“Goddamn drunk-ass lesbians,” Teddy says, salty as ever. “You’re all in love with each other, get over it!”
Laine’s arm slides from my shoulders to the top of my seat back, creating a little cocoon ofus. “Why are gay men so wise?”
“We’re immune to the power of tits,” Teddy says, earning a chorus of groans and flying objects from the rest of the passengers. Hannah beans him square in the head with one of her socks, which she’s abandoned along with her shoes, purse, and other assorted clothing.
“You okay, Hannah?” I raise an eyebrow, waiting to see if anything good gets shed.
“Too hot,” she grumbles, then lies down in the back row, dick necklace still glowing to a beat only it can hear. I snap a picture to commemorate this unofficial bachelorette party.
“So Olinda’s gonna roll up with theEveryday Bon Vivantteam tomorrow,” Laine prompts, a bit glassy-eyed, but hanging in there. “Walk me through your plan.”
I take a deep breath. “The vineyard’s gonna be all set up for our Strawberry Moon night. The Genteelmen will be there early, playing already. The vineyard’s windows will be open, and our outdoor bar set up on the patio. We’ll have freshly picked strawberries to pair with Electric Daisy, and the food trucks will be set up, too.”
Laine nods thoughtfully. “Sounds nice. What are you gonna say?”
“I’ll feign sympathy for their inconvenience of course, offer them drinks and snacks while they wait for Olinda’s mechanic to come service the van. Then I’ll give them our standard tour, if they’ll let me. Show off the vineyards, the winery … what?” I trail off and frown, interrupted by the vigorous, sloppy shake of Laine’s head.
“No, no,no. Don’t give thestandardtour! You’ve gotta tell them about what makes Bluebell Vineyardsspecial.”
I frown harder, weirdly hurt by this. “Thatiswhat our standard tour’s about. You don’t think that shows?”
“The tour’s about your valley location, the soil composition, your philosophy of everyday people drinking wine. But you never share thestoryof Bluebell Vineyards. Tell them about your mom, Zoe. Why doesn’t anyone tell her story? Tell them about how your parents started Bluebell and ran it together.” Laine smacks her leg with her hand emphatically. “That’swhat people want to hear.The romance.”
I swallow. “Talk aboutMom? Dad’s never been able to handle that.” The wine’s making it difficult to steady my feelings, pitching me about like a ship on stormy waves. But my parents’ storyishappy, isn’t it? A good one that lingers in your heart, even if it ends in tragedy. Just because Dad can’t handle telling it doesn’t mean I can’t or shouldn’t.
“Maybe it’s time you start.” She looks at me with such fondness, it’s easy to forget we’re just coworkers.
But that’s all we are, I grind the reminder into my brain. Even if River’s right that I’m afraid of developing feelings for Laine again, he’s wrong about why. I’m not scared of trying and failing—that’s already happened. We had sex, she realized who I really am, and she ended it, just like every other woman has in my life. But that wasbeforewe started working together. Now, my vineyard’s future hinges on her staying and delivering in a big way. If we hooked up again, how would she end it then? By leaving me and Bluebell in the lurch? Staying and making me miserable? I already know what war against her is like; I can’t go back to that.
Laine gets pulled into a raucous conversation about favorite celebrity queers, but I stare out the window instead, pondering what to say about our vineyard’s origins, and Laine. She’s always in my thoughts these days, one way or the other. The countryside swirls by until my eyes grow heavy, a deep yawn overtaking me. The van’s grown quiet. When I turn back, I realize Laine’s already fallen asleep, her head resting against her arm, still stretched across the back of my seat. The way her soft breath sighs out from her parted lips, close enough to dance across my own, makes my chest ache.
Okay, so maybe Idohave a crush on Laine again. Or maybe it never ended, lying dormant all these years until a crack fissured, and now powerful feelings are flowing out of me once again, hot and molten and incredibly destructive. Wanting her is wanting to be hurt. Wanting her is asking to be destroyed.
But Idowant her.
I turn fully to face her, resting my head lightly against the smooth cotton of her shirt stretched across her arm. She smells like sandalwood soap and sweet muscadine, and she murmurs in her sleep, a quiet rumble that I half hear, half feel against my cheek. The way her body curvestoward mine feels incredibly intimate, like we’re a pair of parentheses, reaching for each other across the expanse, despite all the circumstances that makeusa bad idea. Maybe it’s pathetic letting myself pretend like this, laying my head on her arm like her comfort is mine to have, but any self-consciousness I might’ve felt has been dulled by wine and rocked to sleep by the van’s gentle ride through the Appalachian foothills.
I don’t know how long I’m asleep, but when Laine shakes me awake, it’s with a strong vibe of terror.
“Zoe!Wake up!”
My eyes flap open, head swimming with alcohol, stomach lurching. “Wh-what?”
“Olinda’s van is in the lot!” Laine’s face is contorted in panic as she shakes me again. “Everyday Bon Vivantis here!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Darryl, we need a water,stat!” Hannah’s launched into action, staggering around like a drunken, half-dressed general caught in a surprise attack. “Someone check Zoe’s face!”
“My fa—?”
Diego grabs me by the chin and peers into my eyes, then scans my face for imperfections and sniffs. “Looks good. Smells bad!”
“Got it, baby!” Teddy hurriedly shoves a stick of medical-grade mint gum into my gaping mouth. Then Laine’s pulling me up to my feet, smoothing down my wrinkled sundress with the heels of her hands. “You with me, boss? It’s showtime!”
“Wait, WAIT! Her hair’s weird, y’all!” Teddy screeches over his shoulder. “What do we do about her hair?!”
“I’ve got a curling iron up here!” Trish hollers back. “Plugs into the USB port!”
