Page 3 of A Vine Mess
“Want some help?”
He blinked, surprised, before his expression slid into the same cool mask I always saw it in. Sometimes, I wondered if I bothered him, being around constantly. But I never asked, and he never said. All he did was nod once and lead me to the new vines.
“I never like nurturing them in pots like this,” he said when we approached the massive spread.
I knew from Amara that we’d received over a hundred new plants from her contact in California, and they took up the bulk of the greenhouse space. The rest was reserved for some of Ezra’s fresh produce and a small plot I used for my personal flower experiments.
“Then why’d you agree to let Amara ship them early? Couldn’t we have just waited until planting season?”
Liam shook his head. “The winery we got them from was going to sell them to someone else if we didn’t take them when we did, and…well, you know your sister. When she sets her sights on something—”
“There’s no changing her mind,” I finished with a grin.
Liam spread his arms out, gesturing to the plants. “So here we are.”
My eyes swept over the large terracotta pots with a large wooden post staked in the center, the vines snaking their way upward. But they were getting dangerously close to overgrowing their confinement, and I could tell by the tightness around Liam’s eyesand mouth that he was stressed.
“What are we doing today then?”
“First,” he said, heading toward the end of the first row where a wheelbarrow waited, filled with a dark substance I knew from the smell was some sort of manure-based mulch, “we’re going to feed them. We’re only about a week away from planting, and I need them to retain as much water as possible so they’re ready for the transition. Adding this to the top soil will help that process along. Then”—he gestured to a pile of wood behind him—“we’re going to extend these stakes so the vines have somewhere to grow before I’m ready for them to start twining together.”
I withdrew my gardening gloves from the back pocket of my baggy denim overalls, slipped them on, and said, “Put me to work then.”
I felt the way Liam looked at me then all the way to my bones, like his ocean eyes cut right to my core, flaying layers away until all that was left was my most vulnerable, soft underbelly. And if he could see that deeply into my heart, he could tell how badly I needed this distraction. I held my breath, waiting for his next move—more than a little grateful when he directed me to start crumbling the mulch into the pots, so I filled a five gallon bucket and moved to the far side to begin.
This kind of work was therapeutic for me, when I got my hands dirty and could let my mind wander. Over three months had passed since Alfie and I had broken up, and I truthfully was doing better than ever. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t the loss ofhimthat made my heart ache.Thatcame from the fact that I’d wasted so much time on him, hadallowed him to treat me like less than the woman I was, had changed into someone different to keep him, and that his presence had caused so many problems for my family.
The last one in particular was something I didn’t think I could ever forgive myself for. I’d let him routinely talk shit about my sisters and parents, about our family businesses, about my sisters’ partners. He’d gaslit me and isolated me to the point where instead of the vibrant woman I’d been before, I’d become sullen, my natural light dimmed.
I was slowly clawing my way back, and I had the dirt under my fingernails to prove it.
Several rows across from me, Liam had begun to extend the stakes shooting out of the pots by screwing the new pieces of wood to the old. The construction wasn’t the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, but I knew it would accomplish what he wanted.
“How long do you think before we’ll be able to get these in the ground?” I asked him conversationally, mostly to fill the silence.
Before Alfie, I’d clung to my solitude. But in the wake of his betrayal, my thoughts were too loud. The voices in my head constantly reminded me I wasn’t good enough. Not smart or pretty or talented enough. After all, if a rat like him would cheat on me, what hope did I have of finding someone better?
So I spent my free time—when I wasn’t at Blossom’s—working at the winery, doing whatever menial tasks I could get my hands on to quell the cyclone of my thoughts.
I had to admit, Liam had been…surprising. I wasn’t blind to the way he looked at me, like I was some fragile flower that needed to be handled with care lest my petals wilted and withered. But when I told him to put me to work, he gave me something todo, no questions asked. He didn’t try to talk to me, didn’t try to pry out how I was feeling like my sisters and parents had a habit of doing.
After all, it had been over three months since the breakup. I wasfine, if a bit jaded. And the constant reminder of the epic implosion of my relationship certainly didn’t help matters.
In answer to my question at last, Liam said, “I’m hoping next week. Soil conditions are improving rapidly thanks to the warmer weather we’ve been having, and I really want to get them in the ground before I leave on vacation.”
“Your big road trip, right?”
I’d heard rumblings about it here and there, mostly from Amara, who was nervous about the thought of Liam being gone for two weeks. But in all the time I’d known him, the man had never taken more than a few days off here and there. He deserved a vacation.
“Yeah,” Liam grinned. “I’m really excited, but I know I won’t enjoy it as much if I have to leave the planting of these to someone else.”
“Can’t Victor handle it?” I asked, naming the older man who used to have Liam’s job but has since stepped aside to take on a less-involved role.
“Haven’t you heard?” Liam flicked his eyes up to me briefly before he straightened, gripping the plackets of his flannel, which he’d left unbuttoned, and flexing and rolling his arms and shoulders to peel it off. The white tee beneath clung to his torso in the most distracting way, his tattooed biceps truly testing the limits of the sleeves, the back and chest stretched over his broad shoulders and pecs.
The man was a fucking specimen, a goddamn lumber jack wet dream.
“Haven’t I heard, what?” I asked absently, unable to tear my gaze away from the rippling of his abdomen through the thin cotton of his tee as he twisted to grab another piece of wood.
