineyards in Blue Ridge then, and it was an untested idea whether they could work here on a large scale. But Julie believed in what she could do, so she saved all her nickels and dimes with the hopes of buying her own land one day. She worked every job she could, but it was her job at the old hardware store, the one place in town you could buy camping gear back then, that set her dreams in motion. One day, a young man came in with a shopping list a mile long, preparing for a months-long hike up the Appalachian Trail. He was dark-haired, handsome, and extremely confused, and Julie took pity on him.” I stop to smile, remembering how Mom’s eyes would always travel over to Dad as she told this part of the story, a gentle, teasing lilt to her voice. “He seemed to think he could carry a hundred pounds of beans on his back and make it past Springer Mountain.”

Young Cosimo was an ambitious man, Dad would always add, then grin. And very stupid.

“It took weeks to get all the supplies he ordered into the store, but Cosimo found he didn’t mind the delay. He’d graduated from college that winter and, feeling lost about his own future, had decided to hike the Appalachian Trail to find himself. He was a romantic that way, idealistic to his core, and he wasn’t ready to return to his family in Italy just yet. He was looking for inspiration, and he found it behind the register at the hardware store with a name tag that read ‘Julie.’ He asked her out that night and every night that followed.

“After a short, passionate spring romance, it was time for Cosimo to depart on his hike. The weather was right, his pack was ready, but his heart longed to stay in Blue Ridge with Julie. She hiked with him to the top of Springer Mountain, and as the sun set on the rolling hills and valleys below, she told him of her dreams to start her own vineyard.

“Cosimo listened, thinking this must be his fate. He grew up in Tuscany, where every extra pair of hands were set to work in the vineyards. He had no dream of his own, but he could help Julie live hers. Wine was her dream, but Julie was his.

“They sat, surrounded by the first bluebells in bloom on Springer Mountain, and together, they picked the prettiest patch of hilly forest below them, drenched in the last rays of sun, to be their future home. He promised her he’d return, and they’d start their lives together. Julie didn’t believe a word of it, of course. He was a beautiful Italian man who wore his heart on his sleeve, and she didn’t believe in fairy tales anymore. So when Cosimo Rossi Giuratraboccetti appeared on her doorstep a month later with a deed, a ring, and more bug bites than you could count, Julie nearly fainted on the spot.”

“He quit the hike and bought the land?!” Marisol broke in, her hand pressed against her chest, unable to contain her surprise.

I grin. “He didn’t last two weeks on the AT. He couldn’t stop thinking about his Julie, and fate, and the sign he’d been given. He turned right back around, emptied his savings for a down payment, and put all his romance and fate to the test. He proposed, and she didn’t even have to think about it. Julie said yes.”

Laine shakes her head and whistles. “Cosimo, that old dog.”

Agatha scrunches her brow. “Didn’t you know the story already?”

Laine starts a bit at the question, then falls back into character. “Of course! Gets me every time, though.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and gently brushes a tear off my cheek. “You’re crying, boss.”

I laugh a little as Marisol hands me a handkerchief with concern. “I’m sorry. I hear my mother’s voice in my head whenever I tell this story. She died when I was twelve.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Marisol murmurs. Even mean-faced Agatha looks chagrined. I smile weakly as I look out onto our vineyards, the gold faded into a solemn silvery lavender in the sun’s absence.

“My mother Julie and my father Cosimo cultivated the land they picked on sight for Bluebell Vineyards, the land we’re standing on today. You can see Springer Mountain, just there, in the distance. It must’ve been fate because our terroir is perfect for growing grapes. The hills are red clay topped with sand, providing the drainage needed to survive our rainy seasons, and the constant breeze from the mountains keeps our leaves dry and healthy. Every spring, our woods are ringed in bluebells, which give us our name. Together, my parents founded this vineyard and filled it with their love, my mother as vintner, my father as farmer. My mother has passed on, but not before giving me her dream, too. I’ve run Bluebell with my father ever since, and now, Laine.”

Mr. Logistics wipes his own tears away. “What a beautiful story, and you and Laine are carrying on the tradition, just like your parents. This vineyard runs on pure romance. My goodness .”

Laine gazes into my eyes so tenderly, it takes my breath away. “It’s hard not to fall in love with this place, or the people in it.”

I swallow, just barely, as her hand brushes my cheek again.

“Where is Cosimo now?” Agatha asks abruptly, then coughs into her hand as though self-conscious about her question.

