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Champagne, white, red, rosé.
You want it? We have it.
Dragging my fingertips over the dusty bottles, I grab the 2018 pinot noir. I pause for a moment, looking at the boiler that sits in the corner and I remember I used to be so scared to come down here as a kid. I know I am lying to myself. I am still terrified to come down here. I used to cry, and Austin would trap me down here thinking it was funny. I have been scared of the dark ever since.
Everyone has fears. And mine happens to be the dark. A silly childish prank turned into a crippling fear that grips me by the throat every time, along with riding horses.
Ice coldness trickles down my back, but I ignore it.
After that, my mom and dad made sure that the farmhouse was scattered with nightlights so I could always find my way and never have to walk through pitch-black darkness again. Austin eventually apologised, but it took me a while to forgive him fully and he has never forgiven himself for causing my lasting fear.
I wasn’t going to be labelled a scaredy cat so I used to scream till I was blue in the face trying to prove to him and the Rivera brothers that I was brave like them.
But they never believed me because of Austin.
A shiver dances over my spine and I rush up the stairs, cutting the light and closing the cellar door quickly.
Just as I walk down the hallway, I see my dad and Austin walking through the back door, all rosy cheeked from the cold and laughing about something. No doubt a private joke that I’m no longer privileged to.
“Penny,” Austin beams at me and his hazel eyes dance with mine, “you’re awake,” his tone is laced with kindness and my heart swells. Austin was a good man; hardworking, loyal and loved his family fiercely.
I nod, rolling the bottle of wine in my hands to keep them busy.
He squeezes my shoulder as he walks past me and straight into the kitchen, pinching a string green bean off one of the plates and I watch as my mom swats him away.
“Hands!” she bellows and he laughs as he leans over the sink, turning on the faucet. I turn my attention back to my dad and my heart races.
“Pops,” I smile, my nose scrunching softly.
“Darling,” he smiles wide, and I see how the coldness has marked his skin, his cheeks are scarlet, his nose cherry red and his lips are cracked and dry.
He steps towards me and pulls me into his embrace, holding me tightly.
It felt good to have his arms wrapped around me. One thing I hated most in the world was upsetting or disappointing my parents, especially my dad. They would never admit it, but I know I disappointed them when I left town. Sure, they understood, but it didn’t mean they had to like it or approved for that matter. The longer I was in his embrace, the more I could feel the tension crackling between us. I hated that I had just turned up, but I hated myself more for lying to them.
But they weren’t stupid.
They knew what the hell was going on.
I just didn’t want to admit it and they didn’t want to ask.
“I’m so glad you’re home and out of la-la land,” he whispered, and I feel his shoulders rise and fall as he chuckles.
“Me too, pops.”
It wasn’t a lie.
But it also wasn’t one hundred percent the truth.
He gives me a soft pat on the back as he lets me go and walks over to my mom, kissing her on the cheek and then washing his hands without even having to be asked.
I move forward, reach for the corkscrew and walk into the dining room to place the bottle in the center of the table, laying the corkscrew next to it.
Mom and dad walk into the dining room carrying theLe Creusetorange dishes.
“Mom, this all looks…” I pause for a moment.
“Delicious,” Austin nods and dives straight in, scooping a large spoon of mash and dropping it onto his plate.
