My jaw tenses, and he takes my hand. I’m still angry Laine knew Dad was going to Italy to be with my sick grandmother before I did.Weeksbefore.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Dad?”
His calloused hand closes around mine. “I wasn’t sure I’d go through with it if I couldn’t find someone to take care of you.”
A sigh exits me with force. “Laine isn’t taking care of me. She’s going to keep the vines happy and make some wine. That’s it.”
“Yes, yes, but I know how important Bluebell is to you, Zoe Nicoletta. I couldn’t leave without knowing it would be well cared for, because that’s how I take care ofyou.”
I swallow, surprised, though I guess I shouldn’t be. I’ve been showing my love for Dad through the vineyard for ages. Not many twelve-year-olds spend their Saturdays cleaning wine barrels, but after Mom died, when I had no clue how to help my grieving father, I’d sit next to him and scrub until my arms ached. I didn’t realize he’d been doing the same for me. That to him, Laine could readily fill the needs in my heart created by him leaving.
It’s sweet and naive and incredibly wrong.
“Zoe, promise me you’ll give Laine a chance.” Dad looks over the rim of his round eyeglasses. “Laine is a different vintner than I am, or your mother, and that’s a wonderful thing. Let her vision guide her, give her your faith. Okay?”
“As long as her vision is tasty and accessible and she follows our recipes to the letter, she can express herself however she wants.”
Dad’s big brown eyes crinkle at that, the closest he ever gets to a real smile anymore. I desperately hope Italy will be good for him, that it’ll wakeup the part of him that’s been sleeping ever since Mom died. But I can’t shake the fear that it’ll only make things worse. That maybe, this grief will break him for good.
“The vines grow through Laine’s heart, too, Zoe Nicoletta. Just like yours. She’ll be good for Bluebell if you let her.”
I nod, promising whatever he wants, but the conversation leaves me unsettled. The more Dad tries to prepare me for his departure, the longer this indefinite trip feels like it will be.
“Don’t stay away too long, okay, Dad?” I say through the feelings tightening in my throat.
“Oh, Zoe Nicoletta. I’ll miss you so much.” Dad strokes the apple of my cheek with his coarse thumb, then stands and brings me in for an all-encompassing hug, as though he’s trying to tell me not to worry. That this vineyard won’t sink without him, and neither will I.
After his plane leaves the next morning, the world feels quieter. Newer, and uncertain, too.
But I’ve promised to make the best of things, and I will. More than ever, I want to defeat Rachel Woods, host theEveryday Bon Vivantshowcase, and represent the town I love to the world’s wine scene. If that takes teaming up with Laine Woods, Napa snob, the First Lesbian, and verifiable sex goddess who I cannot lick ever again, then so be it.
I’ll survive.
Though I’ll be masturbating alot.
CHAPTER FIVE
I cap my gel pen and lean back to admire three days’ worth of cunning. The mega-binder on my kitchen table is organized and divided by each stage of my multipronged plan to win the showcase, with an Excel spreadsheet on my laptop so detailed it’d get the sternest accountant wet. If this were a heist movie, I’d be the mastermind steepling her fingers at the beginning of the montage where I set all my diabolical plans in motion.
I’m feeling good. Even better, I’m feelingready.
I send a quick text to Teddy to stop by after work. I need his funding to get a few initiatives off the ground, and with the empire of dentistry he’s built in Blue Ridge, he’s an excellent businessman in his own right. I want his feedback on my plan.
Movement in the nearby block of Chardonnay grapes pulls my focus from my work and directs it out the window toward a strong set of shoulders. Like a sunflower shining amid the twiggy winter vines, Laine Woods tromps around my vineyard in work boots. She comes to a halt at the end of the block. Young Zoe would be fritzing out right now from sheer proximity to her idol, but I, mature, grown-up businesswoman Zoe, am beyond such things. I casually observe that she’s clad in a slim flannel shirt rolled up to reveal lean forearms, bronzed from sun. Likewise, it’s of no import that she’s wearing high-waisted Levi’s that hug the straight line of her hips, kissing the curve of her muscular ass. And it is with scientific detachment alone that I note the beat but satisfied slantto her shoulders, the unmistakable posture ofquittin’ time. It is almost four p.m., after all.
I wonder what she’s doing later. Does she have plans? Will she stop by the treehouse to shower, scrubbing her skin until all the hard work of the day washes off?
The idea is strangely disappointing.
At first, I thought Laine might resent the farming demands of being our vintner. It’s so different out west, where the big corporate vineyards have whole crews of farmhands. But in the week since she started, she’s applied herself wholeheartedly. I’ve always admired that about her—Laine’s singular focus when she wants something, that determination and steady will to succeed. I saw it growing up when she’d spend evenings doing soccer drills after a long afternoon of team practice, then camp out at the dining table after dinner until her homework was finished. In high school, when showing effort at anything was considered mortifying, Laine’s utter lack of self-consciousness about crushing her goals stood out like a shining beacon over dull, gray waters. The ambition in me saw the ambition in her and wasdrawnto it, charged by it.
As I watch her intently inspecting a leaning trellis, then setting it to rights, it occurs to me that Laine brought that same drive to conquer in making me come.
My cheeks warm as heat pulses down my spine, pooling between my legs at the memory.
I snap the binder closed with a sigh. I’ve already checked offmasturbateon the day’s to-do list, and I’m running a tight ship here.
I pick up my phone, determined to get back to work, but bring up Laine’s number instead. My fingers hover over the screen, a small burst of insecurity alighting in my chest. But it makes sense to invite her to the meeting today. After all, she’s going to play a pivotal role in my plan to win the showcase, and this is work.
