Page 54 of Pucking Tangled

FIFTY-THREE

Mia

The car ride back to Luca’s parents’ house the next morning was relaxed.

Owen drove this time, one hand loosely wrapped around Casey’s thigh in the passenger seat.

Mia sat in the back between Waylon and Luca, her legs curled beneath her and her head resting on Luca’s shoulder.

Everyone showered and dressed before they left but Mia worried their faces still said ‘ yeah, we did that.’

Three more times last night and twice in the shower.

Waylon reached across her to grab a piece of gum from the center console, his fingers brushing her stomach on the way back.

“You keep touching me like that, we’re gonna be late for pancakes,” she murmured, her voice thick with promise as she ran her gaze up and down his body. Goodness, she was smitten with this man. All her men.

“Worth it,” he said, popping the gum into his mouth.

Luca chuckled beside her, low and still a little wrecked-sounding. His arm tightened around her waist, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You good, babe?”

“More than good,” Mia said, cheeks warming again at the memories—the tangle of limbs, the low sounds, the way they explored everything, and the way they’d taken their time with each other, soaking in every moment in their private cocoon. “You?”

“I think I’m still recovering,” Luca said with a grin. “Y’all are dangerous.”

“Bold of you to say that after the way you kissed the life right out of Waylon,” Casey said from the front, not bothering to turn around.

“Hey,” Waylon said, mock offended. “It’s not like I complained. ”

Casey and Owen laughed, and Mia closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her. This— this —was what home felt like. The teasing, the warmth, the way even silence wasn’t lonely anymore.

They pulled into the gravel driveway. Mia slipped on her sandals as they climbed out, stretching her arms overhead with a quiet yawn.

“God, I’m sore,” she said without thinking.

Luca leaned close, smirking. “Need me to kiss it better?”

Casey whistled as he walked past. “You two are feral. ”

Waylon opened the front door without knocking, calling out, “Your favorite houseguests have arrived!”

“I swear to God. There’s something wrong with him,” Mia groaned, burying her head in Luca’s shoulder for a beat before they walked inside. “It’s almost embarrassing.”

The smell of bacon, cinnamon, and fresh coffee wrapped around her like a hug. Celia Blackford turned from the stove, already smiling. “Well, look who finally decided to roll in.”

Dean stood at the kitchen island, sipping from a mug and raising a brow. “Y’all sleep okay at that little cabin?”

Mia coughed and kept her eyes firmly on the floor.

“Plenty of room,” Owen said smoothly. “Very…accommodating.”

Celia handed him a spatula. “Good. Casey and Waylon, set the table. Mia, honey, want tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, please,” Mia said gratefully, taking the mug Celia poured for her. Waylon brushed past her but not before he bumped her hip with his, then dropped a quick kiss to her cheek.

After everything they’d discovered the night before, she’d wondered if the glow might fade. If someone might pull away, retreat into themselves with uncertainty or second thoughts.

But no.

They were still here. Just as present. Just as soft. Just as hers.

She looked around the kitchen as the guys moved like a well-oiled machine—Waylon scrambling eggs, Owen stacking pancakes, Casey stealing bites of bacon while Luca fished the syrup out from the fridge. It felt so natural. So undeniably them.

Celia passed her a plate and winked. “Are they always this helpful at home?”

Mia laughed. “No, there’s usually wrestling involved.”

“Boys will be boys,” Celia said, shaking her head, her expression fond.

Dean chuckled quietly from his corner. “More like wolves. Always circling.”

“I heard that,” Waylon called .

They settled in around the kitchen table, plates piled high, juice glasses clinking as the morning sun poured through the windows.

Casey draped himself halfway over Owen’s shoulder, stealing bites from his plate.

Luca sat beside Mia, knee brushing hers under the table.

Waylon, directly across from her, kept giving her slow, lazy smirks every time she caught his eye.

“It sounds like you really enjoyed the cabin. What did you say the name of that Airbnb was again in case I want to recommend it to my friends?”

Mia’s hand that was holding her fork paused mid-air. She glanced at the guys, who had all suddenly become very focused on their food. “Uhm. Luca?”

His face turned bright red. “The Fox Den,” he whispered.

