by Jo McNally
“What I did was prevent her from making a huge mistake when she’s not thinking straight. We said we wanted to be matchmakers, right?” Helen looked around the table as the others nodded. All except Jayla.
“Just because we wanted to doesn’t mean we were very good at it,” Jayla said. “None of our matches worked, and mine was a total disaster.”
Helen shook her head. “You had no way of knowing Kyle would stand her up that night, or that Doug Canfield would get involved. That wasn’t your fault.” Helen shrugged. “Let’s just consider it a good lesson for the future.” She grinned. “But right now we have a sure-thing love match. And it was right there under our noses the whole time!”
Vickie cleared her throat delicately, picking at the cuff of her sweater. “Helen, are you sure you want to—”
“Victoria, I swear to god if you’re going to use the Rutledge name with any kind of criticism or waggling eyebrows, you can get up and leave right now.” Helen stared down her friend, which didn’t take long. Vickie blushed deep pink and started to stammer.
“I wasn’t going... I just... You can’t order me to leave my own house... Oh, fine. I’m shutting up now.”
Lena nodded. “Good. Because honestly, it’s time we brought all of this gossip about him to an end in this town. If Luke Rutledge wanted to date my daughter, I’d embrace the hell out of that. He’d certainly be leaps and bounds ahead of her current choices!”
Cecile joined in, blond curls bobbing. “Father Joe told me Luke is one of the best men he’s ever met, and Luke’s not even Catholic!”
Rick shook his head. “I can’t believe we didn’t know they had that kind of chemistry.”
“Those two are blistering hot together,” Helen said, pretending to fan herself as the others laughed. “But it’s more than chemistry. Those two love each other. They’re both so stubborn, they’ll end up throwing it all away if we don’t do something.”
Cecile gave a dreamy sigh. “Never let it be said that I don’t love a love story. But what are we supposed to do?”
Helen waited to respond, watching as Vickie refilled everyone’s cups. “The festival is this weekend. The three of us have been working on it for weeks. Starting right after the festival, the winery will be open six days a week. It’s our chance to put Falls Legend back in the big leagues. It’s also our last chance to get Luke and Whitney back together for good. She’s going to give up and take that damn job if we don’t, and she’ll be gone.”
“O-kay,” Vickie answered as she sat back down. “But I still don’t know what you want us to do. We’ve painted the tasting room, and Lena designed a new logo for the signs and labels, right?”
“The signs are just one of the issues we have to deal with.” Helen sighed. “Guys, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong. The signs are late, the booklets have a typo, the float isn’t done and the wine labels were printed on the wrong paper, so they don’t cover the old labels. I kid you not, we have two moose statues in the wine barn that were supposed to be deer!” She shook her head. “And I have dozens of cookies to get baked for our booth, which at this point will just be a tent and a card table. I’d call it a comedy of errors, but Whitney isn’t laughing. She sees it all as a giant personal failure. We have to fix this.”
Cecile leaned forward. “But none of that is her fault, is it?”
“No. But it’s all stuff she thought she had under control, and my Whitney likes control. It’s thrown her off her game. And then add the trouble between her and Luke, and the poor girl is feeling like Rendezvous Falls might be cursed.”
“And we’re here to reverse the curse?” Lena was sketching something in the small notebook she always carried. “I have an idea...”
Rick nodded. “Me, too. Is the float still up in the barn? I’ll talk to the theater director at school and see if she wants to get the freshmen involved in a ‘community project.’” He made air quotes with his fingers. Helen locked her fingers together tightly in front of her, trying not to let her new-found hope run away with her.
“Where are the booklets?” Vickie asked. “I had to make a last-minute fix to some misprinted programs for a charity function a few years ago, and I’ll bet the same idea would work here.” She leaned over to spy on whatever Lena was drawing, then smiled.
Cecile pulled her phone from her bag and started scrolling. “I saw something on Pinterest about removing labels from wine bottles. I think they used baking soda. How many do we need to change over before the festival?”
