Chapter 30
WHY CAN’T I PUNCH GRAPES?
Aubrey
Things no one tells you—grapes are icy.
Also, there’s no real stomping involved. I’m in a short barrel on the wraparound porch of a picturesque white bungalow-style home that’s part of Valenti Winery, massaging the grapes with my toes, trying not to freeze my feet off.
It’s warmish outside. But inside this barrel? It’s chill-ay.
“I think my feet are going numb,” I whisper to the guys. Dev’s in a barrel next to me, treading on some grapes too. It’s a funny sight. This big, burly man in khaki shorts, squishing grapes with his bare feet.
“Woman, this is nothing,” he says.
From my other side, Ledger scoffs. “Yeah, have you felt ice?”
I huff as I tread some more. Nearby there are a few other visitors engaged in similar squishing activities and also a winemaker walking by, checking on our stomping.
“But you don’t go on the rink in your bare feet,” I hiss as I flinch, then wince. Damn. “I think I got a stem between my toes.”
“Will you survive?” Dev deadpans.
“Want me to call an ambulance?” Ledger counters.
I deserved that. “I’ll live,” I say, chin up.
But seriously. What is the proper etiquette at an early morning grape stomping? Do I pull the stem from my foot like it’s dental floss?
I don’t even know, so I try to ignore the interloper between my toes as the winemaker strides past the group, a calm, instructive tone to her voice. Her name is Isabella, and her jet-black hair is wildly curly. Her Mediterranean complexion and last name suggest she’s from Italy.
“We harvest our grapes in the early morning hours for a couple reasons,” she explains, her peach linen pants and blouse as flowy as the breeze.
She stops a few barrels away from us to give a tip to a man with a mesh cap touting “Everything’s better in Texas” across it.
Then, she continues her lesson for the group.
“We can better control the sugar levels and avoid oxidation when the grapes are a little colder. And it’s easier for our staff to harvest them before the temperature rises.
” She sweeps a tattooed arm, bangles jingling on her wrist, toward the trees and peaks hugging this vineyard.
“Yes, we have some warm days in Washington.” Her tone turns conspiratorial.
“But please don’t tell anyone. We want Washington to remain the best-kept secret of all the states. ”
“But doesn’t it rain here all the time?” the Texas cap man drawls.
The winemaker smiles approvingly. “Exactly. All the time. Every day,” she says with a serene smile, clearly doing her best to prevent an influx of people moving to her state. I rein in a grin as she plays him.
She continues on, explaining more about the process as I steal glances at my travel companions. Dev’s like a large cat, shifting his legs in a languid rhythm, his attention lasered in on his movements, his body able to handle anything he throws its way.
Ledger’s confident, too, in his repetitive steps, but his gaze is fixed on Isabella as he tosses out curious questions about the vines, the amount of sun they need, then rain, then drainage.
I furrow my brow as he goes, trying to assess his interest. Is he a wine connoisseur? But he barely asks about the grapes. Then I remember when he spouted off facts about oleander a few days ago.
His plant daddy-ness runs deep and wide. I smile privately at this little detail about him.
When Isabella spins around the other way, I wince since I just stepped on another stem. “I swear they’re trying to get me,” I whisper to the guys.
“Pain, honey, pain,” Ledger says, like he loves getting hurt. Well, he is a hockey player.
Dev shoots me a devilish grin. “You get used to it.”
I roll my eyes. “Great. Just great. I’m grape stomping with two hockey players who love pain.”
“It’s all part of the game,” Ledger quips, but there’s no joking in his tone. He sounds legit.
Dev seconds him with, “It’s proof you’re alive.” But then, he tilts his head my way in concern. “You want to stop?”
His tone is so sweet, full of genuine concern.
“I’m no quitter,” I say before I realize that’s not entirely a compliment.
I should have quit my relationship with Aiden well before my wedding day.
But I try to shove that bad decision away and focus on this choice—grape stomping was mostly a good decision. “And this was on my adventure list.”