That was all it took for Waylon to lose it. He started laughing so hard that tears eventually rolled down his cheeks. Owen and Casey both bit their lips, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Luca Dean Blackford. You did not,” his father coughed. “Isn’t that one of those adult cabins?”

“I didn’t know!” Luca defended himself.

“It promised a hot tub with vineyard views,” Waylon said in a mocking tone of voice, still somehow laughing as he spoke.

Mia glanced Celia’s way to find the older woman watching them with a puzzled expression on her face, like she was trying to piece together what was so funny.

Mia could tell the moment she caught on because her jaw dropped.

“Oh. My,” she giggled. “Dean, that is part of that sex resort they just opened isn’t it? ”

Casey’s whole body shook with amusement. “Sure is, Celia.”

“Is it nice?” Celia asked, glancing at her son, her expression turning gleeful. “Your father and I were thinking about maybe booking an overnight stay there. You know, to keep the spark alive. And support a local business.”

Luca’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Mom!”

“We might be old, but we’re not dead,” Dean added, clearly entertained by his son’s situation.

“Yep. This is way worse than realizing the kind of cabin I booked.” Luca looked up at the ceiling and dragged his hands over his face.

Conversation drifted back to lighter…less sexual things—each person’s favorite breakfast food, Luca’s embarrassing teenage band, the vineyard tour they had planned for later that day.

Mia laughed until her stomach hurt as they told jokes and carried on like they’d known Luca’s parents their whole lives.

When breakfast was done, Celia ushered Dean outside to help unload some garden supplies. Casey, Owen, and Waylon immediately followed to help, leaving Mia alone with Luca, washing the dishes.

He passed her a towel, his eyes softer than usual. “Doing okay?”

“I’m really good,” she said, voice catching a little. “I love everything about being here with you.”

Luca leaned in, drying his hands on the towel before wrapping his arms around her from behind. “I love it too.”

She leaned back into his chest, closing her eyes.

They stayed like that for a while—quiet, close, the sounds of the others laughing outside drifting in through the screen door .

Eventually, Mia turned in his arms and whispered, “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Luca kissed her forehead. “Thank you for coming.”

And with that, they stepped out into the Texas sun to see exactly what their guys were up to.

The road to Keller Vineyards wound through open pastures and gently sloping hills, the kind of drive that begged you to roll the windows down and let the wind tangle in your hair.

Mia had claimed the middle seat in the back again, thighs pressed between Waylon and Luca.

She changed into a flowy sundress Luca had pulled from her bag that morning and tossed her way with a quiet, “Wear this to the vineyard for me?”—and okay, maybe she’d twirled in it a little, because the way all four of them had looked at her after?

Yeah. Worth it.

Keller Vineyards came into view just as Waylon was dramatically re-enacting the moment Casey allegedly “cried a little” when his favorite band broke up and news broke while they were all in the locker room together.

“I didn’t cry,” Casey said, pointing at him from the front passenger seat. “I teared up. One time. Quietly.”

“Still counts,” Owen chuckled from the driver’s seat.

Mia laughed. Luca took her hand and kissed her knuckles as they pulled into the gravel lot, the rows of grapevines stretching behind the tasting room like a dream.

The air was thick with the scent of summer—crushed grass, warm stone, and the sweet edge of ripening fruit. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves, and somewhere nearby, a wind chime tinkled against wood siding.

“Wow,” Mia said as she stepped out. “This is gorgeous.”

“It’s been here forever,” Luca said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “My mom used to bring us here for picnics when I was a kid. I’d sneak off and pretend to be lost in the vines.”

The tasting room looked like something out of a Texas daydream—whitewashed stone, green-trimmed windows, and a wide porch draped in flowering vines. A rustic sign above the door read Keller Vineyards—Established 1924.

Inside, it was cool and airy, with wide-planked wood floors and sunlight streaming through stained glass. Shelves lined with bottles flanked a long tasting bar, and tucked in the back were little bistro tables surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the vineyard.

A blonde woman looked up from behind the counter, her face lighting up when she spied Luca.

“Well, if it isn’t the famous Luca Blackford in the flesh,” the woman beamed.

