Once Upon a Wine (14 page)

Twenty minutes later, they were both even more disheveled. The rain showed no signs of relenting.

“Do you have any bottled water in here?” Cammie asked. “Granola bars? It looks like we might be here for a while.”

“No granola bars, but I do have a phone.”

“Oh.” Somehow calling for help, although the logical next step, didn't feel very adventurous.

He produced the phone and started dialing. “I can call for a tow truck.”

She put her hand over his. “Five more minutes.”

Twenty more minutes and several shirt buttons later, the rain ceased as suddenly as it had started. The sky was still dark and heavy with humidity, but the drops stopped falling.

The truck windows—including the windshield—were completely foggy.

Cammie used her index finger to write their initials in the condensation. “I feel like a girl of fifteen again.”

Ian smiled.

“Confess: I'm not the first girl you've gone parking with in this field,” she said.

He furrowed his brow, considering. “I'm not sure what we're doing here really qualifies as parking.”

“I didn't realize there was a set definition.”

“Oh yeah. We're very strict about that. It's a farm thing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Really.”

He tried to look earnest. “Really.”

“Then what—and I'm just talking hypotheticals here—what would we have to do in order for this to meet the technical definition of ‘parking'?”

“I can't tell you.” He grinned. “But I can show you. Come here.”

•   •   •

“I can't believe I lived my whole life till now without a proper parking experience.” Cammie was all aflutter and her clothes were askew as she and Ian started the long walk back to civilization.

“I'm glad you had fun.” He glanced back at the foggy windshield with a smile. “You're a natural.”

“I have many hidden talents.” She flipped her hair, splattering droplets of water across his face. “Sorry. So, what else do you Delaware farmers do that I'm missing out on?”

He guided her around a huge mud puddle. Cammie eyed his long, confident stride and tanned forearms. “You're totally in your element out here.”

“Pretty much. Were you in your element in the restaurant world?”

“At first I was. And then overhead costs and an absentee chef did me in. All those years of business education, you'd think I could have made it work, but no.”

“All the education in the world can't prepare you for the realities of running a business.” He squeezed her fingers. “Someday I'll tell you some of the crazy shit I did the first year I took over the farm from my dad.”

She looked at him with one eyebrow quirked.

“Someday,” he repeated. “You learned a lot from the first restaurant. The next one will work out.”

She shook her head. “There will be no next restaurant.”

“You're giving up after only one try?”

She wasn't going to argue this point with a man who had such superlative parking skills. “Well, before I can even think about another restaurant, I have to deal with the vineyard. Which brings me to what I was going to ask you before we drove into the ditch: Would you consider selling us your strawberries in bulk?”

He smiled. “They're really your strawberries, too.”

“So says the seed packet.” She pulled him in for a kiss.

He rested his forehead against hers. “How many strawberries are we talking here?”

“A
lot
.” She described Ginger's foray into fruit wine. “And since that's the only thing that might actually make any money right now, she's completely obsessed with it.”

“You're going to let me try this wine, right?” he asked.

“Absolutely. Bottles and bottles will be coming your way.”

“I'll think about it.” His tone was low and teasing.

She gasped in mock outrage. “You'll
think
about it?”

“Yeah. We'll have to negotiate.”

She smoothed back her damp hair. “What kind of negotiating do you have in mind?”

His eyes gleamed. “We'll see. Everything's on the table.”

She went up on tiptoe and murmured into his ear. “This table of yours . . . Is it sturdy?”

“Very sturdy.”

“I'm looking forward to our discussions.”

•   •   •

By the time Cammie finally got back to town and collected Kat's car from the garden-supply store, her shirt had dried but her hair was tangled, her lips were tender, and her perception of thunderstorms had changed forever.

She drove to the vineyard and picked up Kat, who wanted to go to the Whinery. So the two cousins returned to Main Street, Cammie hoping for a cup of warm tea and a bit of camaraderie at the wine bar. Instead, she found herself the center of attention.

