Page 17 of Love Among Vines
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JADE
Jade’s eyes snapped open just as the first streaks of pink filtered into the room. She bolted upright, startling Penny out of what appeared to be a deep sleep.
What kind of velvet-lined purgatory had she stumbled into? Oh, right. Rett’s house. The wedding from hell was finally behind her, but the memory had almost been superseded by the Penny incident.
It was time to go. She had embarrassed herself enough in this town.
Ten minutes later, everything was back in her suitcase and she had sent a text pleading with Kenya to wait.
Ashley wouldn’t be on the party bus. The cheating twosome were probably already at the airport, headed to their lavish Hawaiian honeymoon.
Good riddance. She crept over to the door and pressed her ear against it. Silence.
With any luck, she’d be able to slip out without Rett knowing.
Would he even want her to come back for the anniversary party?
Another manic pixie wine groupie was sure to stumble into his winery and effortlessly fulfill his wishes.
She’d probably never see him again. All she would have left was a memory—a toe- curling kiss in the October humidity and the sweet sting of late-night apple dumplings.
The door creaked open. The whirring sound of a fan came from the door across the hallway, but there was no sign of movement.
She clicked her tongue for Penny and hurried downstairs as quietly as she could with a bulky suitcase and backpack full of wine. She slid her flip-flops on and was just about to head for the front door when the windows in the dining room caught her eye. She stopped in her tracks.
The sun was rising, sending streaks of pink and orange into the powder blue sky. A simple wooden dock stood fifty yards from her. The lake wound away from her like a serpent tinged with gold.
Full-body tingles exploded up and down her arms and legs.
Even her scalp was tingling. Her backpack hit the floor with a thump.
She dug through it and pulled out emergency art supplies.
All she had was a cheap palette of watercolor paint, brushes that were barely fit for a kindergarten class, and a measly stack of cold pressed watercolor paper.
Leaving everything else behind, she pushed her way through the double doors that led to the patio and ran toward the water’s edge. She took a couple quick pictures to preserve the scene, then darted down the dock.
Shit, she hadn’t brought any cups of water out to rinse the brush. Lake water would have to do. If she didn’t capitalize on this sensation right this second, it could slip away for good.
She dropped to her knees and trapped the paper beneath rocks from the shoreline. Her brush dipped into the glass surface of the lake, sending ripples dancing. It had been a long time since she’d used watercolors. But it felt like the perfect medium to capture the sun on the water.
She glided the brush across the page, painting just with the lake water.
Dabbing her brush in the yellow pot, she paused for a moment before touching it to the page.
A yellow sun blossomed. Next she added tinges of pink, then orange.
They bled together, a perfect pastel blanket draping over the verdant hills.
Wind tugged at her hair, and she shivered. But not even six inches of unseasonal snow could have pulled her away from this simple act of creation.
Her brush slid over the paper, bleeding and blending blues, yellow, oranges. Tinges of purple for the fading night. Shadows and deep greens to mark the rows of the vineyard across the lake.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She was right. There was something here—in the soil, the water, the air. The magic of the worn wood beneath her fingertips. The brush moved seemingly of its own accord, rendering her surroundings in miniature.
Finally, her bristles hit the dock. She leaned back on her heels, carefully lifting the page to inspect it.
It was far from perfect. It wasn’t the mixed media with a cheeky name and snappy social commentary that had made her semi-famous. But it was a start. And it was so, so much better than nothing.
She laughed out loud, clutching the paper like it was a lifeline.
“I thought you left,” Rett said from behind her.
She shrieked, and her grip loosened on the paper. The wind ripped it out of her hands and sent it flying into the lake.
“Wait—were you? Oh shit.” In seconds, Rett had ripped off his T-shirt and sweatpants. His footsteps thundered down the short dock, rattling the palette, and he leapt into the water. Small waves lapped at the shore.
He swam for the paper, snatching it from the water and holding it overhead.
“I’m so sorry,” he sputtered. “Is it ruined?”
It almost certainly was. Wet-on-wet technique didn’t usually mean hurling freshly-painted paper into a lake.
It was a bummer that her first breakthrough in two years had ended up waterlogged and clutched the wrong way in the hands of an untrained person. But it didn’t matter. Because if she could do watercolor, maybe she could find her way back.
He slapped the painting onto the dock and swam past it, climbing to his feet on the shoreline. Still dripping, he plodded down the dock and collapsed on his knees next to her.
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Jade.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. This was probably a breakthrough for you, and I scared you and made you drop it into the damn lake.” He buried his hands in his hair.
“I mean it. It’s okay. This wouldn’t have been sellable anyway.”
Goose bumps rose on his skin. “What do you mean? It’s stunning.”
“I’m not known for watercolors. I doubt the gallery would have had much interest.”
“Who cares what you’re known for? It’s part of you.”
She smiled. “I wish it was as simple as that.”
The sun gilded Rett’s jawline. He looked like a friggen Adonis contemplating the earth.
Her eyes dipped without permission, taking just a glance at his waterlogged physique. Desire stirred in her again.
What the hell was she going to do? The need to stay was growing by the second. Would the lake grant her another burst of inspiration? But she had next to no money and frankly she didn’t know Rett well enough to stay with him for two weeks.
The city was safer.
“Shit. What time is it?” She patted her pockets, but her phone was still in the house.
“About seven twenty.”
Kenya would be awake any minute, ready to load up the bus.
“I have to get back. We’re scheduled to leave by eight.”
“Let me take you back to the city.”
She turned to look at him. “You want to take a spontaneous eight-hour round trip? Into downtown Manhattan? Don’t you have a winery to open?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I need to make it up to you. I wanted to help, not make things harder for you.” He gazed at the waterlogged paper.
