Christmas in Wine Country (42 page)

“What?” Relieved yet not sure she’d just received a compliment, Lila looked up, questioningly.

             
“You know, my deepest fears? You accusing me of them? That sort-of thing.”

             
“I don’t think I know what you mean.”

             
“How about—‘Daddy’s Little Rich Boy?’”

             
“Oh God.” Lila buried her face into his sweater once again, this time taking refuge.

             
“And remember how you said I was hiding behind my father?”

             
“Could we forget I’ve ever said anything?” Lila asked his chest.

             
“No,” Jake laughed again, bringing up a hand to her head. “It was good.”

             
“No,” Lila disagreed, still not looking up but marveling at how lovely a caress could feel in her hair.

             
“Painful and disturbing,” Jake acknowledged, “but good. People tend to kiss your ass when you’re…the heir apparent.”

             
“Oh my God,” Lila remembered that chestnut from early on. “What have I not said to you?”

             
“I’m sure you’ve left something out.”

In his arms, she could think of many, many things she’d left out. Like how touched she’d been during Gram’s visit as he’d patiently discussed ways to combat snails and graciously thanked her for her suggestion of boxed wine. Or how much she’d enjoyed his rueful smile out the pick-up truck’s window during the Fourth of July parade. Or that she didn’t find it annoying that he got so enthusiastic about bluebird houses. Somehow, she thought that last one might come out wrong.

Thankfully, the band kicked into “Fly Me to the Moon” and she could simply enjoy dancing and let Frank, or, in this case, Fred, do the talking.

On another corner of the dance floor, Vanessa made a point of laughing uproariously and flicking her yellow locks in an unmistakable display of Having the Time of her Life. A Ken doll pushed her around, suitably groomed and matched as a mate for her Halloween Barbie, Malibu Barbie’s witchy stepsister. Sadly, her lobbed arrows of show happiness fell unnoticed around Jake and Lila, such an impenetrable shield did their own real happiness create.

“Too bad they don’t have karaoke,” Jake murmured in Lila’s ear.

“I’ve heard that karaoke and holiday parties are a really bad combination,” Lila disagreed.

“It’s been a year since I met you, you know that?

“I really rocked that mic, didn’t I?” Lila laughed, thinking how proud Annie would be of her Owning It instead of running and hiding under a folding table in embarrassment as a small part of her still kind-of wanted to do. 

“You’re not the only one who can rock a mic, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Lila smiled up at him, unable to picture him strutting his stuff around a stage. “OK, so if they did have karaoke here tonight, what would you sing?”

“Don’t Stop Believin.” He said it as if it were absurd to consider any other choice.

“Journey?” Lila asked, surprised and impressed.

“As if it could be any other band.”

“I’m so excited that I know you!” she declared, punching his shoulder a little harder than she’d intended, so suffused was she with delight.

“I’m happy I know you, too,” he said, giving his shoulder a quick rub before he added, “And that you’re here tonight with me. And not Phillip.”

“Phillip sucks,” Lila readily agreed.

“He does.”

“Vanessa sucks too,” she felt compelled to add.

“She does.”

After only a moment of hesitation, she continued, “You know, Vanessa stopped by for a visit the other day.”

“I heard,” Jake groaned. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh—” Lila gave a dismissive wave which she realized he couldn’t see since it was behind his back.

“Hey, listen.” He looked down at her. “I’m not sure what you’re doing later, but I hear there’s this Greenpeace march and I was hoping we could both swing by.”

With a huge smile, Lila once again found that she had to leave the words to Sinatra. 

Purple slacks, three o’clock. With that flirtatious sashay, Mrs. Crockett was decidedly making her way over to the happy couple. Jake spotted her too. Pulling Lila
over to the side of the dance floor, Jake asked, “Where’s that thing you had on when you were doing coat check?” Jake gestured to her bare shoulders.

“Are you talking about coats again?” Lila teased as she ducked over to a folding chair a few tables away and picked up her cardigan.

“Come here for a second.” Jake’s hand guided her through the crowd and out the side door. The soft glow of a street lamp revealed the swirl of light falling snow, but Lila had only a moment to admire it.

And then, Oh, the indignities that cardigan suffered. Flagrantly displaced by Jake’s strong and warm arms, Lila never even had a chance to take it out of her hand much less put it around her shoulders. Unanswered questions, incomplete conversations, still-to-be cleared up misunderstandings—even insecurities—none proved strong enough to save that cardigan. It met its fate, dropped to the cold, hard ground, a thoughtless casualty as all of Lila’s thought and attention was absorbed in what could only be called a long and passionate embrace.

CHAPTER 15: Your Kiss Is On My List

“More coffee?” A waitress gestured with her freshly brewed pot and Lila happily accepted. Cheery, yellow curtains framed the restaurant’s windows overlooking a gray, December ocean. Jake and Lila were closing out the breakfast crowd this Tuesday morning.

“Good coffee.” Lila smiled at Jake over her cup. “I see why you like this place.” It was a charming oceanfront breakfast spot, but Lila knew in her current state of mind she could pretty much be in a filthy hole-in-the-wall and fully enjoy a rancid meal.

“I hear it’s nothing compared to what this new café in town is going to serve.”

“Yeah?”

“I know the owner. I’ll introduce you.”

Lila smiled into her scone, remembering Phillip’s offer at the auction to introduce her to Oliver. She’d been smiling a lot lately, through two distracted shifts at work and hours upon delicious hours with Jake. She had to fly to Hyannis that night for Christmas on a redeye and didn’t want to go. Jake was going to take her to the airport, though, so they’d at least have the drive together.

They held hands across the table, Jake’s fingers tracing hers. “So, when did you say you heard abou
t my father’s heart attack?” h
e asked.