A buzz of energy filled the room. Jayla took Helen’s hand. “I love to cook. I have an easy almond cookie recipe. Or give me your recipes and I’ll make them.” Her head tipped to the side. “But how is this matchmaking? How will this bring her and Luke back together?”
Helen blinked back unexpected tears. For nearly two years now, she’d been pushing these dear friends away. And here they were, each ready to jump in and help her. She couldn’t recall the words in Italian, but one of Tony’s favorite phrases translated to we can’t have a perfect life without friends. How true it was.
“You guys absolutely rock right now. I can’t tell you what this means to me.” She brushed away a tear that broke free. “As for how this will bring Luke and Whitney back together? I haven’t completely worked that out yet, but the festival will force them to spend time together, and I think we’re all pushy enough to make sure something happens, right?”
They laughed in agreement. Rick laid his hand in the center of the table.
They all put a hand over his, waiting for his rallying cry before lifting in unison.
“Matchmakers Unite!”
* * *
WHITNEY WAS SITTING on the front porch of the main house Tuesday morning. She’d heard back from Dallas, and they’d agreed to wait on her decision, providing she could let them know as soon as possible. She promised not to keep them waiting more than a week or so. Going to Dallas too early would be a mistake anyway, since her bruised face was bound to be a distraction to her employer.
She was apartment hunting on her laptop. Originally, she figured she’d want to be close to the corporate offices, but everything looked so sterile and covered with cement. The past few months of greenery and the scent of furrowed earth may have spoiled her for city life. It was probably a temporary condition, but for now, she’d try to find something outside the city. Something that had trees and grass and maybe a place to go for walks. Maybe even a waterfall. She snort-laughed, then looked around quickly to make sure no one had heard.
The clanking hum of the wine bottling machine carried across the lot from the barn. She was curious about how it worked, but she didn’t think she could handle the noise of the bottler. She still had a dull headache. Besides, Luke was up there. A headache was one thing. A heartache was another. He’d shut her out completely, making it clear he didn’t want to be anywhere near her between now and the time she left Rendezvous Falls. Her eyes narrowed as he and Molly came out of the barn. He moved as easily as always, as if he hadn’t been hard at work for days on end. As if breaking up with her hadn’t left a hole inside of him. Like nothing had ever happened.
She wanted to demand he look her in the eye and tell her that he didn’t love her. Didn’t want her. Forget the nonsense about what was right, or smart, or whatever he was trying to tell himself. She knew those nights together had been as life altering for him as for her. She knew it. But she didn’t leave the porch. If she was wrong, she wouldn’t be able to bear hearing it from his lips.
Instead, she went inside to finish clearing the dining table. Helen and Luke would need to maintain records themselves once she left, and they’d need written instructions. The system she’d created would do all the calculations and reports for them once they plugged in the figures. And the worksheets were set up to be shared, so she could always take a virtual peek at them once in a while from Texas.
They’d be
fine—her favorite word. Everyone would be just fine. They’d all make the best of it. For one more week, she could make Luke think he didn’t matter. She could hold in her tears and anger until she was behind closed doors.
She was halfway through typing up her color-coded instruction sheets when a red Mercedes drove past the house to park at the tasting room. Vickie Pendergast got out, dashing into the tasting room. Another car pulled in, and three older women exited and went into the carriage house. Whitney recognized them as Helen’s book club buddies.
She’d barely sat back down from looking out the window when a dark Lexus went by the house, followed by a beat-up old Jeep filled with what looked like college kids. They went straight up to the barn. Maybe they were helping with the bottling, but she could have sworn it was Rick Thomas from the book club driving the Lexus.
Whatever they were up to, it wasn’t her concern. She went into Tony’s office and filed a few more tax documents before reorganizing the bookshelves. It was just busywork, but that was okay. It kept her in the house and away from Luke. It was lunchtime before she went back into the kitchen and checked outside. All the cars were still there. Curiosity got the best of her, and she headed outside.
