“No worries,” she said. “I don’t mind a little rain.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Thirty yards later, the shower progressed to a downpour and the wind picked up, blowing sheets of water almost sideways. Thunder boomed overhead, and a white bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. They looked at each other, joined hands, and raced back to the truck.
Cammie sprinted next to Ian, freezing and soaking, heedless of the mud splashing on her shins. For a moment, she lost herself in the elements—sky and rain and the warm pressure of his hand holding hers.
They reached the truck, gasping and laughing as torrents of rain poured down on them. Ian opened the passenger-side door and they scrambled inside. Because the truck was angled diagonally into the ditch, the long bench seat was slanted. Ian had to brace both feet against the floorboards to keep from sliding into Cammie.
Cammie took a moment to wring out her hair while she considered their circumstances. She was shivering, soaked, utterly bedraggled. . . . But she was in the driver’s seat. Both literally and figuratively.
She held out her palm for the keys and he gave them to her. Metal clicked against metal as she started the ignition and turned on the heat. Warm air gusted out of the dashboard vents and raindrops drummed against the metal cab.
Ian glanced up. “Sounds like it’s hailing.”
The rain came down so hard that Cammie couldn’t even see through the windows. As she started to warm up, Cammie realized that her thin cotton T-shirt was plastered against her torso. Ian wasn’t ogling, but she was very aware of how she must look: drenched and disheveled but finally able to relax.
“We’re trapped.” She grinned, clasping her hands dramatically. “Helpless against the elements.”
“A car will be along any minute,” Ian predicted.
“In this weather? I don’t think so.” She glanced down as a square of paper on the floorboard caught her eye. A torn seed packet with a picture of ripe red strawberries. She reached down and picked it up. “What’s this?”
Ian ducked his head and she caught a glimpse of the boy he’d been when she first met him. He looked almost . . . nervous? “Oh, that’s just . . .”
She watched him stammer, bemused by his sudden change of attitude.
“Those are the strawberries we grow.”
“Here in this field? These are your world-famous, patented strawberry seeds?” she clarified.
“Yeah, they have different kinds of packaging. This is for home gardeners.” He reached out to take the packet from her. But she hung on.
She examined the back of the packet, which specified when and where to plant the seeds. And then she turned it over and saw the name of the strawberries.
COB strawberries. All caps.
She furrowed her brow. “COB?”
Ian looked like he was internally dying a thousand protracted, agonizing deaths.
She shook her head, trying to make sense of everything. “Is this COB, like . . . ?”
“Yeah,” he told the windshield.
And Camille October Breyer was officially out of things to say.
He’d named the strawberries for her. Even after she’d left and broken both their hearts. He’d let her go and never contacted her.
But he’d named the berries after her. The berries they’d grown together right here in this field. The berries that could now be bought and planted all over the world.
“Oh.” A bittersweet mix of loss and longing rushed through her.
“I know.” He sounded chagrined. He still wouldn’t look her in the eye.
She rested both hands on the steering wheel and watched the rain sluicing over the windshield. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He finally looked at her. She held out her hand, beckoning him closer.
A deafening thunderclap shook the truck. They both started laughing, and then they were kissing while the raindrops pelted against metal.
Twenty minutes later, they were both even more disheveled. The rain showed no signs of relenting.
“Do you have any bottled water in here?” Cammie asked. “Granola bars? It looks like we might be here for a while.”
“No granola bars, but I do have a phone.”
“Oh.” Somehow calling for help, although the logical next step, didn’t feel very adventurous.
He produced the phone and started dialing. “I can call for a tow truck.”
She put her hand over his. “Five more minutes.”
Twenty more minutes and several shirt buttons later, the rain ceased as suddenly as it had started. The sky was still dark and heavy with humidity, but the drops stopped falling.
The truck windows—including the windshield—were completely foggy.
Cammie used her index finger to write their initials in the condensation. “I feel like a girl of fifteen again.”
Ian smiled.
“Confess: I’m not the first girl you’ve gone parking with in this field,” she said.
He furrowed his brow, considering. “I’m not sure what we’re doing here really qualifies as parking.”
“I didn’t realize there was a set definition.”
“Oh yeah. We’re very strict about that. It’s a farm thing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really.”
He tried to look earnest. “Really.”
“Then what—and I’m just talking hypotheticals here—what would we have to do in order for this to meet the technical definition of ‘parking’?”
“I can’t tell you.” He grinned. “But I can show you. Come here.”
• • •
“I can’t believe I lived my whole life till now without a proper parking experience.” Cammie was all aflutter and her clothes were askew as she and Ian started the long walk back to civilization.
“I’m glad you had fun.” He glanced back at the foggy windshield with a smile. “You’re a natural.”
“I have many hidden talents.” She flipped her hair, splattering droplets of water across his face. “Sorry. So, what else do you Delaware farmers do that I’m missing out on?”
He guided her around a huge mud puddle. Cammie eyed his long, confident stride and tanned forearms. “You’re totally in your element out here.”
