Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wyn
The smell of sugar and yeast wafting inside my home might be the best way to wake up.
It helps that I just had the best sleep after nearly three and a half years.
I fell asleep somewhere between the haze of a middle-of-the-night orgasm and before sunrise.
If I’m smelling the latest mash, that means it’s easily close to noon—the distillery barely has a schedule, but it’s usually midday when Tommy fires up a mash that’s been waiting.
I stretch out in my cool sheets, wearing only an oversize Whispering Fool T-shirt and nothing else.
My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter all the way across the room, but I take my time enjoying the feeling of being tired and sore.
I smile to myself, draping my arm over my eyes. I had so much sex last night.
“Julian?” I call out and turn my head toward the bathroom. The door is open, no light on. Sitting up, I look around the room, noting his boots are still here. His T-shirt is a ball on the floor near my clothes. My phone buzzes again.
When I finally drag my body off the bed and reach my phone, there’s a wall of text messages from my sisters. I swipe to make sure I’m reading them in order.
STEVIE
I’m just going to say it—you two were fucking behind the truck last night, weren’t you?!?
JO
WHAT! What the hell? I miss one lame festival, and apparently, our older sister is an exhibitionist now?! Wait, what did you see?
STEVIE
Just the fumbling of trying to look like they didn’t get caught doing something. Wyn, can you PLEASE share? I need more details. I’m withering in celibacy-land
JO
Fucking around in public is not a new concept for you . . .
STEVIE
Where’s the middle finger emoji?
JO
You’re also married, so obviously you’re not celibate.
STEVIE
Do I need to explain my relationship with Theo to you again?
The wall of texts continues into this morning.
JO
Good morning, my beautiful old hags. Why have we still not heard from Wyn?
STEVIE
Wynnie, are you getting railed right now?
STEVIE
I swear to every goddess in the universe that if she answers yes, mid-pump, suck, or thrust, I will be the happ-happ-happiest.
JO
It’s really you that we should be most concerned about. Happ-Happ-Happiest!??
STEVIE
Yes, fuck you very much. I’m excited that my big sister is having a taste upgrade in men. Still not sure where he came from, but yum, Wyn. Yum.
JO
Nom nom nom, Wyn.
STEVIE
I’m eating breakfast and still no response . . .
Should we be concerned? I’m going to do a drive-by.
We can paperboy more condoms at her door, just in case.
Oh shit.
I rush into the bathroom, quickly typing a response.
WYN
Do not do a drive-by. I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll give you all the details later.
I load my toothbrush with toothpaste and brush, then wash my face and run my fingers through my hair enough so that I can pull it into a messy bun. When I come out of the bathroom, that’s when I hear the muffled yelling.
Peering out onto my back patio, I find Julian, facing in the other direction toward the river.
Something thumps against my front door, making me stop and spin towards it.
I wait a few seconds, and then there’s knocking.
The knocks hit double-time, and I know instantly that both of my sisters ignored my last text.
There’s a little part of me that warms at the idea they wanted to be sure I was okay, even if it’s fueled by nosiness.
When I open it, they both stop talking and give me a once-over, and the widest, most-knowing Cheshire cat smiles spread across their faces.
“You’ve finally hit your hoe-phase,” Stevie says, double-fisting boxes of condoms. “Didn’t know the size, so hoped for the best,” she says, opening her arms wide.
“Nope, no. You’re not coming in—” I say, getting cut off as Jo chews a potato chip from the bag she’s holding and then ducks under my arm.
Goddamnit.
“Is he still naked in your bed?” Stevie asks, covering her mouth, like that’s exactly what she’s hoping for.
I whisper-shout, “No!” and shut the door as they walk in. “See, I’m fine. I love that you were concerned. And I’ll share all the details if you want them later, but please, I would love to not explain why my sisters are here . . .”
They both stand at the window, facing the patio, and stare out, disregarding the fact that I want them out of here. I cross my arms. They do well with threats. “I will not swap or share another pair of shoes with either one of you if you don’t get?—”
“What in the jackpot of man did you get yourself under, Dr. Wynona Crowne . . .” Stevie mumbles out.
