Zoe Brennan, First Crush

Chapter Twenty-Nine

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Some days, you wake up knowing the day is destined to become filler. Part of the yawning blur that sweeps you between the major touch points of your life.

But some days are magic . You open your eyes, and the air feels charged with potential. Each minute stands by, ready, waiting, wanting to become a memory.

When I open my eyes the morning of the showcase, I already know I’ll remember today forever. Dawn whispers in through the cracked window, the crisp feel of fall like the cool of my mother’s hand pressed against my forehead. Maybe it is. All these years I’ve felt sewn into this place, stitched tight by the thread of her blood in my veins, but Mom never wanted that for me. She only wanted me to be happy, to find my own way like she found hers. By climbing a mountain with her great love, looking out onto the world together, pointing, believing, that where they dare set their sights, happiness would follow.

I’m happy, Mom. My heart lifts the words in the hopes she’ll hear them . I’m climbing this mountain. I’m finding my way.

And I swear I smell wildflowers in October.

I stretch and wrap my body around Laine.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, covertly removing her retainer and tucking it under her pillow. “Good morning, boss.”

I pretend not to notice, because I love her.

“Good morning, Beave.” I kiss the words across her bare shoulder blades, leaving a trail of goose bumps in my wake. “Would you care to make it a great one?”

Laine finds my hand tucked around her stomach and brings it to her mouth, kissing the tip of each finger. She spends a little extra time on my thumb, wrapping her lips around it and giving it a long, slow suck that plucks me deep inside. With her other hand, she reaches behind to grab my thigh and drag it over her, grinding me against her hip in the process.

Guess that’s a yes.

Laine shifts until she’s on her back, looking up at me as I straddle her. She likes it this way, working me from below while watching me come for her above. Like she’s the conductor in the orchestra, watching the ballet on stage surge to the music she creates. I don’t mind starring on this stage for her. After all the years I spent desperate for Laine to look my way, feeling her hot, dark gaze trained on me now is a power I never imagined I’d have. One that’s borne from loving and being loved and resting in the faith that whatever tomorrow brings, it’s worth it.

It’s all so worth it.

After, we walk hand in hand through the rows of vines until our respective to-do lists require us to go in different directions. It’s early, but our friends and family begin to arrive, ready to help execute their parts of the showcase. There’s a world of tasks to be conquered before our doors open at five, and it’s up to us to conquer them. Laine leans down for a long, slow kiss before letting me go, like we have all the time in the world.

Maybe we do.

“I love you,” I murmur as she presses a final kiss to the top of my cheekbone. Her face hovers close to mine, her eyes the rich, tawny brown of the acorns scattered across our forest’s floor. She feels as much a part of this place as I do. Her hand cups my cheek.

“I will never, ever get tired of hearing you admit that.” Her face splits into a cocky grin. “Now, chop chop, Chop Chop. We’ve got a ho-case to throw!” She sends me off with a smack on the ass and my own eye-rolling grin.

As for my day, it goes smoother than apple butter thanks to Hannah. She took over planning while I was in Italy, then kept on while I worked day and night with Laine on getting the Brett infestation under control. She’s got a real knack for sweet-talking our vendors into better deals—extra speakers for the PA system, local snacks for our VIP swag bags, bathroom trailers upgraded to deluxe. They even have bidets , for God’s sake. She shows up at eight a.m., my angel of business largesse, ready to help me destroy the remaining to-do list. By two, we’ve pretty much got ’er done.

“Damn, Hannah,” I say, wiping the sweat off my brow after we finish setting up the kids’ play area she conceived, planned, and sourced all on her own. “You’re really good at event planning, you know that?”

Hannah gives me a loose grin. “You know, I think I’m pretty good at a lot of things these days.”

We cheers to that just as Maeve’s white animal rescue van rolls up, with its big Cheshire cat logo grinning on the door.

“Ahem, what?” I ask as Maeve throws open the sliding door, revealing a maze of crates filled with animals.

