Page 53 of The Sun and the Moon
Sydney
Whimsy Winery is on 250 acres of land in the heart of Santa Ynez. The rolling hills feature rows and rows—innumerable to my eyes—of grapevines. The sky is dotted by fluffy whisps of cloud against the cobalt blue that matches my irises. The early-arrivals crew—or, really, on time by thesuggestionin the itinerary—that’s gathered are Moira’s and Dad’s closest friends. A pre–engagement party wine tasting and tour of the grounds. This is where the party will take place on Sunday for brunch.
Or, more specifically, the barnlike barrel room that I can see just at the edge of the rolling hill is where the party will take place. It opens onto a limestone dance floor. It’s a popular wedding destination, and this winery is the one Moira has regularly frequented on her visits to Solvang, a fact that I learned on the short ride over with Cadence.
Lola and Hawthorne’s assessment that the engagement party might be a wedding in disguise is starting to feel a hell of a lot more plausible.
Cadence sidles up to me and hands me a glass of the vineyard’ssignature white blend. I resist the urge to down it in one gulp. I can’t decide if it’s the potential wedding-not-engagement that is causing my inner spiral or if it’s the heated kiss on the one bed in the room I’m sharing with my partner in scheming that’s doing it.
We had to get ready in a hurry. Dad called to let me know he was bringing Chicken’s bed to our room so he could stay with us because we’re on the ground level and, to quote him, “He misses you, Birdie, you know?” I had to roll my eyes at that one. I think Chicken mostly misses the fact that I am a whore for snuggles and he can always get a treat from me even though he’s supposed to be on a diet. I am pretty sure Dad just didn’t want to cart him around all the time.
Chicken mostly sleeps now, anyway. Something I hope will rub off on me but probably won’t.
Not with my other bedroom buddy.
I flick my eyes to Cadence. She changed into a pair of dark jeans and a loose-fitting green-and-white button-down, those same loafers from dinner the other night, with her hair in a loose braid. The way she looks laid-back and put-together but also, like, still windswept and a little wild—it’s really sending me.
No strings. Her words, my idea. One I am always so happy to find out the person I’m about to kiss is willing to agree on. It’s such a theme of my romantic relationships that it’s almost a joke and not worth mentioning, and it means the closest people in my life almost never get a look at the people I date, let alone a meet and greet.
So why am I fighting the urge to text Joe right now just to tell him I kissed a girl?
“This is a wedding venue,” Cadence says, taking a sip of her wine, her dark eyes gliding over the rows of grapevines.
“We need a plan,” I say, gulping my wine so that I almostchoke as it flows free and fast down my throat. I recover with a cough, which draws Cadence’s eyes to me in alarm.
Don’t look at her mouth, my mind commands.
So, of course, my focus drops right to her lips.
She has this Cupid’s-bow upper lip, deep and plump, swooping over her lower lip, which is slightly bigger and softer. I know now just how cozy her mouth on mine feels. I can’t unknow it.
One cannot exist without the other.
That’s what Moira said about the Sun and the Moon in my tarot reading.
That’s what a soulmate is.
“Totally,” Cadence agrees, and we both force our focus on each other’s eyes, not mouths. “We have two possible sources of information here.”
“We need to find out more about Kismet, the loans, the state of things,” I add on. “And we need to find out more about that text thread with my dad and Greg.”
“I think Lola is our best bet for info about Kismet. She’s worked there forever, and Moira considers her innocuous enough that she might be more likely to drop her guard.”
“Impressive,” I say, bringing my wineglass to my lips for another drink.
“Plus, people just tell Lola things—she’s a Scorpio,” Cadence quips. The look of horror that immediately crosses her face after the wordScorpioleaves her lips nearly makes me choke.
“Was that Freudian or just your true colors shining through?” I gasp.
“Old habits die hard,” she growls, lifting her glass to press back her smile with the rim. “The air in Cali brings out the mystic in me.”
“Uh-huh. Next you’ll be telling me that my aura is purple.” I laugh outright.
“Shut up,” she says through a chuckle she clearly wants to smash. “Can we focus, please?”
“Sure thing, you cute little astrologer, you,” I reply, and almost, very nearly reach out to tug her in for a kiss. I catch myself just in the nick of time and turn to look over the guests, tamping down the urge as it surges through me like a current. “So Lola or Pam and Greg.” The frog in my throat hopefully isn’t too noticeable. “Those are the targets.”
“I know if I can get Lola alone, I can get her talking.”