“Pretty much. Were you in your element in the restaurant world?”
“At first I was. And then overhead costs and an absentee chef did me in. All those years of business education, you’d think I could have made it work, but no.”
“All the education in the world can’t prepare you for the realities of running a business.” He squeezed her fingers. “Someday I’ll tell you some of the crazy shit I did the first year I took over the farm from my dad.”
She looked at him with one eyebrow quirked.
“Someday,” he repeated. “You learned a lot from the first restaurant. The next one will work out.”
She shook her head. “There will be no next restaurant.”
“You’re giving up after only one try?”
She wasn’t going to argue this point with a man who had such superlative parking skills. “Well, before I can even think about another restaurant, I have to deal with the vineyard. Which brings me to what I was going to ask you before we drove into the ditch: Would you consider selling us your strawberries in bulk?”
He smiled. “They’re really your strawberries, too.”
“So says the seed packet.” She pulled him in for a kiss.
He rested his forehead against hers. “How many strawberries are we talking here?”
“A lot.” She described Ginger’s foray into fruit wine. “And since that’s the only thing that might actually make any money right now, she’s completely obsessed with it.”
“You’re going to let me tr
y this wine, right?” he asked.
“Absolutely. Bottles and bottles will be coming your way.”
“I’ll think about it.” His tone was low and teasing.
She gasped in mock outrage. “You’ll think about it?”
“Yeah. We’ll have to negotiate.”
She smoothed back her damp hair. “What kind of negotiating do you have in mind?”
His eyes gleamed. “We’ll see. Everything’s on the table.”
She went up on tiptoe and murmured into his ear. “This table of yours . . . Is it sturdy?”
“Very sturdy.”
“I’m looking forward to our discussions.”
• • •
By the time Cammie finally got back to town and collected Kat’s car from the garden-supply store, her shirt had dried but her hair was tangled, her lips were tender, and her perception of thunderstorms had changed forever.
She drove to the vineyard and picked up Kat, who wanted to go to the Whinery. So the two cousins returned to Main Street, Cammie hoping for a cup of warm tea and a bit of camaraderie at the wine bar. Instead, she found herself the center of attention.
“The old ‘truck broke down in the middle of nowhere’ routine, hmmm?” Jenna winked. “I’ve had a few guys try that on me.”
“The truck didn’t break down.” Cammie plucked a blade of grass off her shirt. “It got stuck in a ditch.”
Kat seemed fascinated. “How’d it get stuck in a ditch?”
“Ian drove it in there by mistake. What can I say?” Cammie fluffed her messy, snarled hair. “I’m just that distracting.”
“Yes, we heard all about it,” Jenna said.
Cammie frowned, confused. “You heard about what?”
Jenna ticked off the juicy details on her fingers. “The foggy windows, the lipstick smears on his cheek, the drama in the ditch.”
“But even if they hadn’t heard about any of that, your hair tells the story all by itself.” Kat nodded at the coiffure chaos.
Cammie stared at Jenna, thoroughly bemused. “How’d you hear? It just happened.”
Jenna was happy to explain. “Did you ever take physics?”
“Yeah, in high school, but I don’t remember any of it.”
“That’s okay. Let me break it down for you: The speed of sound is fast.”
Cammie nodded.
“The speed of light is faster.”
Cammie nodded again.
“But the speed of gossip in Black Dog Bay is faster than both of those. By a lot.”
Kat sipped her drink. “So, what does this mean?”
Cammie popped a miniature Milky Way into her mouth to stall for time. “What does what mean?”
“Is this just a one-time ditch date, or is it serious?”
“I . . .”—Cammie had no idea what to say—“need a drink.”
Jenna produced a pitcher of sangria. “Your wish is my command.”
“Did you have fun, at least?” Kat asked. “You must have, if your hair and your face are any indication.”
“So much fun.” Cammie thought about the strawberry seeds but didn’t tell. “But it’s tricky. Because really, nothing’s changed.” Even as she said the words, Cammie knew this was a lie. Everything had changed. She wanted to be back in the truck cab with Ian while the wind and rain and lightning raged outside. The prospect of a dinner-and-a-movie date seemed so boring in comparison.
“Did he ask to see you again?” Jenna wanted to know.
“Yeah.” Cammie felt her face flood with heat. “We’re going to get together and negotiate. For strawberries.”
Kat rubbed her palms together. “Ooh, like strip poker?”
Cammie rolled her eyes. “It’s a business deal. Which is separate from any pickup-truck parking sessions that may be happening. Which is why I resisted making out with him in the first place.” Her girlish smile and blush vanished. “The last time I mixed boyfriends and business, look what happened.”
“That was a onetime thing!” Kat passed the candy dish. “That won’t happen again.”
Jenna looked confused. “What happened?”
Cammie summarized the restaurant fiasco. “And now Zach is getting rave reviews and prepping playful little amuse-bouche plates for Jennifer Lawrence, while I’m living in disgrace with my aunt.”