“The old ‘truck broke down in the middle of nowhere' routine, hmmm?” Jenna winked. “I've had a few guys try that on me.”

“The truck didn't break down.” Cammie plucked a blade of grass off her shirt. “It got stuck in a ditch.”

Kat seemed fascinated. “How'd it get stuck in a ditch?”

“Ian drove it in there by mistake. What can I say?” Cammie fluffed her messy, snarled hair. “I'm just
that
distracting.”

“Yes, we heard
all
about it,” Jenna said.

Cammie frowned, confused. “You heard about what?”

Jenna ticked off the juicy details on her fingers. “The foggy windows, the lipstick smears on his cheek, the drama in the ditch.”

“But even if they hadn't heard about any of that, your hair tells the story all by itself.” Kat nodded at the coiffure chaos.

Cammie stared at Jenna, thoroughly bemused. “How'd you hear? It just happened.”

Jenna was happy to explain. “Did you ever take physics?”

“Yeah, in high school, but I don't remember any of it.”

“That's okay. Let me break it down for you: The speed of sound is fast.”

Cammie nodded.

“The speed of light is faster.”

Cammie nodded again.

“But the speed of gossip in Black Dog Bay is faster than both of those. By a lot.”

Kat sipped her drink. “So, what does this mean?”

Cammie popped a miniature Milky Way into her mouth to stall for time. “What does what mean?”

“Is this just a one-time ditch date, or is it serious?”

“I . . .”—Cammie had no idea what to say—“need a drink.”

Jenna produced a pitcher of sangria. “Your wish is my command.”

“Did you have fun, at least?” Kat asked. “You must have, if your hair and your face are any indication.”

“So much fun.” Cammie thought about the strawberry seeds but didn't tell. “But it's tricky. Because really, nothing's changed.” Even as she said the words, Cammie knew this was a lie. Everything had changed. She wanted to be back in the truck cab with Ian while the wind and rain and lightning raged outside. The prospect of a dinner-and-a-movie date seemed so boring in comparison.

“Did he ask to see you again?” Jenna wanted to know.

“Yeah.” Cammie felt her face flood with heat. “We're going to get together and negotiate. For strawberries.”

Kat rubbed her palms together. “Ooh, like strip poker?”

Cammie rolled her eyes. “It's a business deal. Which is separate
from any pickup-truck parking sessions that may be happening. Which is why I resisted making out with him in the first place.” Her girlish smile and blush vanished. “The last time I mixed boyfriends and business, look what happened.”

“That was a onetime thing!” Kat passed the candy dish. “That won't happen again.”

Jenna looked confused. “What happened?”

Cammie summarized the restaurant fiasco. “And now Zach is getting rave reviews and prepping playful little amuse-bouche plates for Jennifer Lawrence, while I'm living in disgrace with my aunt.”

“You're living in disgrace with your aunt
and
your cousin,” Kat amended.

“You're not living in disgrace; you're living in Delaware,” Jenna said

Cammie glanced at the bartender's wristwatch. “I better get back to the vineyard. I have an appointment in an hour.”

“A hot-and-heavy ‘negotiating' session?” Jenna asked with a wink.

Cammie shook her head. “Meeting with a bride-to-be. I'm so glad the weather cleared up.”

“You're going to have a wedding at the vineyard?” Jenna gushed. “How romantic.”

“The mother of the bride contacted us through the website you built,” Cammie told Kat.

“Glad I'm good for something,” Kat said. “I know I'm useless in the fields with my back problems.”

“What are you talking about?” Cammie offered her glass of sangria to her cousin. “We couldn't get along without you.”

“Josh can get along without me just fine.” Kat picked up her cell phone, which was resting on the bar top next to her napkin. “He's not even taking my calls now. He says he's said all he has to say.”

