Page 31 of Meet Me in the Vines
Josie holds her finger to her mouth like she is putting a lot of thought into this. We want it to look perfect for when Noah arrives—and Audrey, too…selfishly.
Wyatt’s arms extend way above his head. He huffs out in annoyance, “Josie, come on, you’ve had us holding this sign forever. Just pick a damn spot.”
She completely ignores him, earning a snicker from me.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Put it on the other side across the bar, next to the stage. That should be good.” She glares at my brother and sticks her tongue out at him. He mimics her, earning an eye roll from Josie before she returns to setting up her instruments for the performance later.
“Hey Josie, if you sing off-key tonight, I’ll boo,” Wyatt teases.
“Bite me, Wyatt.” Josie gives him the finger.
“You wish.” He puckers his lips, and I slap the back of his head.
“Stop fucking messing with her and help me finish this, dickhead.” We laugh while trying to nut check each other, acting like we did when we were boys.
We pin up the sign and admire our work. My heart squeezes reading Violet’s name with an end date on her life. Death is weird. The same pain that wrenches for Violet hits again as I think about James. Duller, but still achey.
He was my big bear, and I was his little bear—nicknames that stuck since we were kids when we’d play pretend animals, and I’d claim myself as the little version of whatever he was. The times I’d visit James’s grave, I’d stare deep into the date of death on his headstone. How is it that one day, you’re laughing, dreaming about the future? And the next, you’re six feet under with an expiration date to your life.
Wyatt puts his arm around me, reading my mind.
“I know she’s up there with James. He’d be really proud of you.”
My arm crosses over my chest, and I rest my hand on his, smiling. “Yeah, I sure hope so.”
The door swings open and my youngest brother Kerry walks in with two bags in tow. Josie gives him a wave as he makes his way toward us.
“Hey fuckers, look what I got!” he smirks in classic Kerry fashion, thrusting the bags out for us to examine.
“Disposable cameras?” Wyatt asks with his eyebrow arched.
“Dude, yes! I bought like twenty. I thought it would be cool if we left a couple at each table for everyone to take their own pictures tonight.” He walks back out the door and returns momentarily with a wooden box. “Then when they’re done, they drop it off in here and I can develop them tomorrow morning. Cool, right?”
I grin at my youngest brother, admiring his creativity. He’s a talented photographer with a great eye. Our dad wanted him to go to school for business or marketing to help with the vineyard, but he got a full ride to UCLA after winning a nationalphotography contest. Seeing him walk the stage at graduation, art degree in hand, is one of the proudest moments of my life.
I grip his shoulder and say, “Very cool, kid. You can put them on the tables. Wy and I already set them up earlier.”
“Thanks, big bro. Love you,” he replies, smiling from ear to ear.
Kerry is our sunshine boy. He’s always happy, the glass always half full. Wyatt, on the other hand, is a grumpy motherfucker, but fiercely loyal with a sensitive heart. He skipped out on college to stay behind with Dad and help with the vineyard, training under Jeff, our longtime vineyard manager, who finally retired after thirty years. Wyatt spends most of his days outside in the dirt, maintaining the entire property. His job is vital to the success of the family business, and he played a large part in helping with the harvest that cultivated Violet’s Vintage.
I finish setting up while Wyatt and Kerry sit at the bar chatting with Jackson, Kerry’s best friend. He bartends down the street at Siren’s Flask, the only bar in town. He came to help with the wine tasting tonight because he loved Violet, too. Everyone did.
“Hey boys, I’m gonna change in my car. Guests are arriving soon, so make sure every group gets a flight of three reds and three whites. More wine is stacked in the back if you need, Jack,” I shout behind me as I make my way out the door. Jackson gives me a salute, and my brothers nod in my direction.
The sun dips lower into the sky and a crisp breeze blows gently as I walk through the back parking lot. I unlock the driver’s seat door of my trusty blue Ford truck. It’s a 1994 Ford F-150, my baby through thick and thin. I bought it with my own cash at sixteen and fixed her up with spare parts from a junkyard. It’s an old truck, but I take good care of it, and I can’t seem to let it go.
I slip the shirt off my back to change for the party and spot the duffle bag I brought on the passenger seat floor. As I round the corner of my tailgate, I notice Audrey standing at her car a few feet away, eyes fixated on my bare chest.
I know an eye fuck when I see one.
She’s frozen in space, arms and legs crossed, as if binding her limbs tightly together might hold in her expression. But her smirk gives her away. Shedefinitelylikes what she sees. I puff out my chest and flex my abs subtly, plastering a grin on my face. My hands slip into the front pockets of my jeans and I jut my chin out toward her.
“Like what you see, Mouse?” I tease, intending to rile her up. I can’t help myself.
“Spend all night icing your balls, Donovan?” she quips. Her eyebrow raises at me, and she walks toward the coffee shop with sass and fire. I hate to watch her walk away, but damn, her body looks delectable in her tight jeans and knee-high boots.
She’s wearing her hair down and straight tonight, and it ribbons through the air as she saunters off. I catch a whiff of her strawberry scent in the breeze. I chuckle and grab my duffle bag to put on a fitting black polo before I rush over to catch up with her.
