13. Delia
My favorite part of those first two weeks of October was seeing everyone enjoy the fruits of my labors. And that’s not me saying the whole festival wouldn’t have been possible without my help, because each member of this community equally contributed. But…I did a lot, and the corn maze in particular was my pride and joy. That year, I’d instructed the planters to create a maze shaped like a giant Jack-O-Lantern, complete with a crooked-toothed smile. I’d stopped by one day on my way up to the distillery site to check in on things, and was greeted by the happy sounds of children’s laughter and screams carrying on the wind. The barn was full of people milling in and out, each and every one of them munching on one of Brie’s creations and singing its praises.
TJ was there too, driving the tractor, grinning and waving wildly at me from behind the wheel. My responding greeting was, admittedly, lackluster in the face of all that enthusiasm.
“You going to be around for a bit?” he shouted at me as he puttered past.
I shook my head, thankful I had plans. “No! I have to run to the winery and then up to the distillery job site.”
“Okay,” he said, unperturbed by my brush off. “I’ll call you later!”
Please don’t , I thought as I offered a final wave and headed toward my car.
We’d only seen each other twice since our date at Granny’s. Thankfully, he hadn’t tried to kiss me or press our relationship into physical territory beyond hand holding. I wasn’t sure what I’d do when that day inevitably came.
Honestly, it was a wonder I hadn’t cut him loose. I felt bad stringing him along, but I also wasn’t ready to snip that cord quite yet, wasn’t ready to give up on something that could morph beyond the superficial friendship I felt for him.
God, I was the worst.
But I didn’t have time to worry about it.
Preparations for Ezra’s Wine & Dine event were in full swing, and he’d sent me a text the night before, stressing about getting the food and wine pairings just right. Not one to turn down a free Ezra Wendt meal, I told him I’d come by the winery today and we’d figure it out together.
But I hadn’t been prepared to find Owen bellied up to the island in the center of the kitchen when I walked in.
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. “What are you doing here?” I asked as I slid onto the stool next to him.
Owen shrugged. “Ez needed help. I’m happy to offer my palate.”
I looked at Ezra, who smiled blandly. “Then why am I here? ”
“I needed both of you,” he said.
I held back a snort. The guy was good, I’d give him that. There was no way this wasn’t payback for forcing him and Brie to work together on this event. Truthfully, if anyone should be here helping him make these decisions, it would be her, not me.
But I digress. With Owen’s warmth seeping into my side despite the few feet between us, his heavenly male scent combining with the various dishes Ezra had in the works, wrapping me in a warm, comfortable blanket, I wasn’t going to complain.
“So what’s first?” I asked.
“The first course is appetizers, and I’m planning on offering three of them so there’s a bit of a selection. I was thinking pumpkin deviled eggs, stuffed mushrooms, and bacon wrapped Brussels sprouts.”
Owen groaned next to me, low and long. The sound shot straight between my thighs, settling there like a pulse. Hell, if I was going to have to put up with that the entire time we were here? I wasn’t sure I’d survive.
“And what were you thinking for the wine?”
Ezra moved around to the side of the island, where several bottles of CD wines were grouped together, shuffling things around until he came away with a bottle of bubbly.
“Prosecco,” he said, holding it out to me. I accepted it and poured Owen and myself each a small glass.
A moment later, Ezra settled a long, narrow plate in front of each of us, each topped with an egg, mushroom, and Brussels sprout.
“So, before you take a bite and are like, ‘what the fuck, Ez,’ the deviled eggs aren’t actually made with any pumpkin. They’re just made to look like a pumpkin in the way I piped the yolk mixture, darkened it with a few drops of food coloring, and added that little piece of chive to look like a stem.”
