Chapter 14
THE WEDDING WRECKER
Ginny
Flow and I are on the front porch when Declan approaches early in the evening.
He’s alone—Shade’s not with him, nor is anyone else from the winery—and he has his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks and a grape juice stain on his light blue polo.
The sight of him makes every muscle in my body tense.
Logically, I knew I’d have to see him again if I watched his dog.
Emotionally, I didn’t care because Flow is the best.
She’s not a therapy dog, but she’s always made me feel better. It’s why I kept offering to watch her when the guys had away games, long after I’d given up on the idea that Declan would ever be nice to me.
The first time I offered, he half sneered at me, rolled his eyes, and booked a backup pet sitter in case I couldn’t handle it.
One of the other girlfriends laid into him for it, and I got to watch Flow without much more than a grunt from him after that.
But it was always a grunt or an eye roll and a begrudged thank you, her shit’s where it always is.
“Harvesting tonight,” he says as he pauses on the bottom step.
“I heard.”
He nods to the tablet in my lap. “You on the internet?”
“No.”
Yes.
I’ve been texting Ten and Caro—mostly Ten, who keeps going back to our group chat to bug Caro on her honeymoon—but I’ve also peeked at socials to see how much I’m trending.
And I have regrets.
“Flow was good today,” I tell Declan in response to the squinty-eyed you’re lying look he’s giving me. “Thank you for letting her hang out with me.”
“Anytime.”
“You should go get a nap—” I start as he says, “About last night—”
We stop and look at each other.
Flow whimper-whines, rises, shakes herself off, and trots down the stairs to nudge Declan’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have put that on you.”
My heart squeezes like it’s trying to strangle itself. “Okay.”
“I don’t want to make things awkward. But I couldn’t live with myself if you thought I hated you.”
“We’re good,” I say.
He studies me like he can see all of the things I’m not saying.
That it is awkward.
That we’re not good.
That I do feel something.
Not that what I feel is attraction.
It’s a desperation that always blossoms whenever anyone shows the slightest interest in me.
When so much of the world hates you, and when you sometimes wonder if your own mother isn’t functionally capable of loving you, it’s easy to lap up the table scraps.
And then not trust that it’s truly love.
That’s why I imploded my own life. Why I broke up with Alex.
I thought he loved me the way my mother loved me. Because I was a good plot point in his life story. Because I brought him attention. Because I was useful and helpful and always willing to go out of my way to make him love me, on or off camera.
And now, I don’t trust myself to tell the difference between the kind of love my mother always gave me and the kind of love that’s real.
That?
That’s not Declan’s fault.
“Olivia and Samantha are making harvest dinner,” I say into the silence that’s settling between us again while he rubs Flow on the head.
His dog’s hair looks just as good as his always does.
Did. Does. He’s cut it shorter now, but it still looks good.
“You and Shade should be there. Good fuel to get through the night.”
“You coming?”
“To dinner? Yes.”
“To harvest.”
“Oh. For a little bit.”
“Ah. Right. You probably have work tomorrow.”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
He tilts his head. “You don’t have to work tomorrow?”
I can lie to him. Tell him everything’s fine.
Or I can tell him the truth.
That half my clients have fired me for not wanting to be associated with the trainwreck kind of virality that I’m so good at.
I’m at a fork that I’ve been contemplating since I left the field last night.
Be his friend while he’s here or keep him at arm’s length.
“You’re not having trouble because of what’s trending again, are you?” he asks.
I sigh. “What could you do about it if I was?”
He shrugs. “I was thinking of contacting a modern witch to try that out for Foxy Goes There. Maybe I could put a spell on them.”
My lips part as I stare at him.
He gives me a lopsided grin, showing off all of his pretty new teeth that would get wrecked again if he actually did go back to playing hockey. “I’m not always good at stuff I try though, so I’d probably misfire the spell and lose all of my hair instead.”
I crack up, and I know.
I know I’m going to give in and be friendly while he’s here. Pretend that we can make a fresh start, knowing that once filming is over, I’ll never see or hear from him again.
That his impending departure is what will give me full relief, and in the meantime, I’ll live better with myself if I’m not outright rude to him the way he was to me.
“Oh, the horror,” I say lightly.
“You know that baseball guy with the good hair? The one who does the Kangapoo commercials?”
“Luca Rossi? Yes. My mother introduced us once at an event she guilted me into going to.”
“I’m trying to get him to vouch for me so I can try out being a shampoo model myself. Shame to have all this good hair go to waste.”
Declan’s obsession with his hair was legendary, and he was regularly on top ten lists of best hockey hair.