“It’s our petting zoo/adoption station!” Hannah says brightly, then runs over to help Maeve. I frown at the fenced-in section at the edge of the kids’ area, feeling utterly had as Tristan leads Baahlzebub from our barn over to the pen. He throws his head back and brays to the others like, Daddy’s home, bitches .

“Whoa! What’s he doing here?”

“He’s still up for adoption, remember?” Hannah places her hands on her hips, eyeing me suspiciously. “Why, Zoe Brennan. Have you gone soft on Baahlzebub?”

I don’t know why she’s looking at me like that. I’m just cuddling his head. “No … it’s just—”

Hannah tilts her head. “Hmm?”

“He’s useful. Sometimes.” I scrounge for exactly how. “He eats—weeds!”

“He also ate Rachel’s car. And half your fence.”

“He’s a growing boy!” I clutch him tighter, and he baa s.

Hannah huffs, then removes the ADOPT ME! tag from Bub’s collar and replaces it with the ADOPTED! one.

“We just had our first adoption of the day, people!” Maeve announces, then points at me. “No take-backsies, Zoe.”

“No take-backsies.” I sigh as Baahlzebub gives me a long, goaty lick. I don’t even vomit about it.

“What is this?” Matthew appears by my side, with his truly preternatural ability to zero in on undiscussed developments. He checks his clipboard, probably looking for the word Hell-Goat . Finding none, he repeats his question louder, a slight panic to his voice. “That fencing looks suspect. Are these animals insured?”

“Fully insured, sir,” Maeve says, puffing out her chest.

“Calm down, everybody, the showcase’s gonna go off without a hitch!” Hannah says with a kitten in her arms to an almost-immediate backlash of groaning in stereo. “What?” she asks, genuinely puzzled as she delivers ear scritches.

Matthew’s eyes flutter closed as he takes five deep breaths. I place my hand consolingly on his arm. “You just jinxed us, Hannah. You never say that kind of thing before an event!”

Hannah rolls her eyes. “Y’all are as bad as Killian with that superstitious business. It’s gonna be fi —”

We cut her off with loud booing.

When Tristan finishes bar setup, we run a final check through the art installation’s wiring. It was no easy feat figuring out the placement of projectors around the vineyard and how to power them, but the early test runs have me giddy to see the final product. With doors set to open at five, just as dusk begins to drape across the sky, we decide to go live at four thirty with the big reveal for all the people working our event tonight. I even manage to flag Laine down.

“Come on, take a minute with me,” I say, pulling her into my side. “I want you to see this.”

She’s already changed into her fancy clothes for the evening—a pair of trousers that hug the long, lean line of her legs, a pale blue button-down, and a wool blazer with the narrow lapel flipped up in the back. She’s got her tortoiseshell glasses on, that just-showered smell lingering around her, and I want to lick her top to bottom. Judging by the way she’s looking at me, the feeling’s mutual. I’m all fixed up now, too, wearing a slim, black suit, the pants cropped high to show off my ankles. The jacket’s fitted with strong shoulders revealing the white silky shirt beneath unbuttoned to reveal what else? In-between-boob. With my bold red lips and black winged eyeliner, Laine can’t look away. She fingers the dainty, hair-thin golden chain hanging in loops around my chest. The way the metal trawls across the delicate skin there makes my nipples tighten viciously.

“Yes, boss.” This beautiful, sexy wine scientist looks at me like she wants to drink me up. Like she loves me.

And the best part is, I know she does.

“Now, folks, this installation is meant to be experienced the way a night of good stories always is—at your own pace, with laughter and talk and sharing in the simple act of memory,” Tristan announces to the small group of helpers. He presses something that looks like a PowerPoint clicker, and a whoosh of gasps rises from the crowd as the vineyard lights up. Over a dozen projectors going at once, their images stretched across the forest, the hills, the vines themselves. A picture of my mom at the hardware store, waving behind the counter . My father, tiny beneath a massive hiking pack. A long-arm shot of their heads pressed close together at the top of Springer Mountain, our untamed land in the distance. The newspaper clipping announcing Bluebell’s opening. Small cuts of family videos are interspersed with the static shots, too. Dad chasing toddler-me down the Chardonnay vines, our faces lit up in silent laughter. Me blowing out six flickering birthday candles. Mom and Dad slow dancing at a vineyard event, when the patio was just grass with the moon hung above them.

