Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Daisy
I enlisted everyone’s help with the party and extended the guest list to employees’ friends and family. The more the merrier.
The tasting room opens to a limestone terrace dotted with whitewashed tables on the hilltop overlooking the vineyard.
Oak barrels are stacked against an interior glass wall, affording a view of the cellar below with a long oak bar spanning one wall and high-tops scattered around the room.
It’s the perfect party venue and the view is spectacular enough without having to go crazy with decorations. So, I spent most of the budget on food and alcohol, which is all you really need for a good party.
That, and some good music. Though I’m not sure how good the DJ will be since he agreed to work for free beer. But he was the only one we could find on such short notice, so we’ll have to make the best of it.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Hunter says as he heads to the parking lot.
“I’ll save you a dance,” I call over my shoulder.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
I’ve been working on the vineyard all day and I’m already anticipating how good a hot shower will feel as I weave through the orchard and pluck black cherries off the tree, savoring the explosion of sweetness on my tongue before spitting the seeds onto the ground.
In the distance, Crayola-bright hot air balloons gently lift into the blue sky and float over the patchwork of vineyards, and I stop to watch, marveling at the postcard-perfect view.
Running a vineyard is hard work but living on one is magical.
I don’t think Beckett appreciates how special this place is, and I still have no idea how to convince him to keep it. But since I’m almost certain that’s why I’m here, I’ll need to find a way.
I follow the sound of voices and laughter to the terrace where Beckett is playing host to one other man and two brunettes.
I have no idea who his guests are because he didn’t mention anything to me. Not that I expected him to.
Over the past week, he’s made it clear that he’d prefer to spend as little time with me as possible.
Every time I think we’re making progress, he proves me wrong. It’s one step forward and ten steps back with this guy.
Fine by me. I’d rather hang out with Hunter and Callie anyway. At least they don’t treat me like I’m a parasite.
I’m still kicking myself for offering as much information as I did. How could I have actually believed he would call a truce and be nicer if I told him the truth?
Knowing him, he’ll knock himself out to find Astrid just to spite me. Although I doubt that he’ll have much luck or that she’d ever come back here.
She’s moved on to bigger things, and I made it very clear that I would go hungry and homeless before I’d ever agree to be her partner in crime.
Beckett is leaning in close to the woman on his right, listening intently with a smile on his face. His smiles are so infrequent that it’s the first time I’ve noticed the dimples in his cheeks.
He’s wearing a blue linen button-down with the cuffs rolled up to expose his veiny forearms, and his dark hair is tousled to perfection.
Why does he have to look so good?
It’s lucky I’m not attracted to him. If I ever find myself veering in that direction, all I have to do is run through a mental list of all the things that make him insufferable, and just like that, he’s not looking so hot anymore.
They all look up as I approach and I feel like an interloper or, more accurately, the fifth wheel. “Don’t mind me. I’m just on my way to the shower.”
The other man stands, a small smile playing on his lips. He looks like someone who would be friends with Beckett, but friendlier and nicer with chestnut hair and preppy good looks.
“You must be Daisy. I’m Grayson, a friend of Beckett’s. This is Jessica.” He gestures to the woman sitting next to him and then to the woman next to Beckett. “And Lauren.”
Lauren’s dark hair is so glossy it belongs in a shampoo commercial. She looks like the kind of girl who graduated from an Ivy League college and spent her summers playing tennis and riding horses at her family’s summer home. Far classier than me with an air of quiet sophistication, dressed in navy cashmere, dark denim, and Chanel espadrilles.
I can’t help but notice how good Beckett and Lauren look together.
“Nice to meet you.” I include the group at large, but primarily Grayson and Jessica, because I’m just that petty. “Are you all up for the weekend?”
“Beckett didn’t tell you?” Grayson says. “We’re all moving in.” He laughs to let me know it was a joke, and I like him already. “Just for the weekend, although I could get used to this.”
Jessica nods in agreement and latches onto Grayson’s arm. Lauren sips her rosé and smiles politely, her eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell sunglasses.
“It’s a beautiful place,” I say. “I could happily live here forever.” I flash Beckett a smile and he returns it with his customary scowl.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he mutters, and all I can do is laugh as I head upstairs for a shower.
While I’m getting ready, their laughter drifts through my open window and a sudden, inexplicable wave of sadness washes over me.
It’s not that I expected him to roll out the red carpet and welcome me with open arms. But I was hoping that once we spent more time together, he would realize that I’m nothing like my mother and he would at least stop treating me like I’m here to steal everything away from him.
