Chapter 2 #2
So for their birthday this year, Lark got Taylor Swift tickets and Wren got a new MacBook. Honestly, Wren had been relieved when she’d opened her gift after Lark to see the laptop, because the idea of claustrophobic crowds and noisy, screaming fans?
No thanks.
But for Lark, queen of the Swifties, this concert meant everything. It was a literal dream come true.
“I swear I’ll never ask you to do this again,” Lark said, her voice softening. “Just this one time.”
Wren didn’t doubt her sister was sincere…just like she was pretty damn sure there was a good chance something like this could pop up in the future, and they’d be having this conversation again.
“I meant what I said, Lark. I’m not sure I could pull off being you.”
“I’ll coach you. Teach you everything you need to know about the wines you’ll be serving. And as for the rest,” Lark waved her hands around wildly. “You know me better than anyone. Of course, you can be me.”
Wren probably could act the part for a short period of time, but it would rub against the grain. She loved her sister, loved her energy, her humor, her enthusiastic view of life…in small doses. Trying to imitate that for two full days would be fucking exhausting and pretty much impossible.
Silence stretched between them as Wren tried to find a solution to Lark’s problem. One that didn’t involve her.
“You really don’t think Nora would find someone else if you explained the situation?” she asked.
Lark shook her head. “I’m too afraid to ask. She’s been really patient with me, more than any other boss I’ve had in the past.”
Sadly, that number wasn’t as small as it should be, considering they were only twenty-three. Lark had gone through countless jobs, always losing them somewhere between the three-to-six-month mark, thanks to tardiness and missed days.
Wren didn’t know Nora as well as her sister, so she couldn’t speak to whether she’d be understanding of Lark’s situation or not.
Nora had been a couple years ahead of Wren in school, and their paths hadn’t crossed much.
Wren had always been rather reserved and quiet, preferring hiding out in the library and reading, over hanging out with all the other kids in her class.
She knew Nora’s younger sister, Remi, a little bit better, but that was only because they were closer in age and had a couple classes together in high school. Other than that, Wren was younger than most of the Storms. She’d never even gone to the winery or brewery where Lark worked.
Not that Lark cared. Her twin had given up on inviting her places a long, long time ago.
Wren suspected Lark preferred that she not join her for happy hours and ladies’ nights at Whiskey Abbey, simply because Wren would want to leave early, and Lark was usually the last one to go home at the end of the night.
“Maybe if you explained,” Wren started, but Lark was already shaking her head.
“She was really mad at me yesterday. I like Nora. A lot. I hate that I keep disappointing her.”
Wren looked at her sister—really looked.
Lark felt everything deeply, gave everything she had to the people she loved, and she had genuinely been trying—failing, but trying—to succeed in this job so that she could save enough money to move out on her own.
Lark wanted independence, but she was struggling to get there.
Wren sighed, aware she was going to do what she always did. Bail out her sister.
Because she loved her more than anything, and if the situation was reversed, there was no question Lark would do anything to help Wren.
“Pretending isn’t exactly in my skill set,” Wren said, in a tone that told Lark she was going to do it.
Lark’s smile brightened and she burst out of her chair, practically tackle-hugging Wren to the floor.
“We’ll practice! I’ve got a bottle of each wine they’re featuring at the festival and two of my Lightning in a Bottle shirts that you can wear this weekend.
We can go back to your place, order pizza for dinner—my treat—and I swear I’ll go over everything. ”
Wren sighed, aware she should say no. But equally aware she wasn’t going to.
“I shouldn’t have to say too much, right?
Just pour? I mean, isn’t Maverick the fun brother who’s always entertaining everyone?
The one who makes the wine?” While Wren didn’t know many of the Storm brothers personally, she felt like she “knew” them in the sense that Lark talked about them all the time.
Her sister was the Storm family’s number one fan.
“Oh, well, that’s the other thing,” Lark said, chewing on her lower lip.
Wren tilted her head, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Maverick can’t go this year, so Grayson is.”
Wren frowned, trying to place which brother Grayson might be. She knew through Lark that Maverick and Grayson made the wine together, but she’d never heard much more about him. Except…
“Wait,” Wren said, the light going on. “Isn’t he the one you call ‘Grumpy Asshole’?”