All these images, flickering, distorted by the trees, or the ground, or even the barn roof they stretch out upon. The past overlaid the present, giving a feeling of place that’s heavier than the here and now. The story of my parents, my family, and now, us . Laine sucks in a breath as I lead her toward the pictures of young Zoe mirrored beside pictures of young Laine that Molly supplied. Then there’s Laine with her goggles on, me behind the tasting bar; Laine holding me up while I laugh wildly in front of the Redneck Wine Tour bus. Our own slow dance at River and Hannah’s wedding, a candid shot Tristan took.

“Zoe, baby, it’s incredible.” Laine hugs me closer and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Thank you for making me a part of this magical place.”

I lean up to kiss her cheek. “You make it even better.”

The installation is beautiful, but even better, it’s interesting . The crowd of workers stands in awe for a few moments before people head off to explore whichever vignette calls to them most.

“All right, everyone! Doors open in THREE MINUTES!” Hannah announces through Darryl’s camouflage megaphone, swiped from the tour bus. “To your stations!”

Laine spins me around to give me a soft, tender kiss. “It’s ho-time, boss.”

I smile, kissing her once more before giving Hannah the signal and throwing my arms wide. “Let the ho-case begin!”

The wine starts to flow .

And it’s magic, this bright October evening. The moon’s not quite full, but it hangs in the darkening sky like a spotlight shining down on Bluebell, on us , us from heaven above. The vignettes look amazing, folks happily ambling along our bulb-lit trails, glasses in hand, oohing and aahing over every chapter of this love story. On the autumn breeze floats the sweet scent of woodsmoke and the rich, heady smell of wine. Everywhere is happiness, and I soak it all up.

“There you are!” Marisol squeezes past the crowds gathering at the cheese tent for the tastings. A worried crease lines her brow.

“What is it?” I ask.

“We received a last-minute press pass request.” Marisol wets her lips. “From Benjamin Soren—the wine critic from Vinitopia . He’s here.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “Oh, god! He wrote a terrible review about Laine!” But Marisol doesn’t look surprised. “You … knew?”

Marisol nods glumly. “Of course we knew. We check up on all our vineyards. Not that we cared in the slightest. We believe in you both, but I’ve been trying to find her before she stumbles into him by accident.”

I cross my arms, a keenly edged protectiveness within me ready to do battle. “I’ll look for her, too.”

“Just remember, his words can’t touch either of you after tonight.” Marisol squeezes my arm. “Everything is perfect, Zoe. I’m so proud of you both, and I hope it’s not wrong to say it, but I know your mother would be, too.”

The air lifts the tips of my hair gently, and I place my hand over Marisol’s and squeeze. “Thank you, Marisol. For everything.”

I jog off, texting Laine as I go, but find her first, glorious and grinning behind the bar dedicated to her new line of reds in the tasting tent. She’s pouring glass after glass, graciously accepting the heaps of praise from her customers. A sour note twists in my stomach at the thought of telling her Soren is here. But if he catches her unaware, or worse, says a single goddamn thing to her, I’m not sure how either of us will handle that.

Probably with a bottle of our boldest bludgeoning varietal.

I’m still making my way toward the bar when a hand taps me on the shoulder. I’m ready to make a quick excuse so I can get to Laine, but it’s Mayor Esposito.

“Zoe!” Her politician’s smile is brilliant, full of pride for Blue Ridge and glee at the mass of wine tourists entering town. “Congratulations, darling!”

“Oh, thank you, Mayor. I’ve just—” I make a little pointing gesture toward the bar, but she throws her arm around my shoulders, reeling me in.

