“She sounds really fucking terrible, Oliver. You should be glad you’re not married to her.”
“Believe me, I am.”
“Why’d you propose to her in the first place?”
I kicked a rock on the path. “She said it was time. My parents said it was time. My grandmother said she wasn’t getting any younger. And my brother made me feel like I was a fuckup. I guess I was trying to show them I wasn’t.” I was silent for a moment. “But as it turns out, I was.”
She elbowed me. “Stop. You’re not a fuckup.”
“No?”
“No,” she scoffed. “You’ve got everything, Oliver. A successful business, a great family, probably a cool apartment and a million friends. You made the right decision by not marrying the wrong person, you give back by teaching sailing to underprivileged kids, and you’re even marginally attractive. What about that says fuckup?”
I laughed, giving her the side eye. “Marginally attractive, huh?”
“Sure. I mean, you could use a haircut, and your gut could be all soft and flabby for all I know, but objectively speaking, I’d say you’re okay.”
“Gee, thanks. But I assure you …” I cut her off and stood directly in front of her so she walked right into my chest. I had to grab her arms to keep her from falling backward. “There’s nothing soft and flabby about me. Feel free to check.”
She glanced down at the space between our bodies and then met my eyes again. Her cheeks colored slightly. “I’ll take your word for it. Let’s keep going.”
13
Chloe
NOW
After seeing the partially submerged wreck of the Morazan, we hiked through a grove of giant cedars and continued along the trail that led up onto the bluffs along the western shore of the island. The wind was strong but the sun was blistering hot, and the blue water of Lake Michigan glittered beckoningly. I was sweltering—and every time I thought about slamming into Oliver’s broad chest, I felt hotter.
I needed to cool off.
“What do you think?” I asked Oliver. “Do we have time to go down and swim before we head over to the farm?”
He checked his wristwatch. “Yeah. We’re good.”
Carefully, we made our way down to the water, and ditched our packs, boots, hats, sunglasses, and clothing on the sand. I pulled out my tube of facial sunscreen again, reapplied to my face, then took out the can. “Hey, can you spray my back?” I asked him.
“Sure.” He took the can and did as I asked, and I wondered if he was looking at my butt or keeping his eyes where they belonged.
“Thanks,” I said when he was done. “Now let me spray you or you’re going to be in pain all night long and you’ll keep me up with your complaining.”
He rolled his eyes but allowed me to spray his back and shoulders before he took the can again and sprayed his chest and face.
“Oliver! You’re not supposed to spray that on your face, I have a better one for that,” I scolded.
“What’s the difference?” He tossed the can onto the sand, then took off running toward the water. “Race you! Last one in’s a rotten egg!”
“No fair, you had a head start!” I yelled as I followed close behind. The water was freezing, and I squealed as I rushed in waist-deep.
Oliver dove under first, and before he came up, I took a second to make sure my bikini top was properly in place before dunking myself. When I popped up, he was right there grinning at me, his hair sticking out in all directions.
“I win,” he announced.
I splashed him. “Not everything has to be a competition. If we’re going to be partners, we need to work better together.”
“You’re right,” he said, surprising me.
I squinted at him. “Did the cold water freeze your brain or something?”
“Not at all.” He stood up, the water hitting him at the top of his shorts, which hung a little lower than they had before. “I just agree with you that we need to put our usual differences and competitive streaks aside. We’re a team now.”
I tilted my head. “I guess we are.”
“Does that mean your answer is yes? You will go into business with me?”
I was tempted to say yes right then and there. Oliver had something with this whole Russian rye angle, and I was eager to jump on board. But I’d eagerly jumped on Oliver’s board without thinking before, and it had not ended well for me. Although truth be told, he looked so good standing there, the sun glinting off his wet skin, his blue eyes bright, water droplets running down his washboard abs to the top of his V lines … for a moment, I’d have jumped aboard anything he wanted me too.
But I caught myself. I wasn’t that girl anymore. “I’m still thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?”
I realized I was still staring at his abdomen and lifted my eyes to his. He was grinning. He’d so caught me staring at his nether regions.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, ducking under the water up to my neck. My nipples were hard.
“I don’t believe you.” He moved a little closer. “If we’re going to be partners and all, we should be truthful with each other, right?”
“Ha! I’m not the one with a history of obscuring the truth. And anyway, being truthful doesn’t mean we have to tell each other everything.” I swam backward as he approached. “It just means we don’t lie to each other.”
“I was only asking a question, Chloe. What are you getting so defensive about?”
I forced myself to stop retreating. If this thing with us was going to work, I could not let him push me around. “Frankly, I was thinking about all the bad decisions I’ve made in your company.”
Oliver tossed his head back and laughed. “Some of those decisions were totally yours, I’d like to remind you. I’m thinking about one in particular, a certain night in my college dorm.”
“I’m not blaming you entirely, I’m only saying that I have a history of questionable judgment where you’re concerned,” I said.
“You liked the games just as much as I did. Admit it.”
“Maybe I did.” I focused on my hand fanning through the water. “I like to think that I’m smarter now. More mature.”