Cammie hung her head as guilt washed over her. “Again, I am so sorry for what happened the other day. If there's anything I can do to fix it—”

“Cam, it wasn't you. You didn't do anything wrong.” Kat blew out a breath. “This is all me. And I don't think it's fixable. I've called him, I've texted him, and I haven't gotten so much as an angry emoji in response.”

Cammie hesitated to offer any solutions, given her own abysmal track record in this department. “Maybe you both need to stop saying things and start doing things. I mean, he took action, right? Showed up on your doorstep with your dream dog.”

“But if I drive out there and show up on his doorstep, I better be damn sure what I want. I better be ready to commit to the future.” Kat tapped her fingertips on the glossy black bar top.

“Think it over and we'll talk tonight.” Cammie threw down some cash to cover her tab. “I've got to go meet the wedding people.”

“Good luck with that,” Kat called after her as she started for the door. “Tell the happy couple it's all fun and games until somebody fractures their spine.”

A
n hour later, Cammie hosted a grand tour of the vineyard for the bride-to-be . . . plus her fiancé, her mother, her future mother-in-law, her maid of honor, her future sisters-in-law, and assorted aunts and grandmothers.

“Welcome!” Cammie had to project her voice in order to be heard by everyone in attendance.

She needn't have bothered—the members of the group were deep in conversation with one another. They didn't even glance her way when she greeted them.

“So, we'll do the yellow centerpieces,” the woman to her right said. “And yellow boutonnieres for the groomsmen.”

“Aren't you worried that they'll wilt in the heat?” someone else asked. “Last August was brutal.”

“It'll be fine,” the first woman replied. “I'll talk to the florist about keeping everything refrigerated until the last minute.”

“You have such artistic vision,” the second woman said admiringly.

“Well, someone has to take charge with this crowd, or they'd run roughshod over me.” The woman put her hand on Cammie's forearm. “I'm Vanessa, the mother of the bride.” She gestured to her companion. “And this is Jeanie. Mother of the groom.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Cammie introduced herself, then asked, “So, where's the bride?”

The two mothers looked at each other. “That's a good question. Where is Bronwyn?”

Vanessa scanned the crowd of people. “Oh, she's back there with James.”

“She's terribly indecisive,” Jeanie said. “Vanessa and I can answer all your questions.” She pulled a little pad out of her purse and flipped through a dozen pages scribbled with notes. “We have some questions for you, too.”

“I'm going to need to talk to the bride,” Cammie insisted sweetly.

The moms muttered and rolled their eyes. “Oh all right. But don't say you weren't warned.”

“Bronwyn!” Vanessa called into the throng of guests. “We need you up front, sweetie.”

A tiny, wavy-haired waif hurried to her mother's side. “Hi, I'm Bronwyn.”

Cammie shook the bride's hand and tried to conceal her surprise. Bronwyn must have been of legal marrying age, but she looked as though she were still in high school. She seemed as shy and soft-spoken as her mother was strident and determined.

Cammie introduced herself as the vineyard's official events manager—neglecting to mention that she herself had created and filled the position mere minutes ago—and asked Bronwyn to supply some information about the big day.

“What are you thinking?” Cammie asked. “Most importantly,
when
were you thinking?”

Bronwyn shot a quick, furtive glance at her mother. “Well, James and I originally thought—”

“They wanted to get married at their university chapel,” her mother finished for her. “But there's no air-conditioning, and no reception area close by.”

The mother of the groom piped up. “Then we thought we could use the same church where James's father and I got married—”

“
So
meaningful,” Vanessa gushed.

“—but it's not big enough to accommodate all the guests.”

Cammie looked at Bronwyn. “How many people are you expecting?”

Bronwyn cleared her throat. “We're hoping to keep it small.”

“Two hundred,” Vanessa declared.

“At least,” Jeanie agreed. “The guest list's bursting at the seams, but the more, the merrier.”

“Hmm.” Cammie maintained eye contact with Bronwyn. “And when is this slated to take place?”

“The Saturday before Labor Day,” Vanessa declared. “We know it's short notice, but our other venue fell through.”

