Page 31 of By the Book

“What is this for?” I ask as Wren hands me my herringbone topcoat.

“We are getting you out of this town for some fun. No talk about the break-in, no worrying. Just a girl’s night at Vino on High,” Poppy explains.

“What’s Vino on High?” My question is muffled as I pull the sweater over my head.

“A new wine bar in Fenbury. With it being halfway between us and Boston, Beckett and I met there for their grand opening last week,” Stevie explains. “You’re going to love it, it’s so cute.”

I shimmy into the mini skirt next and pull my boots up. Personally, I don’t think I need a break from this town. If I’m being honest, what I need is more time to figure out what happened, more time with Tripp. I swear he almost kissed me yesterday after the lighthouse. I could feel in the air between us that I wasn’t the only one thinking about it. Then at my apartment later, I saw the way his gaze dropped to my lips, hiseyes darkening. I had tried desperately to memorize that look and store it away forever.

But I’m certainly not going to turn down this girls’ night. I accept my coat and we head to the living room. Despite Fenbury being an hour away, Wren insists on using a ride app. Her reasoning being that we are doing tonight completely right, that it’s been too long. And as we pull up to Vino on High, it seems like they picked the right place. It’s chic in the best ways.

The facade is painted a rich cerulean with white lettering and a white and taupe striped awning. It’s still early for the true night scene, but people are already arriving in droves. We slide through the door and weave across the pale wood floors.

Inside is an open, two-story room with pristine white brick walls and an expansive cerulean bar. Peppered throughout the room are dark wood tables and chairs, matching bar stools, and a wall of wine bottles on black iron and wood shelves. It’s modern, coastal, and inviting all at once.

“You weren’t kidding, Stevie,” Poppy muses, turning in a circle. “This place is adorable.”

“I reserved us a table.” Stevie points us towards the hostess and we follow her to our spot in the front corner against the window.

I pluck the paper menu off the table and scan the wine list. “A honeysuckle blush sounds fun,” I comment. “Should we just get a few different bottles to split?”

“Love that, yes. Can we get a riesling too?” Stevie asks.

We spend the next few minutes debating how many bottles to settle on and which ones we want to try the most. By the time Wren and Poppy go up to order, we end up deciding on three different bottles.

“Before they get back,” Stevie leans across the table with a hushed, frantic tone. “I couldn’t remember why I recognized theone funky looking key from the break in. But then I had dinner with my dad, and it came to me.”

“What’s that?” I ask, shooting a look over to the bar. Our best friends are still distracted across the room.

“He has one of those keys, it’s given to anyone with a dock at the harbor.”

“So, I just need to figure out who at the party would have a dock,” I muse.

“I’m sure Tripp is already on it though,” Stevie offers quickly. “After all he has a dock there so he would have recognized the key too.”

I nod, she’s right. He can handle this, but it doesn’t make me wonder any less. It wouldn’t hurt to follow up too, right?

As Wren and Poppy return, I remember my best friends had made themselves clear that tonight is not about break-in talk. A silent agreement passes between Stevie and me. We drop the conversation before they reach us.

And it’s easy to drop the conversation while out with them. Between the flowing wine and easy laughter, they were right. I truly did need this. On our second bottle, Wren tops off my glass as Stevie teases Poppy for the time when we had tried to go snow skiing and she’d fallen right into a queue of people waiting for the lift.

“She took out like, six of them,” I join in with a fit of giggles.

“Better than the time Stevie was called onto the field at half time to try to kick a field goal and totally ended up on the ground,” Poppy snickers.

“Even so, I almost made it. It bounced off the post!” Stevie points out proudly. “But my ass was bruised for a week.”

“And when Ivy decided she was going to learn lacrosse—how many bruises did you end up with?”

“Too many,” I recall with a shudder.

“You’re just not a lacrosse girlie, it’s okay,” Stevie pats my hand.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t about lacrosse. That was about Tripp,” Poppy smirks.

My stomach dips at the mention of him, the feeling intensified by the alcohol. Poppy was correct about my motivations in high school. And it seems nothing has really changed.

“Well, we all knew that,” Wren smiles. “Speaking of… what’s new there?”

---