What happened to the boy who used to let me tag along whenever his friends were over? The boy who taught me how to ride a bike? The boy who tended to my bruises when I fell and skinned my knees?
I remember it so clearly now. Sitting on the kitchen counter in this very house, eating ice cream from the container while he cleaned up my bloody knees after I fell off my bike. He’d taken such care not to hurt me when he removed the gravel embedded in my skin.
“This is going to sting,” he’d warned before spraying antiseptic on my bruises. “But the ice cream will make it better.”
I believed him, too. Beckett was my white knight. My first schoolgirl crush. And the only one who ever paid any attention to me. I used to draw pictures for him, and he told me he saved them all, and again, I believed him.
Then one day, he was gone without a goodbye, and when I asked where Beck was, my mother said, “He got tired of you always pestering him, so he moved to a new house with his mom.”
I didn’t believe her until I searched his bedroom and found all my drawings stuffed in the trash can next to his desk.
After that, I never asked about Beckett again, and over time, I all but forgot about the boy with pretty blue eyes and a lopsided grin.
But it’s funny the things that stay with you. Being on this vineyard again has brought back so many memories that I thought were long forgotten.
I shake it off and add another coat of mascara. It’s the first time I’ve worn makeup since I arrived, but I wanted to make a bit of an effort tonight.
I grab Finn’s grandad cardigan in case it gets chilly later and slip out the front door.
The DJ never showed up, so we used the Bluetooth speakers and got the party started.
“Someone must have offered him free beer and tequila shots,” Hunter jokes as we down our tequila shots.
“Or all you can eat tacos,” Callie says.
“In that case, it all worked out,” I say, moving my hips to the beat of the samba music while loading up my plate with tacos and steak fajitas from the silver chafing dishes. “More for us.”
We snag a high-top—me, Callie, Hunter, and Joe, a burly bearded guy who works in the wine cellar—and I take a moment to bask in the view. It’s the last of the golden hour, just before the sun sets, and the light is soft and diffused, casting the room in an amber glow. It’s one of my favorite times of the day to shoot photos. When the whole world shimmers and everyone looks like they’re lit from within.
I’m licking salsa off my fingers when Beckett and his friends arrive. He has his hand on the small of Lauren’s back as he ushers her through the winery, greeting the employees and their families as he passes their tables. Anyone would think he was congenial, charming even, but the devil can be charming too.
His gaze sweeps over the room and lands on me. The charming smile completely vanishes as our eyes lock and hold. It feels like a game to see who will look away first.
I lift my margarita in a toast— Here’s to the devil you know —and drink to him.
When I lick the salt off my lips, his gaze dips to my mouth before he abruptly turns on his heel and leads Lauren to a table on the opposite side of the room.
“What’s going on with you and Beckett?” Callie asks a little later when we’re checking out the dessert table.
“Nothing.” I pluck a mini raspberry tart from the tray and add a dollop of whipped cream before popping it into my mouth. “He hates me and goes out of his way to make sure I know it.”
Callie laughs. “Yeah, I can see how much he hates you by the way he was eye-fucking you from across the room.” She laughs again, and I shoot her a look.
“I think you need to lay off the tequila. All he ever does is glower and scowl.”
“Call it what you want but I know what I saw. He wants you.” She sounds so certain, like she’s the authority on what Beckett Heyward wants. “And can you really blame him? Look at you.” She sweeps her hand down, gesturing to my outfit. “You look so hot in that dress. If I wasn’t straight, I’d be tempted.”
I roll my eyes. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“But seriously, you should go for it. I’ll bet he has a big dick.”
I snort. Not sure where she came up with that. “It’s probably pencil-thin and teeny-tiny.” I pinch my fingers together to show just how small it is.
She shakes her head, disputing that. “He’s tall and he looks like he’d be big all over.”
“He probably wouldn’t even know what to do with his dick. He doesn’t even look like he’d enjoy sex.” I bite into a chocolate-covered strawberry the size of my fist that is way better than sex with Beckett Heyward could ever be. “More importantly, I don’t find him the least bit attractive.”
“I think you need to get your vision checked. He’s hot.”
“Pfft. Lukewarm on a good day.”
Thankfully, Joe and Hunter join us, putting an end to the discussion of Beckett’s dick size and we move out to the terrace where we get drunk and dance under a silver moon.
I don’t care if Beckett is hot or if by some slim chance he fucks like a rock star, which is highly unlikely. He’s the last guy I’d ever sleep with.
Knowing him, he’d only fuck me as a revenge tactic and then he’d toss me aside like I was nothing but trash. Which is not to say that I’m above taunting him.
But that’s solely for my own personal amusement.