“But how can I own a vineyard without drinking? It’s pretty simple. I just don’t partake on the product.”
“Oh,” she says, though she still sounds unsure. “Isn’t it hard, though?”
“No. Less questions. More drinking.”
She obliges and tips her glass to her lips.
“How did the tasting go?” I ask.
“Poorly,” she sighs. She shifts in her spot, and her toes press against my thigh. She pauses briefly and stares into her glass. “I think you might be right,” she admits. She sounds morose when she says it.
“About?”
“Ray.” The chains of the porch swing creak lightly. “There’s just…something weird going on with him and one of his…lady friends.”
My back molars grind together, and my grip tightens around the neck of the wine bottle. “Do you think he’s cheating on my sister?”
She must see the murder in my eyes, because she lifts her palm. “No! No…nothing like that. Just…” She sighs. “I don’t know. There’s something unresolved there. I have a sixth sense about these things.”
“Right.” I glance over at her. She’s staring off and running her fingertip around the rim of her glass distractedly. “Unresolved issues,” I prompt. “Something you know from experience?”
“Hey, whoa, look who’s asking questions now.” Susie lifts a finger. “If I can’t do it, neither can you.”
As much as I try not to, a small smile quirks the corner of my mouth. “Fair enough.”
The porch swing rocks lightly in the silence that follows. Outside, grasshoppers chirp and hiss.
“Cynthia said something interesting over cake.”
“Oh?”
“About you. And her.” Susie puts her glass to her lips but looks at me with big, questioning eyes.
I snort a laugh. “What happened to no questions?”
“That’s not a question. It’s a statement.”
I sigh. “Well, here’s another statement. I never had sex with Cynthia, if that’s what she’s implying.” I lapse into thought briefly and then continue. “I went through a phase, certainly. But she was not part of it.”
“Went?” Susie lifts her eyebrows. “You took me to your hotel room after talking to me for a couple hours. There’s no past tense about it.”
I press my lips in a line.
Susie’s toes knead into my leg briefly. “I’m not judging you…I just…I don’t know.” She sighs. Her front pushes forward as she arches back in a stretch. “It is what it is.”
With that, Susie downs the remainder of her wine and then hands over the empty glass.
“It’s late,” she announces. “I’m going to bed.”
As she gets up, Susie’s lips ghost my cheek.
That won’t do. She’s floating away like driftwood, and I feel a sudden, strong tug of desire to keep this woman close. I catch the side of her face and kiss her lips firmly. She tastes like citrus and my wine. She tastes like temptation. Her body softens as she melts briefly into my mouth. It’s cool outside, but her lips are warm and her breath shudders against me.
And then, just like that, Susie tilts her chin downward and she escapes my grasp. She averts her eyes, wets her lips, and pats the side of my face briefly. “Good night, Braxton. Thanks for the drink.”
“Anytime.”
The screen door clicks softly behind her. Just like that, she’s gone and I’m short of breath.
What the ever-loving hell is this woman doing to me?
The wine stirs in its teal bottle. I pop the cork in and take it inside.
12
Notes From the Dalton/West File
The weddings colors involve the following pallet inspirations: fall/autumn, rustic tones, sunset.
This includes notes of burnt umber orange, rose petal pink, strands of silver, and mahogany brown.
Colors will be threaded through in the following ways:
Gradients in the flower arrangements.
Pastel oranges, silvers, lilac, blue-greys for the bridesmaid dresses.
Rose gold text on the invitations.
Lilacs in Cora’s bridal bouquet.
Matching lilac in Ray’s pocket square.
Note: Cora and Ray should echo and mirror each other constantly throughout the night. They should always be able to look at one another and see the thread that connects them—even if it’s as simple as a shared splash of color.
13
Susie
Sleep is for the weak. That’s what I tell myself the next morning when my eyelids feel puffy, my vision blurs, and my fingers cramp from scribbling notes into my yellow legal pad. I’ve called in a couple of hundred favors, edited and reedited the week’s schedule, and the wedding day still feels so far out of reach. If I’m going to pull this off, it’s going to be by the skin of my teeth.
No, Not if. When.
Loafers click down the staircase and pull my focus. I’ve been zoned out, staring blankly at the vibrating blue lines on the page. When I glance up, Braxton stands before me. He’s in a black turtleneck sweater and dust-grey pants cinched off by a brown leather belt. He pushes up his sleeves as he observes me. I am weak for the hair on his forearms.
“Have you been up all night?” he asks. There’s an accusatory note to his voice.
“No,” I lie. No need to worry Daddy Braxton. I sip my fourth cup of coffee. “There’s a warm pot on the stove if you want some coffee.”
Braxton takes the pot and upends it on an empty mug. Only a drizzle of coffee comes out. Whoops. Maybe this is my fifth cup of coffee? His lips press in a thin, chastising line. I’ve been caught.
“Get dressed,” he says. “We’re going out.”
“I have a lot to do,” I protest lamely.
“This is wedding business. You’ll want to be there.” Ray’s boots clomp downstairs, and when the large man comes into the kitchen, Braxton adds, “Ray’s coming.”
“Darn straight I am,” Ray says—the cheery man is game for anything. “Where’re we going?”
“Roxanne mentioned a distillery nearby. Unless you want a PBR-sponsored wedding, I suggest we check out some of the local libations.”
A grin cracks over Ray’s mouth. “Hell, it’s eight o’clock somewhere. Lemme tell Cora that I’m leaving, and then we can roll out.”
Ray clambers up the stairs with all the grace of a bull. I squint at Braxton. “You invited Ray?”
Braxton shrugs. “He is the groom.”
But there’s a dark glint in Braxton’s eyes. He’s got something brewing up there in that perfectly groomed head of his, I know it.
“What’ve you got up your sleeves?” I ask.
“You tell me.” He rolls up his sleeves and holds up his bare forearms. Despite myself, I shudder. Braxton grips the back of my chair, sinks down, and the heat of his breath hits my ear, “You should’ve slept. Get your game face on.”
He stands and steps away. I sigh and finish off my coffee. Soldier’s fuel.