Lark’s lips twisted into a grimace. “Yeah. But he’s not a grumpy asshole to everyone. He’s actually a nice guy. He just seems to get super-annoyed with—” Lark stopped talking when she realized what she was saying.
“You?”
Lark nodded. “Our personalities tend to clash.”
“Great,” Wren muttered.
“He doesn’t like people any more than you do, so I’m afraid it’ll fall to you to do most of the talking. Grayson will be expecting that, even if he grumbles about me—I mean you—being too loud or talking too much.”
Those were two complaints Wren had never gotten in her life.
“So now I get to spend the weekend pretending to be you enough that I annoy your boss, but not so much that I get you fired?”
Lark giggled. “Jesus. Sounds terrible when you put it that way.”
“And yet I’m still doing this, right?”
Lark hit Wren with her cutest, most pleading Puss-in-Boots wide-eyed expression. “Please?”
“I’m going to regret this.”
Lark shook her head. “Nope. You’re going to have fun because for once, you’ll be getting out of this dusty old library, drinking in a bunch of fresh air, and soaking up some seriously needed vitamin D. Honest to God, Wrennie, you live like a vampire.”
Wren blew out a long, slow breath, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Just a sinking feeling that she’d agreed to something far more complicated than she realized.
Wren made a mental note to make sure her volunteers were okay to man the library on their own this Saturday and Sunday.
Because Gracemont was such a small town, she was the only full-time employee in the library.
She worked nine to seven, four days a week, then several local volunteers manned the front desk on the weekend half days—Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons.
However, it wasn’t uncommon for Wren to make an appearance both of those days, just to make sure things were okay.
The only day the library closed was Wednesdays, which was a kickback to when Ms. Pauley was the librarian.
Apparently, Wednesdays had been the day she got her hair done.
Wren rose from her chair and quickly finished running through her routine for closing.
Then she and Lark left together. Wren rented an apartment from Edith Millholland just off Main Street.
Edith had renovated an old house so that it now contained four apartments—two downstairs, two upstairs.
Wren rented one of the apartments on the top floor.
It was a small one-bedroom place with a little kitchen, living room, and bathroom, but it suited her just fine. Less apartment meant less to clean.
The best part about her place was that it was walking distance to the library, so while she owned a car, she never drove the thing.
“Hop in my car and we’ll swing by Philly’s for a pizza before we go back to your apartment,” Lark offered.
Wren hated missing her evening walk home, but Lark was a woman on a mission, now that she’d secured Wren’s agreement to pose as her.
An hour later, they were sitting side by side on Wren’s tatty Goodwill couch, chowing down on pepperoni pizza, while Lark opened the third bottle of wine.
Wren had taken copious notes about the first and second wines they’d tried, feeling overwhelmed and, to be honest, downright impressed with her sister’s knowledge about the grapes, the harvest, and the process behind making the wine.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve learned since you’ve started working at the winery,” Wren said. “I also don’t know how the hell I’m going to remember all of this. Can I look at my notes, or will that be a giveaway to Grayson?”
Lark crinkled her nose regretfully. “I never use notes.”
Wren rubbed her temple. “Of course, you don’t.”
“I also break up the tasting with funny little anecdotes about living in a small town.”
That was unsurprising, though problematic. Lark was an entertaining storyteller. Meanwhile, Wren preferred to be the one on the receiving end of a good story. Hence her love of reading.
While Lark rose to wash their glasses, Wren popped the corks back into the first two bottles. “What the hell are we going to do with all these open bottles of wine?”
She knew the moment Lark came back into the living room, her brows raised as if to say “Really?” that it was a stupid question.
Lark, the last of the original party girls, would have no problem polishing off a few bottles of wine with girlfriends over the course of the next week or two.
Meanwhile, Wren still had an unopened bottle of red from the holidays sitting on her kitchen counter.
Wren raised her hand. “Forget it. I lost my head for a moment.”
“You live like a monk,” Lark said, looking around her apartment.
“I live like an adult.”
Lark rolled her eyes. “Not a single dish in the kitchen sink. And this living room… Where’s all the stuff?”
“What stuff?” Wren asked.
“Like the shoes you kick off by the door, or the bra you strip out of the second you get home? Where are the empty glasses and plates, the random stray sock or hair ties, balled-up blankets and shit like that?”