Page 32 of Love Among Vines

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JADE

Jade closed the door behind her and set her keys on the console table. She stretched her arms overhead, luxuriating in the tension that would surely mean sore muscles tomorrow.

The easel set up by the window caught her eye. A small tingle sent sparks up her spine. It might have had something to do with Rett, which was problematic.

She grabbed a palette, then dabbed acrylic paints across it in a semi-circle. With brushes fresh from the drying rack, she perched on a stool in front of the blank canvas. She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the sensation of gliding across the dark lake, new friends in her wake.

She opened her eyes and dabbed a brush into the black. Long strokes across the canvas, marking the hills on each side. Dabs for trees, dashes of deep blue sky behind the branches that—in her imagination at least—swayed in the darkness.

A moon rose, sending a light trail down the center of the painting.

She fiddled with the grass in the foreground.

When she had done as much as she could, she stepped away.

There was no sense in tinkering too much.

There was more to come, but this layer had to dry.

Movement outside the window caught her eye.

Steven the raccoon waddled past her cottage.

She shed the bikini and pulled on her comfiest pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. From the fridge, she pulled a bag of cheese sticks and a bundle of grapes.

She upended a bucket by the door and spread the food on a gingham napkin.

Steven deserved a nice snack. The night air was cool as she settled into an Adirondack chair on the front porch.

There was an excellent chance that, once again, this painting wouldn’t be sellable.

It might just be shitty. Shitty and nostalgic.

But this lake—this town—had given back to her something she hadn’t seen in two years.

Before Hammondsport, she would squirt some paint onto a palette and stare at a blank canvas.

It mocked her, gaping at her like a black hole.

Even if she touched a brush to the canvas, it immediately felt wrong.

But here, her soul was relaxed. She allowed herself to experiment, to create, without judgment.

Hopefully it would translate onto the wall at Margie’s.

The next morning, Jade breezed through her morning run—as much as she could with a side stitch undoubtedly brought on by too many apple cider margaritas the night before—and pedaled into town with a happy heart.

Apart from her abject anxiety about the mural, something else had been swirling in her brain.

Rett had asked her to design a label for the new line, and she had stayed up too late perusing designs online.

Something told her an ordinary, scripted-font label or sketched bird wasn’t going to cut it.

She needed to find a picture of Rett’s grandmother.

But first, she needed to encapsulate a feeling . After locking her bike on the rack outside the café, she took a deep breath, appreciating for the millionth time how clear the air was and how bright the sunshine. It was cooler today, with crisp notes of fall on the wind.

A store down the block had crates of apples stacked on the sidewalk. The smell was intoxicating, and she couldn’t stop herself from buying half a bushel. If only she could paint a smell.

A church that looked like it had come straight from a movie lot stood on one side of the street. Crisscrossing sidewalks intersected at a gazebo with benches scattered all over.

She sat down at the gazebo for a moment and just breathed in the town.

People passed by on foot. Many were clearly from out of town—dressed extra warm and huddling in the square around a phone, pointing in different directions.

Others were locals, greeting each other with warm smiles and pleasantries.

It couldn’t have been more different from the city. There was an absence of urgency. People lifted their heads to say hello. There wasn’t a pair of earbuds in sight.

A tingle hit her spine, and her breath caught in her chest. Could it be?

She pulled out her sketchbook again and dug around in her purse until she found a pack of colored pencils.

The lines of the buildings in front of her slowly took shape.

There was the steeple of the church, the sunflower on the logo of Margie’s Café.

Weathered brick and curving paths. Bins overflowing with apples and bulbous lights on lampposts.

Sprawling green hills with pops of yellow and red.

A few minutes later, she snapped out of her trance and pulled back to look at it. It wasn’t done, and it definitely wasn’t perfect. But something about it resonated within her.

She hurried into the café with her sketchbook before she lost the feeling.

“Morning, Margie,” she called.

Margie waved from behind the counter.

“Hi, Jade,” Alex, one of the servers, called.

She waved back at him. Was this what it was like to live in a small town? Everyone knew your name and had a smile for you?

“Good morning, ladies,” she said as she passed the table of busybodies.

“Hello, Jade,” one of them said enthusiastically. “Hey, listen. You wouldn’t have an interest in joining our book club, would you? We usually read romance and meet once a month.”

She sighed. “I would love to, but I’m only in town to do the mural.” She gestured at the blank wall.

“And for Rett, of course,” another one said, staring over the rim of her bifocals.

“Right, of course. But we’re just getting to know each other. It’s a little soon for me to be putting down roots when he could get sick of me tomorrow.”

The second woman shook her head fervently. “He won’t. I can tell. That boy has a spring in his step that’s been missing for years.”