With a flourish of his hand, he instructed us to proceed, and I didn’t need to be told twice. Deviled eggs were one of my favorite appetizers. Normally I’d stuff the entire thing in my mouth in one go, but I wanted to savor this. As I bit off about a third, flavors exploded on my tongue. The bright, tangy yolk, mayonnaise, and Dijon mixture. The slight bite of the paprika. The smooth texture of the egg white with the creaminess of the yolk—it was divine.
Owen once again made that noise in the back of his throat, and I glanced over to find his entire egg gone, his cheeks bulging. Once he’d chewed and swallowed, he said, “Fucking hell, Ez. Are you sure I can’t convince you to come work for me?”
Ezra cut me an apologetic glance, as though it mattered to me whether he stayed at CD or went to work at Birdie’s. “I’m happy here,” he said.
“Job is yours whenever you want it,” Owen said, turning his attention to me. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I said, chuckling softly at the glob of egg yolk mixture that had settled on the corner of his mouth. Before I could stop myself, I reached up and brushed it away, my thumb snagging his soft, plump lower lip to the side. And without thinking, I popped my thumb into my mouth, sucking it clean.
“You missed some.”
Owen didn’t react, only stared at me for several long heartbeats before dropping his eyes back to his plate, suddenly engrossed in the next appetizer offering .
Naturally, the mushroom and Brussels sprout were equally as delicious as the egg, and I told Ezra so, agreeing the Prosecco was the perfect pairing for all three—something light and effervescent to complement the heavier foods.
Even as we continued to eat, panic coursed through me over what I’d done. I’d crossed so many lines, touching Owen like that, and the way he refused to look at me indicated I’d made him uncomfortable—something I’d never forgive myself for. Why hadn’t I kept my hands to myself? What was it about this man that had me ignoring all the red flags begging me to turn back?
Owen himself wasn’t a red flag. In fact, as far as men went, he was the biggest green flag I’d ever seen. Everything about him urged me to pass GO, to collect that two hundred dollars.
But that wasn’t our relationship, and Owen wasn’t a prize I could take for myself. Eventually, he would belong to someone else. I had to content myself with being nothing more than his business partner and friend.
“Next,” Ezra said, returning my attention to the task at hand, “we have butternut squash soup. The squashes are sourced locally, which is something that’s very important to me, as you know,” he added to me. “I’m trying to use local ingredients wherever possible, but I’m also trying to keep recipes relatively simple. I want to show the great citizens of Apple Blossom Bay that creating beautiful, delicious, restaurant-quality food doesn’t have to be difficult or expensive.”
I nodded, completely on board with that plan.
My family was an outlier on the peninsula. The people of this area were firmly middle class. They worked hard for their money and lived comfortably if modestly. The fact that Ezra— a relative newcomer to the area and someone I knew was well-off thanks to the behemoth salary he’d received at his previous job—recognized this and wanted to make these dishes accessible warmed my heart.
“How much are you selling tickets for?” Owen asked.
“Fifty bucks,” Ezra said. I already knew this, but the amount was still staggeringly low—the wine alone would eat up a sizable chunk of any budget had the winery not been donating all of it.
“I’d like to match however much you make,” Owen said.
“Me too,” I piped up.
Ezra looked at me. “You don’t have to do that, Delia,” he said. “You already give so much to this place.”
“Please,” I said, waving him off. “It’s the least I can do. Which reminds me…have you decided where you’re donating proceeds yet?”
“Well now that the event is bringing in three times as much as I’d anticipated”—he shot each of us a glare—“I can help more people. I was thinking Farms for Folks, the volunteer fire department, and…”
“And what?” Owen prompted.
“The last one was kind of a pipe dream but now that I can make it a reality, I’d really like to set up a scholarship fund at the high school in Traverse City for a kid who wants to study culinary arts. I wouldn’t be where I am today if someone hadn’t offered me a helping hand when I needed it, and now it’s time for me to pay it forward.”
I breathed deeply, willing the threat of tears stinging my nose away, and gave Ezra a smile.
“You should ask for Brie’s help with that last one,” I said quietly.