His fingers landed on her arm again, and a shiver rocked her body. His green eyes were quiet today, serene like the lake behind him. Was she really about to climb into a car with someone she barely knew?
“You really want to take me back to New York?”
“I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’d like you to stay here. Look what you’ve done since you’ve been here.” He pointed at the runny watercolor. “But if you need to go back to the city, that’s where I’ll take you. Consider transportation a perk of our agreement.”
The idea of having another five hours to spend with Rett was very tempting. But how would she fill all those hours of conversation? There was only so much she could word vomit.
His thumb stroked her wrist.
“Let’s go to brunch. Then I’ll drive you back.”
Her stomach growled as if on command. She hadn’t even finished the incredible apple dumpling from the night before. Some brunch couldn’t hurt. And if it meant avoiding the awkward post-wedding conversation with the other bridesmaids in the party bus, even better.
“Okay. Just brunch.”
An hour later, Jade had made her excuses to Kenya, and she and a freshly showered Rett were in his truck.
“You’re going to love Margie’s,” he said. “The food is incredible.”
He hadn’t opted for a suit today but had still insisted on wearing a button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Was this part of his trick to convince her to stay? How badly did he need an artist-in-residence to do paint and sip?
If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave. But a paint and sip event wouldn’t cover even a third of first and last month’s rent on a new apartment. There was no choice but to go home to the apartment she was already paying for and look for a new job and place to live.
Rett pulled into a spot on the street and jumped out. Jade fought with her seatbelt again until Rett popped her door open and reached across her. The seatbelt retracted, brushing against her skin as it went. Great, now she was getting turned on by seatbelts.
“I really need to get that fixed,” he said as he offered her a hand.
She jumped down, and he steadied her with a hand on one hip.
She stepped onto the sidewalk and took in her surroundings.
Townspeople waved at each other as they ducked into shops.
A group of elderly women power walked through the village green.
Glimpses of the lake were just visible beyond the iconic gazebo.
“Come on. I’m sure you’re eager to get back.” There was a smirk on his face, like he could read her mind.
He led her across the village green to the turquoise building with the yellow door she had spotted on her run. Margie’s.
The second Rett opened the door, Jade could have levitated the rest of the way just from the scents drifting towards her. Savory pork and fried hash browns. Buttery muffins and flaky pastries.
She took one step inside and stopped in her tracks. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Rett appeared at her shoulder.
She pointed to the far wall with a shaking finger. “That’s my painting.”
He turned where she pointed. “The muffin?”
Breakfast at Epiphany’s , one of Jade’s favorite pieces, hung next to a bathroom door.
It was an abstract take of a blueberry muffin perched on the railing of the Empire State Building.
The crumbs were coarse sand from the beach at Coney Island.
The New York skyline sprawled in the background.
Newspaper clippings about gentrification and corruption in the police force were papier-maché’d into the shapes of buildings.
She had painted it the day Nate had told her he loved her for the first time. Was this a sign? She looked for Rett, but he had abandoned her to inspect it.
“There he is,” called a woman from behind the counter. Her curly gray hair was swept back into a loose bun. “I was hoping you’d stop in today. Who do you have with you?”
Rett swiveled away from the painting and side-stepped around one of a dozen tables. He wrapped an arm around Jade and dragged her up to the counter.
A tingle ran up her spine, but then she remembered. Right, the townspeople needed to believe they were dating. His arm was around her for show.
“This is Jade. Jade, meet Margie. The owner.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” Jade extended a hand over the counter, and Margie shook it. “I actually painted that.” She pointed to the muffin.
Margie gasped and splayed a hand over her heart. “You’re Jade Gardner?”
“Yeah,” Jade said with a silly smile. She was recognized maybe once in a blue moon in the city, and only in the art district.
“Oh my lord,” Margie said. She threw a tea towel down on the counter and turned over her shoulder. “Amanda, you’re on register.”
Margie stepped around the counter and took Jade’s hand. “I have two of your paintings. If my house was burning down, I would save them first. I love your work. What in the world are you doing here?”
“I was just here for a wedding. I’m headed back to the city this morning, but Rett insisted on breakfast first.”
Margie looked at him like she was impressed. “Well, I’ll be. Jade Gardner in my little town. Let me get my phone for a picture.” She scurried to the back.
Jade’s cheeks grew hot, and she looked around the café. The longest wall was largely bare, a glaring void in the otherwise colorful and playful restaurant. An idea struck.
“Have you ever considered adding a mural?” Jade asked when Margie returned, phone in hand. “I noticed your wall is a little bit bare.”
“A mural?” Margie asked thoughtfully. Her eyes moved to where Jade had indicated. “It hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you point it out, it is a little underwhelming.”
“I could paint one for you.”
The words were out before she could take them back. What was she thinking? She had never painted a mural before, and the only art she had produced in the last two years was a half-assed sketch of Rett and a waterlogged sunrise.
Rett shot her a look, clearly surprised.
Margie seemed to deliberate for a moment, gray-blue eyes moving over the far wall. After a beat, she spoke.
“You know what? I think a mural is just what this café needs.”
Relief flooded Jade. Maybe this would be a step towards digging herself out of her unfortunate hole. Or maybe it would be the final nail in her coffin.
“But you’re planning on leaving this morning?” Margie asked.
“That’s…negotiable,” Jade said.
Rett straightened beside her.
What was she doing? Was she really staying? Where would she live?
Margie smiled. “Good. Come in tomorrow morning and we’ll talk terms.”
“Sounds great,” Rett said before she could take it back.
She would figure it out. She always did.
“It’s a deal.”