“I don’t know, you seemed pretty mature that night.” He fell onto his back, floating on the surface. “You knew what you’d come for, and you got it.”
“Um, as we have established, you were the only one to come that night.”
He stood up. “Oh, that is cold. There I was, doing you a favor—”
“Ha!” I shrieked, splashing him. “As if it was such a hardship for you!”
“That was a lot of pressure, being your first,” he argued. “I don’t think you’ve ever appreciated that. If I didn’t give you a good experience, you might have been scarred for life.”
“Well, don’t worry. The experience was fine. I hardly felt a thing, and it was over before I knew it.”
“That’s it.” Oliver lunged for me, trying to dunk me beneath the surface. “When are you going to stop teasing me about that?”
“When it stops being funny, so never!”
He finally succeeded in shoving me under, but I clung to his neck so hard we both ended up fully submerged. Underwater, we each struggled to hold the other one down, just like we had a hundred times before as kids. Eventually, we burst above the surface again, laughing and gasping for air, my arms still looped around his neck.
I let go of him immediately and backed up as I caught my breath. “No fair,” I panted. “You’re a lot bigger than me.”
“And you have nails,” he said, checking out the red marks I’d left on his arm. “I forgot how you used to scratch me.”
“Let’s call it even.” I ducked under once more so I could get my hair off my face. When I opened my eyes again, he was staring at me.
“What?” I asked.
“We go back a long way, don’t we?”
I shrugged. “Since we were born. I’d say that’s a pretty long way.”
“Right.” I paused. “What’s this about? Do you need a kidney or something?”
He smiled. “No. I was just thinking that I’m really lucky to have you in my life. No matter what happens with the business, I hope you know you can always come to me if you need something. I’ll always be there for you.”
A little shiver moved up my spine. “Thanks. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I mean it. I know our friendship hasn’t exactly been conventional, or even consistent, but I care about you, Chloe.”
“You do?” Who the hell was this guy? He didn’t sound at all like the Oliver I knew. It was disorienting and highly suspicious—but … it was nice too.
“Yeah. You cross my mind all the time.”
“Well, thanks. I care about you too.” I hesitated before going on. “I’ve spent years being angry with you, and it feels nice to let that go.”
The smile he gave me was sweet and boyish. It made my stomach do quick, fluttery things, and I had to look away.
“So what do you say we continue on?” he suggested. “Maybe sit on the beach a little to dry off, eat something, and then head inland?”
“Sounds good.”
We made our way back to the sand and sat down to let the sun and warm breeze dry us off. We ate our sandwiches and chatted a little more about the rye, about what buildings we’d need at Cloverleigh and where they might go, how many people we might have to hire, when all of this might happen, how expensive it would be.
“I’m sorry I don’t have money to invest,” I said, pulling my hair into a ponytail. “But I could look into getting a loan if that would help us.”
“Leave the money to me,” he said confidently. “We won’t have to deal with loans or banks.”
After getting dressed and applying another layer of bug spray and sunscreen—I would be glad when I finally got a real shower—we slipped our packs on our backs again. Retracing our steps back along the trail the way we’d come, we took a left after passing the shipwreck. The trail leading inland cut across the island’s center and took us past Florence Lake, the ruins of an old cabin, and the one-room schoolhouse where Rebecca Hofstadt Feldmann had taught, complete with a bell on top. We left the trail to peek in the windows, but they were boarded up.
“What do you think of naming the whiskey after her?” I suggested as we continued on. “Rebecca’s Rye.”
“Rebecca’s Rye.” Oliver thought for a moment. “I like it. It has a nice, alliterative ring to it. I wonder if she had brown eyes.”
“I bet we can find out. Maybe the Feldmanns will even have a photograph of her,” I said excitedly. “Although it would for sure be in black and white. But if it’s good, maybe we could even use it on the label. With the family’s permission, of course.”
“We can ask. I like the idea.” He elbowed me playfully. “Are we partners yet?”
I sighed. “I suppose we are.”
“Finally! I was starting to get worried.”
“Really?”
“Truth? Nah. I knew you’d come around.”
I elbowed him back. “When we get back home, Oliver, we need a contract laying out exactly how this partnership is going to work. I don’t want to work for you, I want to work with you. We’re equals in this, and we both bring value to the table.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “We’ll work it out. Do you want to become a partner in Brown Eyed Girl Spirits? Or would you prefer to form a new LLC for anything produced at Cloverleigh?”
I stopped walking and grabbed his arm, making him face me. “You’d bring me on as a partner in Brown Eyed Girl?”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He hesitated. “That’s what I want.”
“It is?”
“Of course. I shouldn’t have done it without you in the first place. And I’m sorry. I’ll always be sorry for that. Brown Eyed Girl was always supposed to be our thing. I was wrong to do it alone.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “It’s named for you. You should be part of it.”
Meeting his eyes, I wondered if he, like me, was thinking of the night he came up with the name. My pulse started to race.