“Whatever it is, it can wait. You must meet this wine buyer. She selects the full inventory for Publix, and she’s crazy about Laine’s new Pinot Noir blend!” She spins me toward an effusive redhead who already has her hand outstretched to shake mine. When I finally extricate myself from the exciting, if extremely poorly timed meeting, my heart stutters in my chest.

I’m too late.

Benjamin Soren, slouching all his weight onto one leg, holds a wineglass under his nose like a fishbowl he’s reluctantly sniffing. It’s Laine’s favorite of her new red blends, appropriately titled Redemption Red. Laine’s standing there watching him, her jaw clenched. She’s trying to play it cool, but you don’t have to be in love with her to see all the signs of distress. Marisol’s beside her, watching Soren warily, a protective hand on Laine’s shoulder.

My first instinct is to run over and rescue her before this guy can disturb Laine’s hard-won peace of mind. Soren doesn’t know how much is riding on his good opinion. Not that it matters in Blue Ridge what he thinks, but it matters to Laine . I can’t bear the thought of him damaging the confidence she’s painstakingly rebuilt grape by grape ever since his cruel words soured her on her life’s true passion. But something roots me to the spot.

Soren lifts the glass to the pinched line of his discriminating mouth. You can tell he’s prepared to hate it by the faux regret already playing across his miserable face.

Fuck this guy! My feet unlock, and I stomp over there, ready to lay him out.

But then, he tastes it. The smug expression slides off his face, replaced with surprise. Not delight or approval, but genuine surprise. He rolls the wine around in his mouth, thinking. By the time I reach Laine’s side, she doesn’t seem to be breathing, still hanging in limbo for this man’s opinion.

Soren swallows, blinks. Looks at Laine. His face softens, brow furrowing. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Woods.”

Now Laine’s wearing the same surprised expression. “Sorry? For what?” she croaks out.

“For all those things I said about your abilities in my column. I take them all back.” His dark eyes look so humbled, I actually believe him. “This wine is incredible,” he says in awe. “Bright and interesting, so nuanced for such a young red. How did you manage such complexity so quickly?”

Laine deflates, her head lolling back in sweet relief, and laughs. Tears roll down her cheeks as Marisol, arching an eyebrow Laine’s way, speaks for her. “I’m sure Ms. Woods will share a bit of her inspiration and technique with you shortly”—Laine guffaws—“just as I’m sure you will cover Laine’s incredible work here and this beautiful showcase in the next issue of Vinitopia , complete with a retraction of your prior incorrect statements about Ms. Woods.” Marisol fixes her steely gaze on Soren, who nods dumbly before drinking from his glass again, all of us standing in a dazed orbit around our star, who may be mid-supernova, not sure.

When it’s clear Laine’s laughter isn’t stopping anytime soon, Marisol deftly ushers Soren away to meet some other local vintners so Laine can lose her shit in peace.

“Babe, babe! Are you having a breakdown? Do I need to call for an ambulance?” I say it the way Darryl always does, am-bu-lance , which only makes her laugh more.

“I’m just—so— God , I was terrified!” Laine says through her laughter. “And for what? While I was standing there, waiting for this boogeyman to deliver my sentence, it struck me how dumb it was that I cared so much about what one asshole with a platform said about me. And then, after all the times I tortured myself replaying his insults over and over in my mind, for him to love it ? To take everything he said back ?!” Laine straight up hoots, and now we’re getting looks of concern.

“Okay, baby.” I smile at the onlookers and wrap my arm around Laine’s shoulders so I can corral her still-shaking body out from the tasting tent and into the beautiful moonlit night. Our night.

Once I get her out of the crowds, her manic reaction to the release of all that toxic stress finally dies down, but the smile on her face stays. Languid, loose, and free . I lead her up to the tip-top of the vineyards, where we can gaze down upon all we’ve accomplished together beneath my mother’s tree. I laid out a blanket here earlier, with a small lantern, a bottle of Laine’s red, a corkscrew, two glasses, and, god help me, a shoe box.

