Laine’s eyebrows flick upward, but the smirk remains. “Nervous? Why?”
An airhorn sounds from the parking lot, followed by Darryl’s amplified voice: “I said, CHOP CHOP!”
My cheeks flare red, and I curse myself for telling Hannah once again. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s go.”
Laine gestures for me to lead the way. “This should be interesting.”
She’s not alone in her skepticism. Of all my new business ideas for Bluebell Vineyards, the Redneck Wine Tour’s the one that’s drawn the most excitementandsquinty-eyed suspicion around town. We don’t have many wine tour operators in Blue Ridge, perhaps because of how spread out the vineyards are, or how rowdy the clientele can get. But why not lean into both? A relaxing, comfortable ride provided by a dynamic duo, promising lots of wine and laughter and beautiful mountain views, tailored for the type of tourists who don’t take wine too seriously.
Where’s the wine tours for those folks?
Once I came up with the idea, I immediately thought of the perfect driver/docent pair, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it until I turned it into reality. If it works, it’ll bring in tour ticket salesandsteady business to Bluebell each day the tour runs. Not to mention, the other vineyards on the route are paying us a small fee, too. We need the money, and this enterprise pays on all sides.
Laine and I emerge from the winery to a small test group gathering around the pristine sixteen-seater van. Hannah and her two best friends Kira and Mattie are here, and Teddy and Diego just shut the doors to their red Mini Cooper and are gleefully sprinting across the parking lot.
“HEAR YE, HEAR YE,” Darryl says through his megaphone, a big man wearing top-to-bottom fishing gear. I’m talking cargo shorts stuffed with lures, a vest with more, and a trucker hat that saysGot Trout?“Step right up for the inaugural Redneck Wine Tour and Unofficial Bachelorette Party for Ms. Hannah Tate!” He cackles, then slaps the side of the van like they’re bros.
“It isnotmy bachelorette party, and who decided to give Darryl a megaphone?!” Hannah demands as Laine and I approach. Darryl is Hannah’s stepdad, and judging by the flush of her pink cheeks, she’s already deeply mortified. “Who?!”
Kira grins and rubs her hands together. “This is gonna be sogood.”
Mattie, Kira’s wife, smiles in that way people do who live their life being amused by the people they love. “Trish, nice honks. Was that Garth Brooks?”
Trish, Hannah’s mom, cranks the driver’s side window down and hangs her elbow out. She’s an older, wilier version of Hannah with hair just as wild, though it’s gray instead of dark blonde. She’s inexplicably wearing a blue railroad conductor’s cap. “Yes, thank you for noticing! I wanted something likeDukes of Hazzard, but you know—not racist! I preloadedlots of goodies. This one’s for you, Hannah baby!” Trish fumbles with the small device attached to her steering wheel, which then omits a honking version of “Like a Virgin.”
“Good god,” Hannah whispers, and Kira throws her head back and laughs.
“Trish, you got the dick necklaces, right?” Kira manages out.
“That’s an affirmative, Kiki.” Trish holds up a fistful of necklaces hung with plastic dicks of every color and jangles them triumphantly.
“What?!” Hannah looks like she might bust a vein. “Absolutelynot!” But nobody’s paying her any mind. Trish’s already stowed the necklaces away, and Darryl’s busy passing out tour maps. I watch our participants’ expressions flicker from confusion to delight. I’ve already seen Darryl’s hand-drawn map of the wine tour, complete with all four vineyard stops plus “See Bigfoot” overlooks and little notes, like:Best potty, hold ur pee till hereandBy now, u will b drunk. Over Into the Woods, he’s drawn a big red X, saying:For fancy-pants only.The last stop is of course Bluebell Vineyards, followed by an optional fishing excursion in our stocked pond. A redneck’s preferred way to sober up, Darryl’s informed me.
I heartily approve.
Laine’s looking at the map with an incredulous smile, her mouth slightly parted as she takes in all of Darryl’s scribbles, skulls, and Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) lurking in the margins. She finally looks up at me. “This is hilarious,” she says cautiously, like maybe that’s on accident.
“I know.” It’s a small compliment, but the pride’s rolling through me like a tidal wave anyway.
I turn to Kira and Mattie. “Y’all, this is Laine Woods. She’s filling in as vintner while my dad’s out of the country. Laine, this is Kira and Mattie, our good friends from Atlanta.”
“Wait. Laine Woods as inCharlaine Woods?” Kira is awestruck. “As in, TFL?!”
“Kira!” Hannah grits out, and Kira claps a hand over her adorable face while mine goes nuclear with horror. Kira winces and mouths:Sorry!
“TFL?” Laine looks from Kira to Hannah to me for explanation. My red face must announce my guilt because her gaze lingers there, waiting.
“Erm, TFL. You know, The First Lesbian?” I mumble out. My entire body starts sweating, all at once. “You were my First Lesbian. I mean, that I knew of? Not like you weremine, per se—”
“Her Guiding Gay Light,” Mattie cuts in unhelpfully. “The Alpha Queer, First of Her Kind. The Crush that ‘Made Her Gay.’” She air-quotes the phrase with a grin, then glances around and receives the pointy end of Kira’s elbow. “What—was that still a secret?”
Laine’s eyebrow quirks up. “I thought it was just a little crush, boss.” A sly smile plays about her mouth as she repeats my brazen lies from the night of the smudge pot. “You didn’t even know you were gay.”
“I didn’t, until you.” The words stumble out, but Laine’s playful gaze softens. Her eyes trace over mine, and it’s uncomfortable, being seen like this. Understood in a context I’ve shared gladly with a hundred strangers, but never with her, the source.
I never dreamed I’d have the chance.
“Who was your TFL?” Kira asks Laine, papering over the loaded emotional moment as we board the van. It’s the least she can do since she brought this plague of vulnerability upon me. I slide into a window seat, and my heart picks up speed as Laine sits next to me. The press of her arm against mine feels warm and reassuring, like finding out she was my queer North Star doesn’t freak her out.
