Page 27 of The Sun and the Moon

Sydney

Or, more specifically, the barnlike barrel room that I can see just at the edge of the rolling hill is where the party will take place.

It opens onto a limestone dance floor. It’s a popular wedding destination, and this winery is the one Moira has regularly frequented on her visits to Solvang, a fact that I learned on the short ride over with Cadence.

Lola and Hawthorne’s assessment that the engagement party might be a wedding in disguise is starting to feel a hell of a lot more plausible.

Cadence sidles up to me and hands me a glass of the vineyard’s signature white blend.

I resist the urge to down it in one gulp.

I can’t decide if it’s the potential wedding-not-engagement that is causing my inner spiral or if it’s the heated kiss on the one bed in the room I’m sharing with my partner in scheming that’s doing it.

We had to get ready in a hurry. Dad called to let me know he was bringing Chicken’s bed to our room so he could stay with us because we’re on the ground level and, to quote him, “He misses you, Birdie, you know?” I had to roll my eyes at that one.

I think Chicken mostly misses the fact that I am a whore for snuggles and he can always get a treat from me even though he’s supposed to be on a diet.

I am pretty sure Dad just didn’t want to cart him around all the time.

Chicken mostly sleeps now, anyway. Something I hope will rub off on me but probably won’t.

Not with my other bedroom buddy.

I flick my eyes to Cadence. She changed into a pair of dark jeans and a loose-fitting green-and-white button-down, those same loafers from dinner the other night, with her hair in a loose braid.

The way she looks laid-back and put-together but also, like, still windswept and a little wild—it’s really sending me.

No strings . Her words, my idea. One I am always so happy to find out the person I’m about to kiss is willing to agree on.

It’s such a theme of my romantic relationships that it’s almost a joke and not worth mentioning, and it means the closest people in my life almost never get a look at the people I date, let alone a meet and greet.

So why am I fighting the urge to text Joe right now just to tell him I kissed a girl?

“This is a wedding venue,” Cadence says, taking a sip of her wine, her dark eyes gliding over the rows of grapevines.

“We need a plan,” I say, gulping my wine so that I almost choke as it flows free and fast down my throat. I recover with a cough, which draws Cadence’s eyes to me in alarm.

Don’t look at her mouth , my mind commands.

So, of course, my focus drops right to her lips.

She has this Cupid’s-bow upper lip, deep and plump, swooping over her lower lip, which is slightly bigger and softer. I know now just how cozy her mouth on mine feels. I can’t unknow it.

One cannot exist without the other.

That’s what Moira said about the Sun and the Moon in my tarot reading.

That’s what a soulmate is.

“Totally,” Cadence agrees, and we both force our focus on each other’s eyes, not mouths. “We have two possible sources of information here.”

“We need to find out more about Kismet, the loans, the state of things,” I add on. “And we need to find out more about that text thread with my dad and Greg.”

“I think Lola is our best bet for info about Kismet. She’s worked there forever, and Moira considers her innocuous enough that she might be more likely to drop her guard.”

“Impressive,” I say, bringing my wineglass to my lips for another drink.

“Plus, people just tell Lola things—she’s a Scorpio,” Cadence quips. The look of horror that immediately crosses her face after the word Scorpio leaves her lips nearly makes me choke.

“Was that Freudian or just your true colors shining through?” I gasp.

“Old habits die hard,” she growls, lifting her glass to press back her smile with the rim. “The air in Cali brings out the mystic in me.”

“Uh-huh. Next you’ll be telling me that my aura is purple.” I laugh outright.

“Shut up,” she says through a chuckle she clearly wants to smash. “Can we focus, please?”

“Sure thing, you cute little astrologer, you,” I reply, and almost, very nearly reach out to tug her in for a kiss.

I catch myself just in the nick of time and turn to look over the guests, tamping down the urge as it surges through me like a current.

“So Lola or Pam and Greg.” The frog in my throat hopefully isn’t too noticeable. “Those are the targets.”

“I know if I can get Lola alone, I can get her talking.”

“I thought Scorpios were steel vaults with secrets.”

Cadence is fighting back the cutest smile ever. That crescent-moon dimple is in danger of popping right out and making me want to kiss it. “Her chatty Sagittarius rising isn’t.”

We both take sips of our wine as we chuckle.

“Pam has always had a soft spot for me,” I say, and my stomach flips for a way less fun reason than wanting to tangle my fingers in Cadence’s hair.

Greg and Pam were my parents’ closest friends.

Their son, Luke, and I were besties, too—until we hooked up senior year and, no surprise, I wanted it to stay no-strings-attached.

But in the year before Mom passed, when Dad was still flying and we didn’t yet know how truly awful things were about to get, Pam was kind of a rock for me and Mom.

And, of course, her swimming pool and the fact that she always had Hot Pockets in the freezer didn’t hurt, either.

“Good. Then, what do you think about a divide-and-conquer strategy?” Cadence asks with a teeny waggle of her brows. I grin.

“Excellent, Ranger Girl,” I say, extending my glass for her to cheers.

We walk in the direction of the rest of the party. Everyone has full to semifull glasses of wine, which means everyone is likely about to disperse to explore the grounds. I have to get in with Pam and get her walking off on her own.

Moira, Greg, and Dad stand in a group with another couple I don’t recognize, who must be friends of Moira’s.