Oh, good. More guilt.

“I think he’s just excited about the new product he’s unveiling at his party.” Maybe some gossip would throw them off the scent. “Speaking of which, would any of you happen to have a picture of Rett’s grandmother?”

“Why, sure,” a third woman said. “Valentina used to be in our book club too, you know. I’ll bring it in tomorrow if you’ll be here.”

“That would be wonderful. I better get to work.”

“What does she want a picture of Valentina for?” the first woman called loudly.

“Hush, Ethel. It’s none of our business,” another said.

Jade smiled and confronted the blank wall of endless possibility in front of her. Minutes later, earbuds in and bopping to No Doubt, she studied her sketchbook.

Someone swooped in and kissed her on the cheek, and she almost punched them in the throat. Rett stood next to her, smiling a devilish grin.

“Rude,” she said, yanking her earbuds out. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Payback for last night.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, so you’re mad about me following your misguided rules?”

He leaned in to kiss her again, this time just below the earlobe. Tingles shot through her hands and feet. “We’ll see if you still think they’re misguided Friday night.”

She poked him in the chest. “Not fair. You’re distracting me at work. Don’t make me sic Margie on you.”

“Sketching out the mural?” He leaned over, one hand on the back of her chair. It was a little possessive, but nice.

“Yeah. Margie’s been hesitant to give me feedback. Would you mind taking a look?” She handed her sketchbook over to him. He wasn’t one to mince words, so any opinion he doled out would at least be honest.

He straightened up and flipped through several pages.

“These are good. You’ve pulled a lot of pieces of town history in.”

“But you don’t have a preference?”

He tilted his head. “It’s hard to say. Wait, what’s this one?”

Jade straightened up and peeked over the edge of the tablet. “Oh, shit.”

She had completely forgotten about the half-finished sketch she had made during her disastrous first wine tasting at Rhodes Vineyard. It was sloppy and embarrassing and frankly a little creepy since she had drawn it before ever speaking to him.

She went to snatch it back, but he lifted it out of reach.

“Is this…me?” He pointed to the side profile of a man hefting wine bottles onto shelves.

She stood and yanked it from his hands. “It might be. You weren’t supposed to see that. I forgot it was in there.”

“You forgot? How old is the sketch?”

“It’s from the day we met, if you must know.” She slapped the sketchbook on the table and pinned it under her purse. “I told you your wine inspired me. I looked around for something to sketch and you just happened to be the closest object.”

He narrowed his eyes, but they were lit with amusement. “I was twenty yards away from you in a different room, though.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“You thought I was handsome. Admit it.”

Jade crossed her arms. “I thought it would be an interesting study of the human form.”

“Whatever you say.” The infuriating grin was back. He planted another palpitation-inducing kiss on her.

At the busybody table, a fork clattered to a plate.

“Maybe we should re-read Fifty Shades of Grey for book club,” one woman said.

“For the fourth time, Jeanette?” another woman asked.

“Breakfast to go, Romeo?” Margie called from behind the counter.

Rett tore his eyes from Jade for a minute to smile and nod. “The usual, please. Thanks, Margie.”

“What’s your usual?” Jade said with a smile.

“Chicken sausage and egg white breakfast burrito,” he replied. “Margie’s homemade salsa is incredible.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Make it two, Margie,” Rett called over his shoulder.

Jade’s phone beeped, and she glanced at the screen. Weird. It was a message from Kenya.

Kenya: You didn’t hear this from me. Ash just texted from Hawaii. Apparently she and Nate got in a gigantic fight. He went down to the bar and never came back that night. Turns out he slept with a resort waitress. Anyway, she said he left and she’s looking up divorce lawyers.

Jade’s mouth fell open. The marriage that she had spent so much time, energy, and

money mentally and physically preparing for had dissolved within a freaking week?

“Are you kidding me?” she yelled at her phone.

“What’s wrong?” Rett frowned.

She shoved the phone at him. The wheels of justice had turned more quickly than she had ever imagined. What kind of person was Nate to sleep with someone else on his own freakin’ honeymoon while his brand-new wife was upstairs? The fucking audacity of this man.

How had she never seen this side of him? Was it always there, buried beneath the glitz and glamour of long weekends in the Catskills and dinners in trendy, impossible-to-get-into restaurants? Was Ashley really the first person he had cheated on her with?

She had trusted him implicitly, never glancing at his phone when he was out of the room or sifting through Instagram DMs. She had accepted his love for her at face value only to be blindsided in the worst way.

Rett handed the phone back with a dark expression.

As much as Nate’s betrayal had hurt and even quite possibly ruined her career as an artist, at least she had never married the bastard. She deserved better. And she would find it.