“Aww, babe.” Laine looks at the spread before us, touched. “How’d you know I’d need an escape plan?”

“I didn’t.” I smile and get down on my knees and take her hands in mine. Looking up at her, the stars framing her beautiful face that’s etched on my entire history, I’m struck by how lucky I am to be here, with this woman I’ve always loved. From sighing over the newspaper clippings I kept of her secreted away in my crush box to the night where even beneath a blindfold, my body somehow already knew hers. Knew that when I felt her hands trace my neck, slide down the swell of my shoulders, grasp me around my waist, that I was home, that I was safe. That within those hands, I belonged to somebody.

And at long last, somebody belonged to me, too.

“Laine, I’ve got some things I want to say to you.” I tug her by the hands till she’s down on her knees, too, facing me. Her eyes are waiting for me to begin. So, with a deep breath, I do.

“I’ve never been in a serious relationship before because I’m a chicken. I tried Le Jardin’s famous Pinot Grigio once and hated it. I’m absolutely terrified of change in all forms, unless I thought of it, and then it’s the best idea ever.” I smile wearily. “I’m simultaneously phobic about commitment and flings because I guess I’m just … phobic? And I have a hard time believing anyone could ever love me because”—I swallow—“until recently, I thought nobody ever had. But I can be a real dumbass.”

A slow smile breaks across Laine’s face, traveling like the first rays of sun across the ocean. “Are you done?”

“Not yet.” I blow out a breath, knowing I have to say the biggest thing, the scariest thing, but also knowing it’ll be okay. “I’m fully, deeply, indelibly in love with you. I know you put money down on that spot in Oregon, but I desperately want you to stay. I get that it’s always been your dream to run your own place, and I have nothing to offer you here except for a small family vineyard. But I do have an opening for a permanent vintner if you’re interested. Also, I know about your retainer.”

“There’s no retainer. Now are you done?”

I arch an eyebrow. “There is absolutely a retainer. Also, I love you like crazy.”

Her smile turns into a grin. “You said that already.”

“I’ll say it every damn day of our lives, if you let me.”

Fireworks shoot off from every cell in my body as she cups my face in her hands. “Yes, please,” she whispers as her eyes fall to my lips.

“I love you, Laine, and I’m pretty sure I always will.” I lean my forehead against hers, our breath mingling in eddies between us. “Also, one time, I stole your sports bra, but in my defense, I was sixteen and going through some things.”

“ Really? ” She leans back to stare at me incredulously.

“Really,” I confirm. I pick up the box from the blanket and shake it. “It’s in here.”

“What is that?” She eyes the decoupaged box with such amusement, I almost abandon ship, but you can’t shove the proverbial teenage crush box back under the bed once your teenage crush sees it. “Is that—”

“Shut up, or I won’t show you.”

“Yes, boss,” Laine says, darkly playful.

I raise an eyebrow, daring her to make me regret this. “It’s … about you.” I slowly remove the lid, then slide it over to her, fully aware that this may cross the line from it was just a crush to intense baby psychopath .

But really, weren’t we all intense baby psychopaths at sixteen?

Laine’s amused smile dips, then flickers out, replaced by something more difficult to name as she gingerly picks up newspaper clippings of her soccer days, her honor roll announcements, a wallet-size picture day photo from tenth grade. Candid pictures from parties Laine and Chance threw when their parents were out of town that Rachel and I were grudgingly allowed to attend so Rachel wouldn’t rat them out. Laine doing a cartwheel drunk on red wine. Laine laughing on the couch surrounded by her soccer friends.

And a dingy old sports bra.

God , this was a terrible idea, this was—

“This is amazing,” Laine says, her eyes twinkling as she stares down at my box of relics. “You absolute weirdo. Why are you showing me all this now?”

