“You still don’t think Blue Ridge is good enough, do you?”
You don’t think I’m good enough.
Laine pulls me into her arms. “Hey, no, Blue Ridge is amazing, you’ve shown me that. A cut of the family business means obligations I haven’t had up to now, that’s all. I don’t want to work at Into the Woods, I don’t want to work with Rachelat all, and I’m ready to make my own wine for once. It would all come down to whether I can find the right opportunity here to do that while still contributing to the family business somehow.” She runs the long, straight bridge of her nose againstmy jawline. “And if I don’t, well … we could always go somewhere else together.”
“Go somewhere else? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Laine pulls back from my neck, her dark eyes hungry over her flushed cheeks. “I want to take you to Oregon. Or California. Show you all the places I love. Follow our ambition and opportunities and live happily ever after.” Her thumb parts my lips until she feels the wet there, then leans in and bites, pulling my bottom lip into her mouth and kissing me deeply. It’s hard to think while she’s lighting up my body like this, fear alternating with love and hope and shamefully, a burst of wild excitement at the idea of leaving Blue Ridge with Laine. Somewhere I wouldn’t be responsible for holding up the weight of my world alone. Where I could take a day off from time to time. Where I could justbe.
But who would I be then? Without Bluebell Vineyards, Dad, and the singular purpose I’ve had ever since Mom passed away? The anxiety yawns open like a canyon, and just like that, I’m tumbling down its steep walls, scrabbling to stop my fall and hang on.
I break away so I can look at her, needing usbothto hear me. “I can’t ever leave Blue Ridge, or my dad—it’d break his heart for good. You know that, right?”
She sighs, her eyes full of gentle understanding as she brushes my hair behind my ear. “All I know is that it doesn’t matter where we are, because I’m yours, Zoe.” She drops to her knees before me, sliding her palms over the curve of my hips as she goes. She’s still murmuringyours, yours, yoursas she lifts my skirt, presses her mouth against my panties, and breathes. She stops to look up at me, eyes wide and flooded with desire.
“And you’llalwaysbe my boss.”
I’m lying in the crook of Laine’s arm, half drowsing on the floor of our tasting room on a makeshift bed of linens, when a loud pounding from outside wakes me cold.
Is someone …knocking?
It’s after midnight. We’ve been closed for hours. I hoist onto my elbow, listening, adrenaline spiking my blood. The pounding comes again, this time from farther away.
“Wake up.” I jostle Laine in the ribs. “Someone’s outside.”
She squints open an eye, then another, as the pounding grows louder. “Is that—from the winery?”
Another noise, something heavy falling, the stomp of feet, makes us both scramble up, pulling on clothes as we go. “Did you lock up?” I grab an empty wine bottle from the recycling to reuse as my weapon.
“I don’t remember.” Laine’s bleary-eyed but awake. She grabs the bat we keep behind the counter, and together, we ease toward the winery. She squeezes my hand before she throws the door open. The lights are already on.
“For theloveof God,ugh!” A figure sways near our aging base wines, reeling backward from the threat of Laine’s bat. “It’s me, your sister.” Rachel glares at Laine before dumping her gaze on me. “And your—your—Rachel!”
I don’t know what I was expecting—a wine burglar? Baahlzebub on the prowl? But definitely not Rachel, drunk as a skunk and smelling like the last flat swallow of beer.
“Jesus.” Laine lowers her bat. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve got somethin’ to say to you!” Her giant purse is capsized on the floor, its contents scattered around like a very strange Easter egg hunt where the best prizes are lipsticks and keto bars. “And also, tryna find my keys.” Rachel straightens, but her eyes slide closed like the move’s made her dizzy. I’ve seen it a hundred times.
“We’ve got a puker!”
Rachel heaves over and gags, and Laine snatches her by the arm, dragging her away from the tote of base wine that’s holding her up, its cover half-off.
“Not near the wine!Jesus!” Laine yells, her face scrunched in disgust as she pulls the cover back on the base wine. “You’re blitzed.”
“Well,you’rea bunghole,” Rachel replies, then gives us a crooked smile of triumph.
Laine runs her hands over her face. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”
“Just Dad’s golf cart. It’s fine.” Rachel gestures behind her at the wall.
That cart’s probably in a ditch somewhere.
“Anyway, quit changing the subject!” She lobs a finger at Laine, then clears her throat as though she’s about to launch into a rehearsed speech. “You have some nerve, Charlaine! You disappear for the last ten years, then come home on your ass, acting like you’re too good for everything while begging your family for handouts!”
Rachel wobbles on her feet, anchored only by her big, glaring eyes. “That money was set aside forme, formynew project! But noooo, evvvverybody loves the lesbians! Givethemall the money! Nobody gives a shit about Rachel! Or Rachel’s brewery. Or what Rachel cares about!”
“You’re opening a brewery?” I ask, unable to resist probing Rachel’s third-person confession for truth.
