Page 3 of The Getaway

There’s no containing my giggle.

Addison’s disdain for Tucker, our parents’ vineyard manager, has gone on for almost ten years now. Tuck started working at the vineyard right out of high school, doing the daily tasks that Pa physically couldn’t, until he worked his way up.

The two of them have butted heads every step of the way.

“Just make Tucker do all the heavy lifting. He keeps posting shirtless pictures and bragging about his muscles, so knock the dork down a peg or two.” I laugh when she sighs heavily in response. “Listen, I gotta get goin’ Ads. I don’t wanna miss my flight. I’ll text you when I land. Love you!”

“I hope you get what you need from this trip, Sis. Have a safe flight. Love you.”

Chapter 2- Noah

“This is a mistake,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. “Now is not the time for me to go on a vacation.”

Running a hand through my hair, I sigh, scolding myself for not getting it trimmed last week. When I face my brother, Connor, he’s shaking his head while leaning against my living room doorway and watching me with crossed arms.

“We’ve had this conversation way too many times now, Noah,” he reminds me.

I begin to pace the length of my small entryway.

“Yeah, and none of those times have changed my opinion of this… idiotic plan that the two of you came up with.” My teeth grind together at the thought of leaving right now.

When Connor chuckles in response, I spin on my heel and level him with a glare. He throws his hands up in a “I surrender” gesture.

“Hey, don’t blame me. Dad made all the plans; I’m simply doing what he asked.”

“Yeah, funny that you choose now to listen to him,” I grumble.

Connor shrugs, pushing off the doorway and blocking me from my pacing. Placing both hands on my shoulder, he holds me in place.

“Noah, just… listen to me. Dad might have put all this together for you, but I agree with his reasoning.”

“Hell must be freezing over if you’re not only doing what Dad asks, but also on the same page as him.” I sigh, refusing to meet his stare.

It’s not that Connor and Dad don’t get along, they do. They’re just so similar that they get under each other’s skin at every turn.

Our father has been our number one supporter with everything we do. Zero hesitations and no questions asked, Dad has been there. Even when Connor decided that he wanted nothing to do with farm life and instead wanted to pursue an art degree, Dad didn’t falter. He hired extra help at the farm to replace my brother and became the ultimate art student dad, supporting him in every way he could.

But working on the farm has always been my calling. No matter the heavy lifting or grueling labor needed, I couldn’t picture my life anywhere else.

Hell, the furthest from home I’ve ever been is to Cape Sodus on the coast. Which was only because of the yearly summer trips our mother used to drag us all on for long weekends.

That, and the one vacation I took with an old fling a while back.

Clover Creek Farm is my heart and soul. I love the land, the animals that live here, and even the staff that have helped me expand and grow the farm. I even enjoy the older couple that own the land behind our property.

I sigh again and glance at my packed bag, still not on board with this plan. Connor shakes me gently, forcing my attention back to him.

“Listen, Dad knows you could eat and breathe this farm. You know this place better than anyone else in this family has, and you have done so much to expand. This place is not only surviving, it’s thriving because of you.” His face softens slightly as he continues. “But Dad needs to see that you know when and how to take time for yourself.”

He sucks in a long breath, shaking his head and finally dropping his arms from my shoulders. “Even Ma used to force us to take time as a family and she loved this place almost as much as Dad. Just…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair before looking at me again. “Noah, is it so wrong that he wants you to have fun and live a little?”

“I have fun,” I mumble, but even I don’t believe my own words.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Going to the bar in town every Friday night for dinner and a beer is not living.”

“I also go to Wine Wednesday with the Joneses twice a month.”

My brother scowls in response. Ever since the Joneses opened the vineyard behind our farm, Mrs. Jones—who would smack me upside the head for referring to her as anything other than Ma—has made it her mission to include us in their life.

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