The carriage house was a beehive of activity, smelling of paint and buzzing with low conversation and bursts of laughter. Vickie was at the tasting counter, with papers spread out from one end of it to the other. There was a much older woman working with her, sitting on a stool. That woman looked up and spotted Whitney.
“Wow! What a shiner!” she exclaimed. “How’s the other guy?”
“Shush, Iris!” Vickie scolded. “And pay attention to what you’re doing. Make sure you get them on straight or it will look too obvious!”
“I’m not an idiot, Victoria. Leave me alone.” Iris rolled her eyes when Vickie looked away to focus on what she was doing, then winked. “Hiya, honey. Excuse her lack of manners. I’m Iris Taggart from the B&B in town. Your aunt’s back in the kitchen with Cecile.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Taggart—”
“Bah—don’t call me Mrs. I kicked the Mr. to the curb a long time ago. You call me Iris.”
Whitney gave an absent nod. “Aren’t these the booklets I put out in the recycling bins?”
All those expensive, stapled, useless booklets with the misspelled name. But wait. She picked one up from the end of the counter. Falls Legend Winery. The winery name, no longer misspelled, was inside a square of darker blue. She ran her finger across it, feeling the slight ridge.
“Are you...gluing the right name on there?”
Vickie picked up a square of dark blue paper with the name printed on it, flipped it over on a piece of waxed paper, running a glue stick along the edges. She lifted the square and placed it carefully over the misprinted name on the brochure, pressing the patch firmly in place.
Iris nodded as she reached for the glue stick. “Not bad, right? You can’t tell unless you look close.”
“You can tell if someone puts them on crooked. Iris...” Vickie sighed. She looked up at Whitney again, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, dear. If that black eye isn’t better by the weekend, I’ve got some makeup that’ll cover it up for the festival. Does it still hurt?”
Whitney shook her head. “It looks worse than it feels. What are you two doing?”
Vickie turned back to the job, gesturing for Iris to do the same. “You’ve already said it. We’re gluing the right name on the brochures.” She glanced up and smiled. “I had a similar ‘disaster’ years ago for an event, with no time to put new programs together with the right sponsor’s logo. We printed a bunch of logos on contrasting paper, cut them out and glued them over the wrong ones. It looks like an intentional three-dimensional effect.”
Iris flashed her a quick, conspiratorial grin, her blue eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell anyone, but Rick printed these at the college yesterday, then we all took some home and cut out the squares last night.”
Whitney watched the two women working together in amazement. The repaired brochures were perfect. Vickie was right—it looked as though the raised square with the winery name was designed that way.
“But...I ordered fifteen hundred brochures...”
“Yes, I know.” Vickie gave her a stern look. “Remind me later to talk to you about printing small runs before you decide to get a year’s supply.”
Whitney straightened, feeling stung. “It’s not a year’s supply. I was hoping we’d go through at least half of them at the festival.”
Vickie shrugged, not looking up. “I suppose you could, if the weather’s perfect and all the stars line up just right.”
Vickie glanced over at Iris’s work and sighed. “Iris, for god’s sake, you need to pay attention to what you’re doing. That one’s crooked!” She looked up, exasperated. “I’m sorry, Whitney, but if we’re going to get these done today, we need to focus.”
Iris stuck her tongue out behind Vickie’s back, making a choking motion with her hands. Whitney managed not to laugh and give her away. Vickie made it clear that Q&A time was over. Whitney recognized a bit of herself in the woman’s organizational zeal. She headed back to the event room, where she could hear Helen laughing with someone as bottles clinked together.
Lena Fox was up on a stepladder, with an array of small paint cans and jars on the ladder tray. She was dressed in a brightly colored tunic worn over leggings. The tribal pattern swirled across the cotton fabric as she moved, her bracelets jangling on both wrists. Her head scarf was of the same fabric. She gave Whitney a bright smile.