Lila tried to remember. It was hard to focus what with his fingers and all. “I think Pete told us. Just before Thanksgiving.” Much of their conversation over the past few days had involved sorting out the past few months. Th
ey enjoyed going over it all
,
savoring the sweetness of cleared up misunderstandings and bridged communication gaps.

“I can’t believe he had a heart attack just days after you guys had your big blow out.”

“Unbelievable,” Jake agreed, shaking his head. Last night Jake had given Lila a full description of the gigantic run-in he’d had with his father. Prompted by Jake breaking the lease without his consent, it had escalated into Jake’s full-scale rejection of his father’s way of doing business—expansion, pump and spray, all of it. It had ended with an ultimatum: Jake’s way or he’d hit the proverbial highway. His exhilaration at having finally stood his ground, speaking his mind and damning the consequences was quickly tempered as days later he found himself standing by Big Bob’s bed in the local hospital. Only his father’s speedy recovery had saved Jake from
a lengthy, potentially lifetime
bout of crippling guilt.

“And now he’s devoting himself to yoga,” Lila said.

“So far,” Jake agreed. “Now the question is whether it’ll stick.” Big Bob’s post heart attack turn-around struck Jake as simultaneously no less than miraculous and fairly typical when someone caught a glimpse at nevermore.

Their breakfasts arrived, enormous omelets, and they
tucked in happily
. Looking up, Jake remarked, “I’m so glad you’re cool with my being an ass.”

“Only because you’re cool with my being an ass.”

A favorite topic of theirs was the mutual recognition that they’d both been—to use their own words—asses.

“It shouldn’t have taken me so long to make things right,
” Jake said. Jake had described
the cocktail of guilt, obligation and conflict-avoidance that had convinced him to stay on with his father, helping to run the business in all manner
of ways with which he disagreed.
It had also enabled him
to convince himself
that leasing the store
was just business, not a big deal, this kind of thing happened all the time. It wasn’t until later—when he’d experienced, in person at the auction, how upset Lila was—that he’d realized it was
a
big enough deal to need to stop.

“You didn’t know what a big deal it was.” Lila now fully embraced the excuse she’d once completely dismissed.

“Still, I should have stepped up sooner. About the store and everything else.”

“But you did step up. That’s what matters.”

Over the past few days, Lila had enjoyed how frequently he’d insisted on explaining just why he’d broken the lease. He’d done it not because slower growth agreed with his
princip
le
s
, and not because they needed to focus on winemaking instead of building a gourmet food empire—both of which
were
true. He’d done it because it meant a great deal to Lila. And he’d grown to realize that mattered a
great
deal to him
, too
.

Lila didn’t like being left out of the fond reminiscence of their previously lame behavior. “Besides, I didn’t cut you any slack,” she said. “And I have a huge chip on my shoulder about rich people.”

“Oh, really?” Jake asked with false surprise. “I haven’t seen that at all.”

In the past few days as they’d taken the time to unravel each of the knots that had blocked their path, Lila had acknowledged that, yes, years of serving wealthy, spoiled Cape Cod tourists while wearing a variet
y of quirky service-sector
hats plus years of college life surrounded by Peyton whining about her need for a fourth snowboard and Whit totaling his BMW—drunk driving but daddy got him off—had left her, well, with a chip on her shoulder.

             
“I just assumed…” Lila found many of her explanations, when reflecting back over the year, began that way. She’d gone over the evidence she thought she’d had, what with Oliver firing Pete and those early impressions of Jake in his tailored suits. “I thought you were looking down on us all with that scowl.”

“I’ve been told I’m an introvert,” he admitted.

“I see that now,” she hastened to add, but enjoyed being able to explain her
previously
blurred vision, what with Vanessa cackling and flying around on her broom and that full-page spread on his sexy bachelor status. Take her prior history of attachments to unattainable playboys and, voila, you got the perfect recipe for distrust.

Happily, Jake seemed to understand and accept all of this. More than that, after they finished up and slowly made their way back to his car, he told her some kerfuffle about how he actually found her inspiring.

“Inspiring?” Lila questioned, having never associated the word with her repertoire.

They reached his car. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the fog. He leaned down, gently touched her face and reminded her how she’d made a new life for herself up in Redwood Cove on her own terms. 

Lila wasn’t sure she saw herself as a heroine. She was still simply relieved to have coat-checked her self-loathing and self-doubt, at least for a little while. But it couldn’t hurt to have a boyfriend who saw you as such.

*
             
*
             
*

Christmas Eve, Lila made plum pudding. She slogged through hours of blending, soaking, beating, mixing and steaming before getting to the end of the recipe and reading the note: “Best when made a year in advance. At minimum, allow 3-4 weeks to age.”

Christmas Day, her Gram made an appreciative “Mmm” before discretely spitting her mouthful of plum pudding into her napkin. Her mother’s boyfriend, Roger, had loudly gagged. Thankfully, there were two pies, an apple cake, sugar cookies, popcorn balls and some sort of candied nuts—mostly furnished by Gram’s ragtag crew of guests—which more than compensated for the gap in des
s
erts.

As usual, they had a jolly and chaotic time of it for Christmas dinner, with unruly dogs snatching food and rambling, grateful and occasionally emotional toasts, or outbursts, from guests without family to share the holiday. A young Polish woman rooming with a family down the street had arrived early and went straight to work cleaning all of Gram’s windows. It seemed to be related to a symbolic belief in the holiday’s sway over the future; at least that’s what Lila pieced together from the woman’s repeated “dirty now, dirty all year.” Unable to either fully understand why she was doing it or deter her from the labor, Lila had simply joined in and found she rather enjoyed the task. Outside the sparkling clean panes of glass, the aftermath of an ice storm that had all the New Englanders complaining charmed Californian Lila with the way it turned each branch into crystal.