Page 26 of Love Among Vines

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

RETT

Rett rolled his shoulders back when he pulled into Margie’s driveway.

It had been a long day at the winery. Todd had called off with a bout of man-flu, and Rett had taken over his tastings.

He had run straight to the bank with a deposit and barely had time to go home and laminate some dough for tomorrow morning’s sticky buns.

The front door of the cottage opened, and Jade smiled at him. She wore an orange top and high-waisted jeans. It looked incredible on her but would have looked even better piled on the floor.

He needed to stick to the plan, but she was making it impossible.

He handed over a bouquet of goldenrod and lavender asters.

“For you.”

Penny immediately planted her paws on his torso and panted happily in his face.

“They’re beautiful,” Jade said. “You know there’s no one here to prove anything to, right? Margie went to her bridge club.”

“I don’t need a reason to give a beautiful woman flowers,” he said with one eyebrow cocked.

She smiled. “Come in while I get these in some water.”

A mess of loose papers on the kitchen table caught his attention.

“You’ve been busy,” he said.

“For your information, I was doing my homework.”

Jade put the flowers in one of the many vases scattered around the guest cottage and topped it off with water. Then she made a face and fished out a handful of papers from the pile on the table.

“I hope wherever we’re going is cheap. Some of us are on a fixed income.”

“I’m paying,” he said firmly. “I have a gift card.”

She scoffed. “Fine.” Her eyes screwed up, and she took a step closer. “What’s on your ear?”

His hands flew defensively to his head. It wouldn’t be the first time cork shavings had hitched a ride. He drew his hands away and found some flour. He had gotten a bit aggressive in the kitchen before leaving.

“Just some dust,” he said.

She gave him an odd look, then turned to Penny. “Bye, sweetheart,” she said with a kiss on her furry nose.

Rett added a couple enthusiastic pats, and then they climbed in his truck. An alternative radio station played quietly in the background as they descended the hill into town. His hand found hers in the glow of the dash lights. Her hand was small and warm.

“How’s the wrist?” he asked.

“Better today,” she said. “Not that I needed it since I painted exactly nothing today. I did get everything sanded and primed, though. Where are we going, anyway?”

“The Tavern. Our reservations aren’t for another twenty minutes. I thought we could walk around and see if that helps your mural decision.”

“Thank you. That sounds really nice.”

Once he had parked downtown, they prowled the streets. Most of the shops and bakeries had closed down for the day, but maybe some personal history would help.

“Tom projectile vomited into that bush after playing slap the bag the first time I met him.” He pointed to a bush on the edge of the square.

“What exactly is slap the bag?” she asked.

“No one really knows. It’s sort of a drinking game. That’s how we met. I walked into Cindy’s parents’ house for her graduation party, and Tom ran up to me in an Australian flag-themed shirt while holding a sack of red liquid.”

“So you slapped his bag and you’ve been best friends ever since?”

“Basically.”

“What a meet-cute.” She bumped Rett with her hip.

He had forgotten how nice it was to have a little companionship. A beautiful woman on his arm. Clever conversation. Someone to introduce to the town he loved so much.

He pointed out more special spots, including the site of his senior prank where several classmates had ridden their lawn mowers to school.

“Come on,” he said. “Time for dinner.”

They walked into the Tavern, and the hostess greeted Rett by name. In no time, they were seated at their table with a tantalizing menu spread in front of them.

“Any suggestions?” Jade asked.

“The surf and turf is amazing, but I would go to war for the French onion soup.”

She cast an eye down the menu and shifted in her seat.

“You look distressed.”

She glanced up. “I’m aware that I’m not an expert on this subject, but it seems awfully financially irresponsible to spend a week’s worth of grocery money on one meal.”

He leaned forward. “Occasional splurges are allowed. And remember, it’s on me. Don’t make me order for you.”

She picked the menu back up. “Fine. If we’re going this hard on a Tuesday, what does that mean for our next date?”

“Oh, we’re going to Applebee’s.”

“Good. I love mozzarella sticks.”

As soon as they’d ordered, she dug around in her purse.

“So,” she said, removing a half dozen sheets of paper, “down to business.”

From the corner of his eye, Rett spotted Glenda, a notorious town gossip and old friend of his parents.

“Hang on.” He picked up Jade’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. Frankly he would have rather kissed her face, but probably would have knocked the table over.

Jade’s cheeks grew pink. “What was that for?”

“The woman at your three o’clock is on the guest list for the party. She’s also old friends with my parents.”

“Got it. Let me deploy some footsie.” Her wedge found his wingtip.

“Perfect,” he said. “Now let’s take a look.” He flipped through the papers in front of him. It was by far the messiest financial accounting he had ever seen. “You know, I was kind of hoping for a spreadsheet.”

“I’m an artist, not an accountant.”

It was probably better to keep his comments to himself. He perused the papers for a few minutes before shuffling them into a neat stack and folding his hands together.