“Hiya, honey!”
“What are you doing in here—oh!”
This blank wall facing the windows was where Whitney had intended to hang one of the nonexistent new signs. But not anymore. There was a large image sketched onto the wall, with swaths of color starting to appear. It was the new logo, and then some. The falls were there, surrounded by large trees. The stag and doe were at the bottom of the falls. At the top of the falls, a Native American man and woman gazed down at the deer. Behind all of it, a rainbow arched across the sky. Next to the forest, rows of grapevines marched up the hill.
“Lena...” Whitney breathed, still trying to comprehend what she was looking at. “It’s beautiful! But...why? And how? And...it’s beautiful.”
Lena nodded. “Yes, it’s looking pretty good. Mark Hudson came over this morning and sketched it out for me to help with proportions. Wall murals aren’t my thing, but turns out they’re one of his specialties!”
“I don’t understand.” Whitney watched as Lena dipped a brush in bright green paint and started stippling leaves into the trees. “Why are you doing this? I’m not complaining, believe me! But...why?”
Lena continued tapping the brush along the tree branches. “Helen told us about all the trouble you had with the signs and stuff, and I figured a mural might be better than a boring old sign anyway. So here I am.” She glanced at Whitney. “Child, you look like you took on a whole bar full of brawlers instead of just one guy. How are you feeling?”
“It looks worse than it is.” That was Whitney’s new mantra. A fresh burst of laughter came from the doorway to her right. The kitchen consisted of a couple of deep wash tubs and a long stretch of counter space, with a microwave on a cart in the corner, next to a refrigerator and freezer. Plates and crystal were stacked on shelves above the sink. The counter was almost invisible under dozens of dark wine bottles. Helen and Cecile were elbow deep in sink water.
“Be careful!” Helen scolded Cecile. “You have to keep a firm grip if you’re going to rub that hard.”
Cecile giggled. “That’s what he said!”
“What? Oh, you. Honestly, are you going to make jokes all day or get that thing peeled?”
“That’s what she said!” The blonde was laughing so hard she was crying.
“Cecile!” Helen couldn’t hold a straight face, and jo
ined in the laughter. Whitney did, too.
“Aunt Helen, what are you doing?”
Helen grinned at her over her shoulder. “Hey, girl! Oh, it looks like the swelling has gone down today.”
Cecile turned, her pink mouth forming a perfect O when she saw Whitney’s face. “Wow, you’re wearing your very own rainbow.”
“Um...yeah, I guess.” Maybe she should take Vickie up on her offer to cover up the bruises for the festival. “What are you two doing in here?”
“We’re peeling labels!” Cecile held a bottle up out of the sink, dripping water and void of labeling.
“Why?” Whitney couldn’t believe how many times she’d asked the question in the past hour. What the hell were these geriatrics up to?
“Because it needed doing, dear.” Helen handed another bottle to Cecile. “The old labels showed through the new ones, so we’re getting rid of the old labels.”
Another of Helen’s friends appeared in the doorway behind Whitney. This was Jayla, the elegant doctor. Her dark hair was swept back into a twist, and she was wearing trim cotton trousers and a crisply pressed dark red top. Her voice reminded Whitney of whiskey and honey.
“I have all of the labels organized on the back table. You can start bringing the clean, dry wine to me. Pinot noir is first, right?”
Helen nodded. “Yes, this is all pinot. We’ll need to get it out of the kitchen before we peel the Legacy blend bottles, so we don’t mix them up. Whitney, can you roll that cart over here?”
She helped them stack the gleaming, unlabeled bottles on the metal cart, then carefully rolled it out to the table near the windows, where Jayla had the labels stacked and ready. They transferred the bottles—several cases’ worth—to the table. Jayla calmly began the process of attaching new labels to the bottles. She was using one of the horizontal iron wine racks they sold in the tasting room to hold the bottles level.