Jo keeps staring out, holds her hand up, and waits for my highfive.
When I slap it, she turns and winks at me. “I won’t tell you to be smart. Have fun instead.” Moving to the fridge, she pulls out the last slice of cake we’d left and a fork. She takes it with her and yells out to Stevie, “Alright, let’s go, you horny little nymph, we’re leaving.”
“That’s my cake, Jo!” I yell after her.
“There are so many inches, aren’t there?” Stevie says in a low voice as Jo tries boxing her out. “Gah, if anyone gets to get the guy, it’s you, Wynnie.”
I just shake my head, biting back a smile, because they might have just been the comic relief I needed this morning.
“Don’t get knocked up!” Stevie shouts as Jo shoves her outside. “Use the condoms!”
I can hear Jo quietly reprimanding her as they walk back toward the car. “Seriously, you’re a wet blanket when you say shit like that. Nash is the best thing . . .”
When I open the patio doors, the heat hits almost as hard as the sight in front of me.
Almost. Full back on display, a compass and birds that shift into paper airplanes running from the center of his back out to his shoulders.
Shiny and sweaty, his jeans hang low as his garden-gloved hands lean on the handle of a rake propped next to him.
“We need to have a conversation about my dad, Birdie,” he shouts across the river to my grandmother, who’s got her basket of day-old bread so she can feed the ducks and birds that sometimes wander down here.
“Yes, that sounds lovely,” she says in a too-chipper, almost placating tone. “Is that my beautiful granddaughter over there?” she calls out to me. “Well, good morning, Wyn. Did I just hear Stevie’s car?”
I wave at her, giving her a tight-lipped smile, just as Julian turns around. He’s dirty and sweaty and delicious. Did he just weed my pathetic excuse of a garden? The once mess of weeds and my slightly functional irrigation system looks like it’s been cleared out and reconfigured.
He smiles at me, looking from my face and down the front of me. “Good morning.”
I bite my lip, stifling my smile. “Good morning.”
I look up and over at my grandmother, who’s wearing the world’s largest black sun hat and tossing food into the river.
“Why are you feeding the ducks?” I call out to Birdie.
“Well, your sister wanted me to see if you were home, which obviously you are. And the gators haven’t had a meal in a while, so figured I should fatten these up for ’em.”
Julian’s head whips back to me. “Is she serious?”
With a wince, I nod and give her a thumbs-up, because really, how am I supposed to respond to that?
“The negative of living a stone's throw from family,” I say to him with a shrug. I leave out my least favorite circulating town rumor—the Crowne women feed people they don’t like to the alligators that live in the river next to the bar.
It’s ridiculous, but that one followed me throughout middle school.
Kids called me Gator-aid for the entirety of seventh grade.
Stepping closer, I glance around the cleaned-out space. He can’t be serious. “You did all of this?” I say, almost in shock. “How long have you been out here, Julian?”
“You were out cold and this”—he walks closer to me, moving his finger to point around the weeds—“would make a really nice garden, but you needed to clear it out before you started planting anything. Your irrigation system needs to be spread out, but it makes sense to see what kind of space you’re working with first.”
He rests the rake against the small bistro table and grabs the hose.
“And you just know this?” I say, amused, crossing my arms over my chest.
Twisting the head, it turns on without leaking everywhere, and he hoses off his hands and up his arms. He drags his fingers into his hair, wetting the strands more than they already were.
“Anything I design, I have to have a plan for.” His lips tip up as he looks at me. “And in case you forgot, I’m actually really fucking good at cleaning things up.”
Ignoring the fact that I’m pants-less, he’s wet, and my grandmother is very likely watching all of this, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and lift onto my toes to kiss him. His lips claim mine like they’ve done it millions of times.
He hums as his arms wrap around my back and hands roam to the hem of my shirt. “You have no pants on,” he whispers against my lips.
“You have no shirt on,” I say against his lips as I smile.
Lifting me up so that my feet dangle just above the ground, he walks us back inside. “I think I need to shower again. Mind helping me, Crowne?”