“He’s on an extended stay in Italy to see our family there,” I respond, still locked into Laine’s dreamy eyes. “Would you all like to see a picture of my parents?” I turn to face the events team, pleased to see their wholehearted delight at the idea. I pull out my phone and open a special folder of old pictures I scanned in one night when I was feeling lonely. Dad took all her pictures down after Mom passed—he just couldn’t handle seeing her face everywhere her body no longer lived, but I missed seeing her smile. I pull up my favorite—one of my parents when they were both young and healthy, just a few months before I was born. Dad’s sitting with his back pressed against Mom’s tree, his arms wrapped protectively around her pregnant belly. His chin rests on her shoulder, and she’s smiling through a big laugh, as though the photographer, my aunt Bri I think, just said something funny. Dad’s eyes are shining and gloriously happy, an expression that disappeared the day Mom found out she was sick. But here, with their whole lives ahead of them, they were happy. A southern girl and an Italian boy. An unlikely romance fated to be.

I float through the rest of the tour and back to our tasting room, the tide of memories making my heart swell in bittersweet longing. It feels good to tell them, to remember her here. This is her place, her land, picked by her and Dad in a moment of waking dream. Long after the wine leaves my system, I remain heady under the memories’ influence and Laine’s lingering touches. I know it’s just for show—Marisol and the Everyday Bon Vivant events team are fully in love with the idea of Bluebell Vineyards, and the idea of Laine and I together, carrying that romantic legacy forward. It makes good business sense to lean into it, that’s all. I should be grateful she’s willing to sell it as hard as we need, though the pleasure from her touch is laced with a stinging pain.

I may not have the romance my parents did, but I have the heartache. Every good love story has both, so if you look at it that way, I’m halfway there.

Always halfway there.

The substitute shuttle arrives, but the events team opts to stay late into the evening, laughing around a table on our patio beneath the string lights with Laine, Olinda, and me, wine flowing while stories are traded. Eager to hear more Julie/Cosimo canon, the team begs me to tell them more, so I regale them about our trip to the Everyday Bon Vivant festival in the Finger Lakes, to which Marisol exclaims that was the first event she ever worked on. By the time they leave, Marisol feels like an old friend, and Matthew and Preston, Mr. Logistics and Mr. Bright Future respectively, are well on their way, too. Only Agatha, whose real name is Erica, remains difficult to pin down. She didn’t finish her wine at the tasting, nor did she hug Laine and I goodbye as the others did when they bid their farewells.

“We’ll win her over,” Laine whispers into my ear as we wave goodbye from the door, making the soft down of my neck prickle. “Don’t you worry.”

But when? When would we see them again, if ever? Suddenly possessed, I run out into the parking lot, calling for them to slow down.

“This Saturday evening, if you don’t have plans, please come visit us again. We’re hosting my dear friend Hannah’s wedding, and the reception will be a huge party—all are welcome.” I smile, pleading and breathless, as Laine joins me. “I’d love to show y’all Bluebell Vineyards fully decked out and brimming with romance.”

Marisol’s mouth curves in the moonlight as she takes both my hands in hers, and without even looking at the others, says, “Zoe darling, we’ll be here. See you soon!”

I clasp my hands to my heart as the now familiar weight of Laine’s arm encircles my waist, fingers splayed warmly across my hip. The touch feels possessive and easy, and it sends waves of heat through my belly, radiating from each point of contact between our bodies. We wave goodbye for a second time and as the van rolls away, Laine leans down.

“I hope that was okay,” she whispers against my neck, her full mouth forming each letter’s shape against my taut, flushed skin. I feel how a violin in the hands of a musician must, each of my strings tightening beneath her fingers until they reverberate with high, clear music. The strong line of her nose nudges my jaw, as though she’s prodding my head to fall back and stare at the nearly full moon so she can kiss her way down the sensitive skin there. If there was any doubt before about Laine’s sexual interest in me, this moment’s banishing it for good. She keeps her face buried against my neck until the headlights disappear into the flooding darkness of the mountain night. Breathing into me. Once again, asking me multiple questions under the guise of one. Waiting for my answer.

What is my answer? Hurt me, please? Destroy me, please? Take what I have to give, then leave when it’s not enough?

The front door to my father’s house opens, then slams shut, jolting us apart.

“How’d it go, lesbians?!” Teddy bellows across the parking lot. Diego hurries out after him, apologizing profusely.

“So sorry to startle you, we just tucked inside so we could sober up before driving home!” Diego throws his arm around Teddy, corralling him toward the red Mini Cooper still parked in the corner of our lot. “He’s still drunk,” Diego stage-whispers. “But seriously, how did it go?”

My side where Laine was pressed seconds ago feels cold without her. I find myself looking to her to answer.

“Zoe was amazing.” Laine locks her eyes on mine, heat pouring through an invisible channel from her to me. “ Is amazing.” She walks backward a few steps. “Good night, boss.”

I press a hand to my chest, as though her words branded me there, and watch her turn and walk away.