“You’re living in disgrace with your aunt and your cousin,” Kat amended.
“You’re not living in disgrace; you’re living in Delaware,” Jenna said
Cammie glanced at the bartender’s wristwatch. “I better get back to the vineyard. I have an appointment in an hour.”
“A hot-and-heavy ‘negotiating’ session?” Jenna asked with a wink.
Cammie shook her head. “Meeting with a bride-to-be. I’m so glad the weather cleared up.”
“You’re going to have a wedding at the vineyard?” Jenna gushed. “How romantic.”
“The mother of the bride contacted us through the website you built,” Cammie told Kat.
“Glad I’m good for something,” Kat said. “I know I’m useless in the fields with my back problems.”
“What are you talking about?” Cammie offered her glass of sangria to her cousin. “We couldn’t get along without you.”
“Josh can get along without me just fine.” Kat picked up her cell phone, which was resting on the bar top next to her napkin. “He’s not even taking my calls now. He says he’s said all he has to say.”
Cammie hung her head as guilt washed over her. “Again, I am so sorry for what happened the other day. If there’s anything I can do to fix it—”
“Cam, it wasn’t you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Kat blew out a breath. “This is all me. And I don’t think it’s fixable. I’ve called him, I’ve texted him, and I haven’t gotten so much as an angry emoji in response.”
Cammie hesitated to offer any solutions, given her own abysmal track record in this department. “Maybe you both need to stop saying things and start doing things. I mean, he took action, right? Showed up on your doorstep with your dream dog.”
“But if I drive out there and show up on his doorstep, I better be damn sure what I want. I better be ready to commit to the future.” Kat tapped her fingertips on the glossy black bar top.
“Think it over and we’ll talk tonight.” Cammie threw down some cash to cover her tab. “I’ve got to go meet the wedding people.”
“Good luck with that,” Kat called after her as she started for the door. “Tell the happy couple it’s all fun and games until somebody fractures their spine.”
chapter 17
An hour later, Cammie hosted a grand tour of the vineyard for the bride-to-be . . . plus her fiancé, her mother, her future mother-in-law, her maid of honor, her future sisters-in-law, and assorted aunts and grandmothers.
“Welcome!” Cammie had to project her voice in order to be heard by everyone in attendance.
She needn’t have bothered—the members of the group were deep in conversation with one another. They didn’t even glance her way when she greeted them.
“So, we’ll do the yellow centerpieces,” the woman to her right said. “And yellow boutonnieres for the groomsmen.”
“Aren’t you worried that they’ll wilt in the heat?” someone else asked. “Last August was brutal.”
“It’ll be fine,” the first woman replied. “I’ll talk to the florist about keeping everything refrigerated until the last minute.”
“You have such artistic vision,” the second woman said admiringly.
“Well, someone has to take charge with this crowd, or they’d run roughshod over me.” The woman put her hand on Cammie’s forearm. “I’m Vanessa, the mother of the bride.” She gestured to her companion. “And this is Jeanie. Mother of the groom.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Cammie introduce
d herself, then asked, “So, where’s the bride?”
The two mothers looked at each other. “That’s a good question. Where is Bronwyn?”
Vanessa scanned the crowd of people. “Oh, she’s back there with James.”
“She’s terribly indecisive,” Jeanie said. “Vanessa and I can answer all your questions.” She pulled a little pad out of her purse and flipped through a dozen pages scribbled with notes. “We have some questions for you, too.”
“I’m going to need to talk to the bride,” Cammie insisted sweetly.
The moms muttered and rolled their eyes. “Oh all right. But don’t say you weren’t warned.”
“Bronwyn!” Vanessa called into the throng of guests. “We need you up front, sweetie.”
A tiny, wavy-haired waif hurried to her mother’s side. “Hi, I’m Bronwyn.”
Cammie shook the bride’s hand and tried to conceal her surprise. Bronwyn must have been of legal marrying age, but she looked as though she were still in high school. She seemed as shy and soft-spoken as her mother was strident and determined.
Cammie introduced herself as the vineyard’s official events manager—neglecting to mention that she herself had created and filled the position mere minutes ago—and asked Bronwyn to supply some information about the big day.
“What are you thinking?” Cammie asked. “Most importantly, when were you thinking?”
Bronwyn shot a quick, furtive glance at her mother. “Well, James and I originally thought—”
“They wanted to get married at their university chapel,” her mother finished for her. “But there’s no air-conditioning, and no reception area close by.”
The mother of the groom piped up. “Then we thought we could use the same church where James’s father and I got married—”
“So meaningful,” Vanessa gushed.
“—but it’s not big enough to accommodate all the guests.”
Cammie looked at Bronwyn. “How many people are you expecting?”
Bronwyn cleared her throat. “We’re hoping to keep it small.”
“Two hundred,” Vanessa declared.
“At least,” Jeanie agreed. “The guest list’s bursting at the seams, but the more, the merrier.”
Once Upon a Wine Page 15