“Say yes, Chloe,” he urged. “Let’s do everything together.”
But I couldn’t say anything at that moment. All I could do was stare at Oliver’s mouth and think about what a good kisser he was. I felt hot and dizzy, assaulted by memories of being skin to skin with him, his body moving over mine. My vision started to cloud as his words circled through my head.
Let’s do everything together.
I took a step back. I’d been at this crossroads before and made the wrong choice. I couldn’t get swept away again. “Okay, that sounds good.”
“Great. When we get to Detroit, I’ll set up a meeting with my financial advisor, and we’ll make it official on paper.” He offered a hand. “Partners in everything?”
I put my hand in his and shook it, wishing I could blame the heat for the erratic way my heart was beating. “Partners in everything.”
We made it to the Feldmann farm by about six-thirty and knocked on the front door of the house—an old, weather-beaten, two-story structure with flaking white paint, a sagging front porch, and a black-shingled roof. Our knock was answered by a stout, pot-bellied guy whose bushy beard was about half gray. He wore a yellow T-shirt advertising a charter fishing business in Wisconsin, and his skin was ruddy from years in the sun.
“You the guy from Detroit?” he asked Oliver.
“I am.” Oliver held out his hand. “I’m Oliver Pemberton, and this is my business partner, Chloe Sawyer.”
“Nice to meet you. Josef Feldmann.” He shook hands with both of us. “Come on in. Dad’s in the back.”
We followed him into the house, which was cluttered but clean. I noticed Josef walked with a limp.
“Dad’s a little hard of hearing, so you’ll have to speak a bit louder if you want him to hear you.” Josef shook his head as he led us through a small, dated kitchen—the latest upgrade appeared to be a Formica countertop—adding, “He refuses to wear his hearing aids, the damn fool.”
“No problem,” Oliver said.
“The back” turned out to be a small den, which had been added onto the house sometime after it was built. Jergen Feldmann was sitting on a beat-up recliner watching Jeopardy on television at an absurdly high volume.
“Dad?” said Josef loudly. “They’re here.”
“What?” The old guy blinked at us through thick-lensed glasses.
Josef muted the television. “The people who want to make an offer on the farm are here,” he shouted.
“Oh.” Jergen struggled to get out of his chair.
“Don’t get up,” I said clearly, moving into the room and offering him my hand. “Hello. I’m Chloe Sawyer.”
He shook it. “Jergen Feldmann.”
Oliver introduced himself as well, and Josef gestured to the sofa. “Please sit down. Can I offer you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” I said.
He smiled. “Not even a little taste of whiskey made from our rye?”
My eyes widened. “You have some?”
“Sure, we do. We’ve been making our own moonshine here for generations.”
Oliver and I exchanged a glance. “Why not?” I returned Josef’s smile. “We’ll try it.”
The whiskey was rough, but it had a distinctive, unique flavor that both Oliver and I loved. I knew with the right equipment and process, we had the potential to create something that would taste extraordinary. After chatting (loudly) with the Feldmanns about their farm and family history, Josef asked us if we’d like to take a walk around the farm.
We took him up on his offer, and if I hadn’t been sold on the idea of buying this land before tasting the whiskey made from the rye that grew there, I was now. Maybe it was the sli
ght buzz I had, maybe it was the beauty of the fields in the early evening light, maybe it was the growing excitement I felt about being a part of this story, but I knew we had to have that land.
“Have you given any thought to my offer?” Oliver asked Josef as we circled back toward the house. It felt glorious to walk without the weight of the pack on my back.
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ve discussed it.” Josef scratched the back of his neck. “The other offer is higher, you know, but Dad likes yours better.”
“It’s cash up front,” Oliver explained to me. “They can stay in the house as long as they want.”
“And he doesn’t much like the idea of someone tearing down the house and carving up the farm,” Josef said. “My great-great grandfather built this house and raised that barn. My great-grandmother taught school at that schoolhouse up the road. Their bones are buried right over there in the cemetery. We don’t want all that erased.” He sighed. “But it’s hard to say no to more money.”
“It is,” I agreed, turning on the charm. “But there are some things money can’t buy, and a legacy is one of them. In fact, your family’s history is a huge part of what we want to do here. We plan to not only keep it alive, but celebrate it. We were even thinking of naming the whiskey we make after your great-great grandmother—Rebecca’s Rye. If it’s okay with you and your dad, of course. We wondered if we could see a picture of her?”
Within an hour, Josef was shaking our hands, telling us we had a deal. We celebrated with a little more moonshine, promised to get in touch next week, and left with the Feldmanns’ assurance that the land would be ours as soon as we wanted it and they’d stay on long enough to get the rye planted in the fall.
Oliver and I walked away from the house, barely able to contain our excitement. “Oh my God,” I whispered as we moved quickly down the long dirt driveway. “It’s really happening!”
“Fuck yes, it is.” Oliver poked my shoulder playfully. “You totally made that happen.”
“Me! No, I didn’t—your offer is what made that happen.”
Undeniable: A Cloverleigh Farms Standalone Page 10