“I’m done hiding from you, Laine. I’ve been so scared of losing you, I haven’t let myself relax since you got here. But I realize now I was doing the same bullshit with you that I’ve done to everybody since my mom died—waiting for you to leave me. And maybe you still will one day, but it won’t be because I held back how I feel about you. For better or worse, you’re getting it all. The good, the bad—”

“—and the stolen underwear.” Her smirk is contagious.

“Who said I was giving that back?” I reply indignantly as she tugs me into her arms. “Oh, thank God the bra thing didn’t scare you off.”

“Scare me off? No way,” Laine murmurs against my neck, sending waves of giddy heat down my belly. “You can have this one, too, if you want.” She bites at my pulse point. “You little freak.”

“Hey! I’m a big freak now,” I say, the words increasingly breathier as her full lips brush open kisses down my collarbone. “But, Laine?”

She stops, nuzzling my neck. “Yes, baby?”

“The whole reason Dad’s decided to stay in Italy is because that’s where his dreams lie now. I know I’ve asked you to stay, but I want to be clear—I’m not asking you to stay on at Bluebell in his place. I want you to keep following your dreams, just like my dad’s doing, and not feel beholden to mine.”

Laine frowns. “What if I want to stay on, though? What if I want to be your vintner and your person and your everything? What if my dreams are just making wine and making you happy, and the details don’t matter?”

“Laine Woods, we both know you’re ready to be the boss, but let me finish, will you?” This time, I brush a lock of her hair behind her ear, unable to stop the smirk on my face. “You want your own place, where you have the freedom to make your wine without some boss-bitch in the tasting room hampering your style.”

“And what do you want?” she asks gently.

“I want you, but also, freedom . I want to be able to take a week off to see my dad in Italy without it hurting our business. I want to travel to lots of places, actually. I’m thirty years old, and I’ve barely seen the world. Health insurance would be nice, too, plus the ability to save for retirement. I want to be able to rest , Laine, and stop worrying every damn day that this season will be the vineyard’s last.”

I take a deep breath, then finally say what’s been on my mind ever since Italy.

“You’re looking for land of your own. Well, share my land. You want to make your wine? Be my guest, though I’m partial to—”

“Electric Daisy and Georgia Girls,” Laine finishes, smiling.

“I want to go into business with you, Laine Woods.” I look out at all I have, heart sparkling, and I’m ready for it to be more.

I’m ready for it to be ours.

“I want to sell a stake of Bluebell Vineyards to Into the Woods, to you.” My words falter as her eyes pour over my face, drinking me in. “For us to run it together, as co-bosses. What do you think?”

She tells me yes in the fierce press of her mouth on mine. She says I’ll stay when she lowers me to the blanket, hand cradling the back of my head like I’m the most precious thing in the world. She says I love you and I love you and I love you as we spill onto the blanket, out of our clothes, out of everything that’s ever held us back.

Here, in our vineyards. Our home.

We curl up together beneath a blanket, staring up at the stars visible through the branches, little fish glimmering in a big, dark pond. My head tucked under Laine’s arm, tracing my finger across the bluebells inked on her soft chest, feeling her heartbeat like it’s my own. Down below, the party rages on, though I could stay here forever, as happy as I’ve ever been.

“I can’t wait to go into business with you, babe,” Laine murmurs into my hair, then throws a hand into the air over us. “I can picture it now: Boss ’n’ Beave’s Wine Depot .”

I arch an eyebrow. “Laine.”

“Lil Napa!”

“We are not rena—”

“Bluebell Woods,” Laine says, still chuckling as she pulls me closer with both arms. “How about that?”

I smile into her neck, her soft hair tickling my skin. “It’s perfect. ”

When our phones’ buzzing becomes near constant with texts demanding to know where we are, we reluctantly begin to dress. After a few minutes, Laine’s still rooting around the blankets, though, naked from the waist up.

It’s a great look.

She straightens suddenly, her hands on her hips, a suspicious tilt of her head. “Hey boss … you see my bra anywhere?”

My arm squeezes around my crush box, and her eyes narrow.

“What?” I give her my most innocent smile, which quickly turns wicked.

“You said I could keep it.”

THE END