Mia tried to fight back the jealousy she felt in her chest.

“Harlow Clark. How are you?” Luca smiled back.

“Pregnant and miserable.” Harlow shuffled from behind the counter, rubbing her rather large belly. “Still got at least four weeks before this one arrives though.” She hugged him. “Last time I saw you, you were face-first in a barrel of muscat grapes.”

“I maintain that was strategic.”

Harlow rolled her eyes, though she was smiling as she did. Then she looked past him to take in their group. “And I’m guessing this whole charming crew is with you?”

“Yep,” he said, slipping back to Mia’s side. “This is Mia, Owen, Casey, and Waylon. ”

“Nice to meet y’all,” Harlow said warmly. “You’re staying at one of the Airbnb’s around here, right?”

Luca groaned, and turned bright red again.

Waylon laughed. “Sore subject.”

“Ohhh. Oh!” Harlow’s eyes widened. “Y’all are…” She smacked her forehead. “I saw all that. I am so sorry the media is a bunch of assholes.”

She led them to a corner table with a view of the vines and passed out menus and clipboards for tasting notes.

“Scarlett’s out checking barrels, but she’ll want to say hi,” Harlow continued as she began pouring their first flight of wine and passed the glasses around.

“If y’all need anything, just holler. And don’t mind the wine swing out back—it was a bachelorette request, but we’re kinda obsessed with it now. ”

“Pairs perfectly with the sex swing in the middle of the cabin,” Waylon replied.

“I hate it here,” Luca grumbled.

“How do you think I ended up like this?” Harlow smirked.

Taking a sip of the first wine—a bright viognier that was crisp and floral—Mia moaned. “This is dangerous. ”

“Better pace yourself,” Owen said, nudging her glass with his. “We still have six more.”

As the next round arrived—a bold rosé with just enough bite—another woman joined them, towel slung over her shoulder and grease smudged on her cheek.

“Sorry, the barrel tap seized again,” she said, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Luca, you bringing this much pretty around town and not warning a girl?”

“You’re dating a soldier,” Luca reminded her.

“Yeah, and he’s not here,” she said with a wink. “Hi, I’m Scarlett. ”

“I’m Mia, and they’re mine. ” She damn near growled at the attractive woman who looked like an older, not pregnant, version of Harlow.

“Oh, shit,” Scarlett laughed. “I am so sorry. But, I’ve gotta say…. damn. You are one lucky girl.”

“Nah, I think we’re the lucky ones,” Casey said before introducing himself. “And this is Owen. And Waylon.”

Within seconds, Scarlett and Waylon were in a debate about wine pairings and which rom coms could double as metaphors for complex reds.

When the tasting eventually wrapped up, they wandered through the vineyard, shoes crunching against sun-warmed dirt, hands brushing, laughter echoing through the rows.

At one point, Mia found herself alone with Luca, trailing a few steps behind the others. The sun caught in his hair. His profile was relaxed, mouth curved in a small, private smile.

“Did you know,” he said, glancing back at her, “that there’s a Keller wine named after each daughter?”

“I didn’t.”

He stopped near a plaque and pointed. Scarlett’s Whisper. A velvety red. Rich and complicated.

“They make them in small batches,” he explained. “Limited release. A little like us.”

Mia looked up at him, heart tugging. “You think we’re limited?”

“No,” Luca said. “I think we’re rare .”

She reached for his hand and squeezed. “You’ve changed.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’ve grown. ” Luca leaned into her and kissed her. When the others called for them from down the path, neither rushed to move .

“We should probably head back,” Mia whispered, still not wanting to let go.

“Yeah,” he replied, breathlessly.

Before they left, Harlow handed Mia a wrapped bottle.

“For you,” she said. “Something special from last year’s harvest. You’ve got the look of someone who’ll make memories with it.”

Mia smiled, curious as to which wine might be inside. “Thank you.”

As they loaded back into the car, Mia looked out the window one last time—at the rows of vines, the wide sky, the day that had wrapped itself in laughter and quiet confessions and kisses sweeter than wine.

Texas was good to them. For them.

Every day with her guys seemed to get better.

Luca was right, but he wasn’t the only one growing and changing. They all were. And it felt damn good.