But really, weren’t weallintense baby psychopaths at sixteen?
Laine’s amused smile dips, then flickers out, replaced by something more difficult to name as she gingerly picks up newspaper clippings of her soccer days, her honor roll announcements, a wallet-size picture day photo from tenth grade. Candid pictures from parties Laine and Chance threw when their parents were out of town that Rachel and I were grudgingly allowed to attend so Rachel wouldn’t rat them out. Laine doing a cartwheel drunk on red wine. Laine laughing on the couch surrounded by her soccer friends.
And a dingy old sports bra.
God, this was aterribleidea, this was—
“This is amazing,” Laine says, her eyes twinkling as she stares down at my box of relics. “You absolute weirdo. Why are you showing me all this now?”
“I’m done hiding from you, Laine. I’ve been so scared of losing you, I haven’t let myself relax since you got here. But I realize now I was doing the same bullshit with you that I’ve done to everybody since my mom died—waiting for you to leave me. And maybe you still will one day, but it won’t be because I held back how I feel about you. For better or worse, you’re getting it all. The good, the bad—”
“—and the stolen underwear.” Her smirk is contagious.
“Who said I was giving that back?” I reply indignantly as she tugs me into her arms. “Oh, thankGodthe bra thing didn’t scare you off.”
“Scare me off? No way,” Laine murmurs against my neck, sending waves of giddy heat down my belly. “You can have this one, too, if you want.” She bites at my pulse point. “You little freak.”
“Hey! I’m a big freak now,” I say, the words increasingly breathier as her full lips brush open kisses down my collarbone. “But, Laine?”
She stops, nuzzling my neck. “Yes, baby?”
“The whole reason Dad’s decided to stay in Italy is because that’s where his dreams lie now. I know I’ve asked you to stay, but I want to be clear—I’m not asking you to stay on at Bluebell in his place. I want you to keep followingyourdreams, just like my dad’s doing, and not feel beholden to mine.”
Laine frowns. “What if I want to stay on, though? What if I want to be your vintner and your person and your everything? What if my dreams are just making wine and making you happy, and the details don’t matter?”
“Laine Woods, we both know you’re ready to be the boss, but let me finish, will you?” This time, I brush a lock of her hair behind her ear, unable to stop the smirk on my face. “You want your own place, whereyou have the freedom to make your wine without some boss-bitch in the tasting room hampering your style.”
“And what do you want?” she asks gently.
“I want you, but also,freedom. I want to be able to take a week off to see my dad in Italy without it hurting our business. I want to travel to lots of places, actually. I’m thirty years old, and I’ve barely seen the world. Health insurance would be nice, too, plus the ability to save for retirement. I want to be able torest, Laine, and stop worrying every damn day that this season will be the vineyard’s last.”
I take a deep breath, then finally say what’s been on my mind ever since Italy.
“You’re looking for land of your own. Well, sharemyland. You want to make your wine? Be my guest, though I’m partial to—”
“Electric Daisy and Georgia Girls,” Laine finishes, smiling.
“I want to go into business with you, Laine Woods.” I look out at all I have, heart sparkling, and I’m ready for it to be more.
I’m ready for it to beours.
“I want to sell a stake of Bluebell Vineyards to Into the Woods, to you.” My words falter as her eyes pour over my face, drinking me in. “For us to run it together, as co-bosses. What do you think?”
She tells meyesin the fierce press of her mouth on mine. She saysI’ll staywhen she lowers me to the blanket, hand cradling the back of my head like I’m the most precious thing in the world. She saysI love youandI love youandI love youas we spill onto the blanket, out of our clothes, out of everything that’s ever held us back.
Here, inourvineyards. Our home.
We curl up together beneath a blanket, staring up at the stars visible through the branches, little fish glimmering in a big, dark pond. My head tucked under Laine’s arm, tracing my finger across the bluebells inked on her soft chest, feeling her heartbeat like it’s my own. Downbelow, the party rages on, though I could stay here forever, as happy as I’ve ever been.
“I can’t wait to go into business with you, babe,” Laine murmurs into my hair, then throws a hand into the air over us. “I can picture it now:Boss ’n’ Beave’s Wine Depot.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Laine.”
“Lil Napa!”
“We arenotrena—”
“Bluebell Woods,” Laine says, still chuckling as she pulls me closer with both arms. “How about that?”