The woman from that couple and Moira are currently having an aside, while the man and Greg have become absorbed in one of Dad’s newest tricks.

He’s been trying to master different sleight of hand illusions using cards, and recently he’s focused on a trick called the Four Appearing Aces.

They are engrossed, or at least actively humoring him.

Pam is only halfway engaged. Her other half is heavily invested in her wineglass.

I approach, waving to get her attention and flashing her a smile.

“I haven’t had a chance to say hi,” I say, opening my arms for a hug before I even reach her. She brightens as I approach, letting me wrap her in a light embrace.

Pam is your classic LA suburbanite. A little frumpy but still trying to stay hip since she lives near a city obsessed with youth. Her recent switch to shoulder-length braids makes her look fresh.

“Wanna walk around the vineyard and gossip?” I say in a low, conspiratorial tone that makes her chuckle. I extend her the crook of my arm.

“You know the answer to spending time with you is always yes ,” Pam replies, taking my arm.

We set off down a winding walkway that spills us out into the vineyard.

The sun is just starting to edge toward the hills, so the light is slightly less harsh than it was when we first arrived.

I know I can’t broach the subject of the texts Cadence saw between Dad and Greg, not outright, so my armpits are sweating and not because it’s hot.

I wore a bodycon gray t-shirt dress, steel-toed Alexander McQueen booties, and a loose-fitting denim jacket because it’s actually quite a cool afternoon.

No, the sweat is my pits’ reaction to my brain telling my mouth it has to be reserved. Lie if need be. I’m here for answers, and I won’t get them with blurting. But I can nudge her about what she thinks of Moira. Maybe if I let my skepticism show, she’ll be more inclined to spill some beans.

“It’s really beautiful here,” Pam says, eyes misty as she looks out on the horizon.

“It’s great that Moira knows the owners so well. Probably got them a discount on the party,” I say, taking a ginger sip of wine. Pam’s lips tighten ever so slightly.

“She seems to have a way with people, doesn’t she?” To someone who doesn’t know Pam, she’d sound neutral. Admiring even. But I can read between the lines, and what I’m getting from her is far more emotional.

“I have to confess,” I say, pausing just so. She cuts her eyes over, ready for my tea. “I was really thrown by the engagement invitation. I hadn’t even had a chance to meet her because of my schedule.”

“It didn’t surprise me in the least,” Pam replies as we take a turn at the end of this row of grapevines, walking along a path that leads us toward the barrel room, where the engagement party will be held.

“Really? It’s not like Dad to move that fast,” I say, letting the hurt bleed through in my voice. Because it does really hurt that he made this massive decision without coming to me first. Maybe it’s childish, but I feel like that whole us against the world thing should apply to him, too.

“Oh no, I agree with you there, Sydney. I just mean it’s not a surprise that it happened lightning-quick—not to me, anyway.

Not after I saw the two of them together,” she says, and actually, what the fuck?

Her voice sounds all dreamy and soft. There’s no way she actually thinks Moira is good for my dad.

I fight the urge to throw a fit. I am a grown-ass adult woman with a career and a 401(k) and a whole apartment and rent. (Okay, I split those last two with my best friend, but rent in LA is high.)

“When did you see them together?” Pam and Greg met Moira before me?

“Last month, right before they got engaged. Greg had some things…” She struggles a bit over the word and I take notice. “To chat with Rick about, so we stopped by his place and wound up splitting a bottle of wine with the two of them. Played cards.”

“And you left that impromptu meeting feeling good about her and Dad?” I am stuck on this. It’s kind of derailing my fact-finding mission. She and Greg met them a month ago! Dad didn’t tell me it was serious! He didn’t tell me they’d gotten engaged!

What else isn’t he telling me? Even if Moira isn’t conning him, the fact that he kept this from me makes me feel confused and angry—I just don’t know exactly who to direct that anger at.

“She’s good for him,” Pam says, just as we reach the entrance to the barrel room. It’s got a big distressed sliding back door, in stark contrast to the soft peachy white of the stucco building. “I haven’t seen Rick this happy in a long time.”

My face falls. I feel the features tumble, and I see the evidence of it in Pam’s expression. Her brows knit and she tugs me in for a side hug.

It totally deflates my balloon of angry confusion.

“Rick needs someone to help him keep his life straight. He always has,” she says.

“You had to take that on after Diana passed, and you handled it well.” Tears sting in the corners of my eyes at the compliment, or the mention of my mother’s name, or a little bit of both.

“I’m glad you can let go a little now.” She tucks my cheek into her palm, gently caressing.

“Maybe find your own happiness that doesn’t depend on making sure he’s okay. ”

I clench my teeth and try for a smile. She chuckles.

“You don’t have to like change. But that doesn’t stop it from calling.”

“Right, well,” I stammer, but I can’t commit to an argument, and Pam knows it.

Fortunately Greg calls her over with a wave and a “Sweetheart” and says to meet him at the sommelier station, rescuing me from having to say more on the topic.

My brain ping-pongs between the dissonance of the idea that Moira makes Dad happy, could actually be good for him, be what he needs, and the tiny little sliver of info about the night she met Moira at Dad’s.

Greg had something to discuss with Dad. And that something is probably what that text thread Cadence saw is about. What happened to get Moira involved? It could be why this engagement feels so rushed. I hope Cadence learns more than me from her trek around the vineyard with Lola.