This honeymoon is definitely an adventure, too, and I’d better savor every second of it since it’ll be over before I know it.
It’ll end, taking its place in the memory banks, and I’ll return to cutting hair and reading books and dealing with the pity looks from everyone in Duck Falls when I return to town to see my mom.
On those sobering thoughts, I glance down at the squishy substance oozing through my toes. “Too bad you can’t punch grapes. That’d be fun,” I say.
“Maybe add that to your entrepreneurial list, along with the breakup champagne,” Dev says, then mimes punching.
But Isabella Valenti is unamused. With a stern glare, she stops in front of him. “Please be careful. If you fall and crack your head, I’ll be liable. I don’t like being liable,” she says, then looks to me. “Make sure your partners behave.”
Whoa.
Partners.
That’s a first. Not the word partner, because everyone uses that term now. But the plural, the assumption she made is all new, and I don’t want to look like I’m overstepping my role with them. “Oh they’re not—” I begin.
She’s already walking away though. As she goes, I have to wonder—do we come across as partners? All three of us?
As we finish and hop out from our barrels, I’m stuck on that word.
And the way it felt sort of nice to hear.
* * *
After we hose off our feet by the side of the bungalow, Ledger asks, “Was it what you wanted?”
Not entirely. I thought it’d be more of a wild time. Silly, outrageous, a little goofy. In reality, it was harder and less pleasant. But they’re such good sports that I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, especially since it was my idea.
“Sure,” I say brightly as I dry off my feet, then hand the towel to Dev. We’re sitting on the wooden steps, and everyone else has straightened up already, so it’s just us and the morning sun rising over the mountains. “It was a blast.”
As he rubs the towel down his calf, Dev arches a dubious brow my way. “A blast?”
“Yeah. It was great,” I say, even peppier as I pull on my sandals. Then, I adjust the buckle, making sure it sits just so. “Look. No stains.”
But then a gentle hand on my chin draws my attention. Dev turns me to face him then drops his hand to my thigh. “It’s okay if you don’t like something,” he says, reading my mind.
Is it okay though?
I didn’t like it when my parents were icy to each other years ago. I didn’t like it when they fought like cats either. I’m not sure it’s okay to dislike something. It’s better if everyone gets along.
“I liked it,” I say again right as Ledger finishes putting on his sneakers, then parks himself next to me, setting a hand on my other thigh.
Does this violate our PDA rule? Probably not. We’re all alone back here. And these are friendly touches. “Aubrey,” he says, stern.
I sit up straighter, feeling trapped. I can’t just say I didn’t love it. I’d sound ungrateful.
Nerves prickle inside me. I’m about to tell them once more that I’m fine, but the words stop before they make landfall. I should have said something sooner about Aiden. To someone. My friends, my brother, my mom.
I take a deep breath. “I didn’t love it,” I admit.
Dev smiles affectionately. “Good.”
“Why is that good?” I ask, still feeling out of sorts.
“Because it’s good that you’re honest with us. We want to know. We don’t want you doing things you don’t like.”
“You mean in bed?” I ask.
“Well, yes. Of course. But I meant in general,” Dev adds.
I pause, take my time, then speak from the heart again. “I’m glad I did it. I like to try new things. But it wasn’t what I thought it’d be.”
“That happens,” Dev says casually.
“Good thing you tried it,” Ledger adds.
There. I said it and the sky didn’t fall. They’re not walking away. They’re not annoyed with me. They’re all good. I take another breath, letting it fill me with confidence. With courage too. “And I’m glad you insisted I tell you.”
“Me too,” Dev says, with a genuine smile. Like he really wants to know my true heart.
These guys are doing so much for me. They’re going where I want to go. They’re doing what I want to do.
I desperately want to do something for them.
On the way out, we walk through the winery’s gift shop, where I spot a postcard on the counter. I tell the guys I’ll meet them at the car. We’re heading to a ghost town next.
But even as I buy the postcard, it hardly feels like enough. I tuck it away in my canvas bag unsure if I’ll give it to Dev or not.