“I’ll think about it,” Ezra said, equally as soft. Then with a harsh clap that had me jolting on my chair, he brusquely moved onto serving the soup.
The next hour passed in a flurry of great food, delicious wine, and good company. After my earlier faux pas, the tension between me and Owen was still thick enough to cut with a butter knife. He seemed inclined to ignore it, though, so I followed his lead.
When we wrapped up, Brie having strode in toward the end to present us with the dessert course options, which were being paired with our world-famous ice wine at Ezra’s request, Owen disappeared with barely a goodbye to me.
Maybe everything I thought I’d felt between us over the weekend at the club had been in my head, a fever dream brought on by the strobe lights and chaos. If that was how he reacted to me simply wiping food off his face, I’d clearly misread everything.
“What’s his problem?” Brie asked when Owen was gone.
“Delia touched his mouth,” Ezra said unhelpfully.
Brie’s face scrunched in confusion, her green eyes narrowing on me. “Explain, please.”
Quickly, I recounted the few, innocuous seconds that seemed to throw off our entire dynamic. When I finished, my sister said to Ezra, “Remember that day Amara and Cal came in here for the summer menu tasting?”
Ezra’s answering grin was positively feline. “Why do you think I invited these two here today?”
Brie barked out a laugh. “You’re wicked.”
Ezra shrugged. “It worked so well last time. ”
“And that wasn’t even on purpose,” Brie added with a chuckle.
“Will someone tell me what the fuck you guys are talking about?”
They shared the kind of look that told me a thousand words passed unspoken between them in those few seconds of eye contact. Then Brie said, “Nah.”
“You little shit.”
“You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“Whatever,” I huffed out as I rose from my seat.
“Hey, before you leave,” Brie said, stalling me, “I wanted to ask what your plans for Halloween are.”
“Well, it’s my birthday, so same as every year.”
“Halloween is your birthday?” Ezra asked, surprised.
I smirked. “Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”
He responded with a laugh before saying, “So what’s the same-as-every-year plan?”
“I'm hosting a party!”
“Party” was a woefully inadequate way to describe the extravaganza I threw every year. I tended to be extra in pretty much everything I did, but I took my birthday seriously, and the fact that it fell on a holiday only added to the madness. I’d deck out my garage, have Brie help me whip up an impressive array of snacks and treats, and force all my friends and family into dressing up.
It was also a given that I’d have the best costume. I had a list in my phone of costumes I’d used in previous years and ones I hadn’t yet. This year’s might be my favorite yet—an old-fashioned madam. I’d found my dress from a company that specialized in historical dress recreations—and paid a pretty penny to have it custom made and shipped from California. I’d only tried it on once when it arrived to be sure it fit correctly, but I couldn’t wait to spend an entire night in it. The details of the dress were so painstakingly crafted that I felt like I was wearing a piece of history. I’d never worn so much clothing—the heavy skirts and full bodice covering me from chest down—yet felt so…sexy. Maybe it was the act of sliding into a different skin, of imagining myself as the type of woman who would’ve worn such an outfit, who made her living overseeing a brothel.
With a start, I realized we were less than two weeks away from the big event. My instantaneous shock and worry must’ve been evident on my face, because my sister smiled and said, “I’ll be over after I help Ez clean up for a planning session.”
I moved to her side and pressed a smacking kiss to her cheek.
“You’re the best sister ever.”
“I know.” I shot her a wink as I strode for the door. “And as your best sister ever,” she called after me, “I should tell you that if you don’t invite Owen, I will.”
That little shit.
Still, her words stuck with me as I drove home, and by the time I’d pulled into my garage, I’d worked myself into a bit of a state, knowing if I didn’t call Owen then and invite him, I never would.
Blessedly, the phone rang through to voicemail—and I refused to consider he was blowing me off—and I left a long, rambling message before hanging up in horror and studiously ignoring my phone the rest of the day.