“Which I can't understand.” Jeanie tapped her lip with her index finger. “I e-mailed them every day with updates, and they knew our schedule in detail. I called them twice a week for follow-up, too. It's so frustrating. I can't understand why they returned our deposit money.”

“And we really need something definite so we can send out corrected invitations,” Vanessa finished.

Cammie lowered her voice so only the bride could hear. “You're okay with this?”

Bronwyn shrugged. “Wedding planning isn't really my thing. I never had the whole pretty-princess fantasy.”

Cammie nodded. “Then let's get the groom over here and figure this out.”

Vanessa and Jeanie laughed uproariously. Even Bronwyn cracked a smile.

“What?” Cammie asked.

“The only person less interested than Bronwyn in wedding details is James,” Jeanie said.

“It's true,” Bronwyn confirmed. “He says to buy him a suit and tell him what day and time and he'll be there.”

As the mothers debated the merits of a buffet versus a plated dinner, Cammie tried to figure out the dynamics at play. Everyone seemed to get along. Everyone seemed content with the way things were going, including the bride.

And yet . . .

She watched Bronwyn's expression closely as they continued the conversation. “There's no way we can accommodate two hundred people in the house,” Cammie said. “Even the barn is going to be too small.”

Vanessa waved this away. “As if I'd hold my only daughter's wedding in a barn.”

Jeanie giggled at the very idea. “We're going to put up tents on the lawn. Over there, by the field.”

Cammie studied the space, considering. “That could work. Unless it rains.”

“It won't rain,” Vanessa and Jeanie said in unison.

“Yes, hopefully it won't rain,” Cammie said. “But we need a contingency plan, just in case.”

Vanessa seemed to be taking this personally. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned.

Cammie pressed on. “Thunderstorms aren't uncommon in the summer here. Just yesterday—”

“I live here,” Vanessa said tightly. “I'm aware of the weather.”

“Then you understand why we need—”

Vanessa sighed, as if trying to explain a simple concept to a child. “It won't rain.”

Cammie remained upbeat. “But what if it does?”

“It won't.”

“But—”

“It. Won't.”

Cammie turned to Bronwyn. “May I have a word, please?”

Bronwyn followed Cammie across the lawn until they were out of earshot of the bridal party.

“How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Twenty-two.” Bronwyn grinned. “I only
look
sixteen.”

“Ah.”

The bride's smile faltered. “I know you think I'm too young to get married—”

“I don't think that at all,” Cammie assured her.

“Twenty-two is pretty young by most people's standards. I mean, it's young by
my
standards. None of my friends are ready to get married. But James and I have been together forever. We met before preschool. Our moms made friends when they were in labor and delivery together.”

“When you were born?”

“Yep. They both showed up fully dilated, there was only one room left, and they had to fight it out.”

Cammie's amazement must have shown on her face, because Bronwyn added, “It was a full moon. I guess hospitals get really busy during full moons.”

“So who got the room?”

“My mom, of course.” Bronwyn looked ruefully at Vanessa. “There's no point fighting with her; she always gets her way. Jeanie had to deliver James on a gurney in the hallway. But they bonded during recovery and now they're BFFs.” Bronwyn laughed. “My mom is impossible to fight with, but she's also impossible to stay mad at.”

“So, you and your husband have the same birthday? That's quite a story.”

“Oh, it gets better. Our moms talked about this wedding before
they even took me and James home from the hospital. They thought it would be so cute if the two of us grew up and fell in love. And now here we are.”

“Here you are,” Cammie echoed.

“Of course, we wouldn't be getting married if we didn't really love each other. Our mothers just lucked out. We always got along—we even shared well as toddlers—and we started dating, if you can call it that, in seventh grade. Our wedding day will be the tenth anniversary of our first official date.”

“That explains why you'd rather change reception venues than the ceremony date.”

Bronwyn glanced down, interlacing her fingers. “It's sentimental and kind of cheesy, but that's who we are.”

