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“I don’t know about never, but I’m in. Let’s grow this wine business for us, not for faceless shareholders.”
“I knew you’d stay.” Cameron held a hand up for a high five.
She and I smacked palms. My sister-in-law-to-be was totally awesome.
Oh my God, I was staying in Elmer. I needed a house and car and a mailing address I didn’t share with my brother. Figuring all that out would have to wait until after The Stomp.
Chapter 29
Atley
My ass was stillnumb. It never used to get this way, but pushing fifty years old riding over the bumps and ruts in a vineyard for more than half a night was a beatdown.
I flipped on my computer and moved to my kitchen to get the enormous cup of coffee I desperately needed. Major padded along behind me, stopping at his empty bowl, waiting patiently as I filled it.
Last night, when Jameson arrived to take his turn piloting the tractor catching the grapes, I’d not complained. Feeling like a zombie, I came home, showered, and fell into bed around two or three in the morning. Only two more nights to go. Note to self: teach Wilson to drive the tractor before the next harvest.
I’d slept like the dead for the first time in weeks, so the misery had a small silver lining.
I sat my mug on the side of the desk and fumbled to turn on the heating pad and shove it behind my back. Twisting right and left, I found a handful of new painful knots. Fuck, I was old.
My email inbox had enough messages to keep my mind off my aches and pains until the Advil I took kicked in. Thankfully, Leroy was on morning feeding duties up at the barn. A smart person didn’t make the donkeys wait for breakfast; starvation braying could be deafening.
The first email was a general update on The Stomp. Tickets were nearly sold out. The dancehall bathrooms were fully operational and had passed inspection. But to be safe, extra port-a-potties were on order with Big Willie. A list of seven food trucks, their signature dish, and the wine selected by Gabe and Rae to pair with the dish was attached. The details for the delivery of the large events tent where the actual grape stomping would occur was the most interesting to me. I’d want to be present to make sure the rental company setup went smoothly.
I added a calendar note with the delivery details to my cell phone and moved the email to myStompfolder.
She’d done it. The Stomp was coming together flawlessly. A feeling of pride bloomed in my chest. Rae would hardly look at me these days, but I still wanted her to succeed.
I’d fucked up that day when I hunted her down in Austin. It had been an act of self-preservation. I was investing in her and in us, and I learned a long time ago if people told you they were going to leave, they did. If they told you they were going to disappoint you, they did. No amount of hoping, asking, or begging changed it.
Expect people to disappoint you, and you wouldn’t be disappointed. And never, ever expect them to change.
But…
I mulled over the command from Wilson: “Date the hell outta her.”
The lone man cowboy part of me wanted to rebel at the advice. But the lonely cowboy routine was a cold comfort alone in my bed with only Major and a heating pad to keep me company. My life had been more fun those few weeks we’d sneaked around than it had been in years. I’d looked forward to nights on the couch watchingJeopardy!And making dinner with her almost as much as what happened in bed afterward.
It was tempting to chuck my low expectations of others out the window. Instead of expecting disappointment, what if I expected more?
The glow of the laptop screen burned into my retinas, and I closed my eyes. A vision of Rae, her naked body kissed by the dappled sunlight of the swimming hole, assaulted my feeble defenses. The weight of her arms around my neck, her slick skin coasting over mine, the scent of roses mixed with the humid air of the pool. I sunk into the memory, wallowing in the perfection of that day.
Risking rejection would be worth it for even one more day like that.
“What do you think, Major? How do we convince Rae to give me another chance?”
Major was not the wellspring of helpful ideas that I’d hoped for. He stretched and started loudly licking his paw. Huh, at least it wasn’t his junk. Looked like I’d need to come up with a plan on my own. My first thought was the harvest breakfast; no way she’d say no to Elena’s breakfast tacos.
I clicked away a handful of spam emails.
Next was a message from Jameson titled, “Did you see this? Read the comments!” The body of the email contained only a link. I clicked, praying I’d not given my computer a virus.
The website for Vacation Dream Homes opened, and a promotional video that started with the interview of Wilson and Cami in the vineyard before the harvest played. It was cute enough; Wilson and Cami were naturals in front of the camera, joking and mugging for the fans at home. When their part ended, the video cut to the harvest itself, shown from the drone. It was cool to watch all the moving parts unfold on the screen. The angle changed to show different perspectives, shot from the small cameras mounted on the harvester and my tractor.
I let the video play while I sipped my coffee. The well-chosen soundtrack made it seem like a country music video.
As the image of the vines faded and the logo for the TV show filled my screen, I hovered my cursor over the red X in the window’s corner to close it down. Cool as it was to see, I wasn’t sure why Jameson went to the effort of sending me the link until I saw the comment section.