It wasn’t good. If anything, she had underexaggerated.

“So. You’re twenty-six and have no retirement savings, no equity, no investments, and no predictable income.”

Jade folded her arms. “This is starting to sound like a conversation that ends in a screaming match. Do I seriously not get any credit for paying off my student loans?”

He threw up his hands. “The fact that you don’t have any other debt is great. But your bank account is running on fumes and rent in the city is astronomical. It’s not good.”

“I know. I’m researching rent prices in the outer boroughs.”

“Good. When is your lease up?”

“End of December,” she said hesitantly. “I gave the super my sob story and got him to give me a six-month lease.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. Her lease was up in two months and she hadn’t found a new place to live? She didn’t need his criticism, but it was damned hard to keep his mouth shut.

“Change is scary. But the good part is I think you have transferable skills. I prepared a list of career suggestions.” He pulled out the document he had typed up earlier. “Do you have any interest in graphic design?”

“It’s not something I’ve ever gravitated towards, but I’d be willing to try.”

“That would be a great solution, and it can even be temporary if your muse comes back for good and things go back to normal. What kind of computer do you have?”

“A ten-year-old Mac I got for high school graduation.”

Rett shook his head. There was enough wiggle room in the budget for an upgrade.

“We’re getting you a new one. You won’t be able to freelance with a ten-year-old computer on its last legs.

Second,” he said louder to cover the series of splutters she had just released, “I know you’re busy with the mural right now.

But if it helps your portfolio, I would love for you to design a label for my new line of sparkling wines.

If I haven’t destroyed my grandmother’s legacy and shamed my entire family with a faulty product, anyway. ”

She narrowed her eyes. “Stop it. There is no way you made a crappy product. Did you try it today?”

“Well, no.”

“We’re opening a bottle on the next date night. No discussion.”

He nodded. It was probably time to stop avoiding it.

“And you’re not buying me a laptop. I have?—”

“You have nothing. I am buying you a laptop. Consider it a contractor perk for working on the new label. And the paint and sip. Let’s talk about that.”

She straightened. “Great. I have some thoughts.”

Ten minutes later, they had a supply list, theme, and a date. He had done it once before and it had been lucrative. It should be a boon for both of them.

“Anything else?” Jade asked. “I don’t suppose you prepared some literature about selling a spare kidney on the black market?”

“You’re going to have to make immediate cuts. No more CrossFit and you definitely need to cancel HBO.”

She pouted.

“I did have one other question,” he said. “You use a gallery to sell your paintings?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I imagine they take a large chunk of your earnings?”

She leaned back in her chair. “They do, but it’s a necessary evil. They get the art into the right hands.”

“But theoretically if your muse came back, you could direct sell your own art? Online or to previous customers?”

“Sure, if I wanted to burn a bridge.”

“Okay. Well, maybe we can revisit that idea if your muse comes back. I’ll help you with your resume later. Down the road once you get a job we can start talking about your investments and retirement savings.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

There was silence for a beat.

“You think I’m a project,” she accused.

Rett frowned. What was she, a mind-reader? Project was too harsh, though. “No, I think you’re a work in progress. As are all of us. Me especially.”

She sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “You are. You live in your grandma’s house, and you’ve made next to no effort to personalize it or make it feel like home to you. Why?”

This wasn’t supposed to turn into an interrogation. He sloshed the ice in the bottom of his drink. “It doesn’t really feel like mine. It doesn’t feel like I’ve earned it.”

“Ah. Impostor syndrome. It gets us all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe you were handed some opportunities that other people weren’t.

But your wine is incredible. You put in the work.

You went to school, became a sommelier, learned everything you could about the craft.

You’re so worried about honoring her legacy and her memory that you’ve forgotten that she left the business to you for a reason. She trusts you.”

“And if I mess it all up?”

They were already approaching a tipping point. If he didn’t figure out a way to cut costs or bring in a fresh influx of cash by the end of the year, big changes were coming. And Grandmother Rhodes would never forgive him.

Jade reached across the table and took his hand. “You’re not going to mess this up. In the incredibly unlikely event that your batch failed, you don’t need to release it at the party. We’ll hide it in the basement, pretend it never existed, and you can try again.”

“It was her dream,” he said.

“And what’s your dream?”

Her question stopped him mid-sip. He had been so fixated on the success of the winery ever since his grandmother’s death that he had never stopped to ask himself if it was enough.

The winery brought him purpose. Joy, even. There was nothing like the satisfaction of a perfectly fermented batch enjoyed on the porch at sunset. But was that all he wanted from this life? Fitting himself into someone else’s dream?

“I’m…not really sure.”

“Well,” Jade said as a waitress set a plate in front of her. “Lucky for you, I’m the queen of dreaming. That’s your homework for next week. I’ll get my stupid driver’s license, pick a new career, and find somewhere to move, but you have to figure out what you want out of this life.”

“Deal.”