It’s why he named his dog Flow.
And stars help me, but I like being able to joke around with him.
It’s what I always wanted when I was dating Alex.
But now it comes with a side of why does my belly flutter when he smiles at me?
“So. Tomorrow, you’re finding new clients?” he asks.
I grimace. “My inbox is overflowing with unappealing job offers from people who want me for my notoriety.”
He grins. “Do it. Charge them millions, then be you instead of what they’re expecting.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re boring.”
“Excuse me?”
“The world thinks you’re a conniving brat. Being nice is boring comparatively.”
“I’m not nice.”
“Have you met yourself?” Cricket calls from inside the house. “You’re so nice that you make Santa Claus look like a dick.”
I turn and look through the window into the sitting room, where Cricket’s replacing Dean’s ashes on the mantle above the marble fireplace. “How long have you been there?”
“I just rescued Dean from Pip’s plans to scatter him on Walter’s farm.”
Declan’s still grinning. “You should convince Mabel to let us use Pip on camera. She’s a star,” he calls in to Cricket.
“Absolutely not,” Cricket and I say together.
“We won’t make her look bad.”
I rub my forehead. “Do you know the history of Makepeace?”
“Dean’s grandfather bought it in his early twenties, passed it to his son, who passed it to his son, who was Dean.”
“And Pip and Dean didn’t have any kids, but Dean’s brother did, and his kids want this land back from Pip.”
“It’s not in a family trust?”
“It is not. Dean’s father bought his brother out of his share after—let’s just call it family drama—and then Dean’s brother had no interest in doing the work, so he didn’t fight for any of it.
When Dean died, Pip inherited it all free and clear as his wife, and she’s named Mabel as her sole heir.
The only way the Makepeace family gets any of this property back is if they can make a case that Pip’s out of her mind and Mabel’s a bad caretaker.
So no. We’re not putting Pip on camera.”
He lowers himself to the bottom step and looks out at the fields while Flow takes a seat so close to him that she’s almost on top of him. “Walk me through how this is the first year you’re harvesting grapes but the fields are in good shape?”
“He’s very dense,” Cricket calls from inside. “I tried explaining it to him and he didn’t get it.”
Declan’s smiling as he shakes his head. “She told me grape fairies kept the fields alive since Dean died.”
“They did,” I confirm.
“Seriously? That’s what you’re giving me? Not filming. Here. Want my phone so you can see for yourself that I’m not recording this either?”
He holds out his phone, and I smile as I notice the case.
The back features a picture of Flow, dolled up and posing with a bow on her head.
He’s a good dog dad.
“No, I don’t want your phone,” I tell him.
Mostly because I don’t want to risk touching him if I take it.
Sometime since I tripped over him last night, I’ve let my brain filter through old memories, colored by the lens of his explanation for why he was a dick.
It was immature and thoughtless, but who am I to judge someone for that?
I’ve been immature and thoughtless plenty in my life too.
And I probably still have my blind spots.
He pockets his phone while Flow lays her head in his lap. “So who are the grape fairies, and what do they do?”
I glance back inside.
Cricket’s left the sitting room, but I suspect she’s still within earshot.
Most of the time I’ve been here, it’s been me worrying about other people. But I know my friends are worried about me now.
Not that I’ll tell things I shouldn’t about the winery, but that I’m vulnerable and off-kilter after everything that’s happened since the morning of the wedding.
“Pip’s marriage was…rocky at best,” I tell Declan. “So when Dean died, she signed a contract letting the neighbors have the grapes here in exchange for tending the fields.”
“They’re the grape fairies? Winona and her crew?”
“They are. Dean hated Winona’s dad—Walter, he comes for dinner sometimes because he likes Pip—and Dean also didn’t think women could run vineyards and wineries, so asking Winona to manage Dean’s fields and then giving her Dean’s grapes for her own profit was one of Pip’s fuck-yous to her dead husband.
The grapes are worth a lot more than the cost of the labor to keep up the fields. ”
“People do the strangest things sometimes,” Declan mutters.
I grimace.
Having seen some of what I saw on the internet this afternoon—yes.
Yes, they do.
And I’ve been one of them before.
“My mom was in town,” I say, heat gathering at the base of my neck.
I shouldn’t do this.
But I suddenly need to.
Declan shoots a glance at me. “I know. I saw her.”
“No, I mean the day of the wedding.”
“Yes…”
“Alex’s wedding.”
His eyes focus sharper on me. “You don’t have to—”
“Just—please just listen.”
“Okay.”