“It's not cheesy at all,” Cammie assured her. “I think it's beautiful, and I'll do everything I can to make it happen.” She took a breath. “But. Here's the thing.”

Bronwyn laughed. “I know. Don't worry, we'll try to rein my mom in.”

“It's not that I don't respect the mother of the bride, it's just that you're the
actual
bride. It's really your day.”

Bronwyn swept her long, light hair back. “I don't mind if she takes over. The menu and flowers don't really matter to me.”

“Did you get to pick out your own wedding gown, at least?”

“Yes. It's kind of simple for her taste, but she'll live. She picked an extrafancy mother-of-the-bride dress to make up for it. Sequins for days.” Bronwyn glanced back at her mother, smiling fondly.

“You're very mature for twenty-two.”

“That's what they tell me.” Bronwyn nibbled her lower lip. “Sometimes I think . . .”

Cammie waited.

“I wonder if I should have taken a few risks before settling down.”

“What kinds of risks?” Cammie expected the bride to talk about dating other people, but Bronwyn surprised her.

“Well, I love James—I know he's the right one for me—but he's starting a job in September and so am I, and I know our mothers are both dying for us to give them grandchildren, and it's all happening so fast.”

Cammie thought about Kat and how trapped she felt in the suburbs. “It's a bit overwhelming?”

“I never told my mom this—I didn't even tell James—but right after we got engaged, I applied for a research assistantship in the Galápagos. I majored in biology, and I always wanted to go.” She lowered her voice as this little tidbit slipped out. “Don't tell anyone.”

“I won't,” Cammie promised.

“It didn't work out, anyway. I knew it was a pipe dream when I applied—it's really competitive.” Bronwyn now looked determined to accept her fate. “When I got the rejection letter, I figured it just wasn't meant to be.”

“It was only one rejection letter,” Cammie said. “Most people who achieve their pipe dream deal with way more rejection than that.”

“Yeah?” Bronwyn looked intrigued. “Like who?”

•   •   •

“Bronwyn, meet my cousin Kat. Kat, this is the bride who's planning the reception here.”

“Great to meet you.” Kat offered a handshake, and Bronwyn stared at the scars and tattoos. While the rest of the wedding party strolled inside to enjoy a wine tasting with Ginger, Cammie arranged a tête-à-tête in the slice of shade afforded by the red barn.

“You're a professional skateboarder?” Bronwyn asked.

“I was.” Kat's cheerful facade never wavered. “I broke too many bones too many times, so now I'm a retired skateboarder.”

“And you run a vineyard? That sounds so cool.”

“Yes,” Kat said with an almost undetectable trace of irony. “Doesn't it?”

Before Kat could delve into the sordid truth about running a vineyard, Cammie jumped in. “I was telling Bronwyn here that rejection is part of success.”

Kat rubbed her lower back. “Well, you know, it wasn't my favorite part of my job, but I got over it. Like, a million times.”

Bronwyn was still eying the scars. “I've never set foot on a skateboard.”

“Most women haven't. Which is too bad, because it's such an incredible experience. It's spiritual, in a way—mind and body and soul all working together.”

“Can we go sometime?” Bronwyn asked. “I could really use a spiritual experience right now.”

Kat's blue eyes brightened at the prospect. “Tell you what—if you want to try skateboarding, I'll take you out for a lesson. But you're going to have to split my time and attention with another student.”

“Okay.”

“A male stripper,” Kat added.

Bronwyn shrugged. “Okay.”

“And your fiancé's going to be fine with that?”

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “He's my fiancé, not my father.”

“See?” Kat looked pointedly at Cammie. “
Some
men aren't threatened by skateboarding with a stripper.”

“They've known each other since birth,” Cammie said, and Bronwyn told the story of their courtship to Kat.

Kat's expression vacillated between awed and appalled. “You've been together since seventh grade?”

Bronwyn nodded. “I can't imagine being with anyone else.”

“And you're sure you're ready for this kind of commitment?”