by Melody Grace
He didn’t want to break his back cleaning the place up and catering to tourists and bachelorette parties; he wanted to be a couple of thousand miles away, relaxing by the beach with a glass of wine that didn’t represent all his worst childhood memories. He’d designed his life to be simple. Frictionless. He didn’t even have a place he called home; with all the travel he did for work, he practically lived out of a suitcase—and he liked it that way. Things were just easier without any baggage tying him down, no mortgage documents burning a hole in the desk, or creaky buildings in desperate need of a coat of paint. The vineyard had drained every drop of joy—and every dollar—out of his parents, and he had no desire to make the same mistake again.
His phone buzzed with a message.
Everything OK? We had a meeting set for 3pm.
Reeve winced. And now he was running late, for someone who was actually doing him a favor.
He grabbed a battered box of paperwork and drove into town. Alice Evans was a local lawyer who’d offered to help him figure out the vineyard finances; they’d attended high school together back in the day, and he had a vague memory of a quiet, shy girl who always had her head in a book. But the modern Alice was smiling and confident when she met him in the doorway of a little cottage just off the town square.
“Come in, come in,” she invited him into a cozy office full of houseplants and framed photographs of scenes around town. “My boyfriend, Jackson, took them,” she explained, when she saw Reeve looking closely at the prints. “He’s a photojournalist.”
“He’s talented.” Reeve commented. “If he’s available, I have a couple of clients who are always looking for good people. Sweeping vistas of the vineyards for their websites, that kind of thing.”
“That’s right,” Alice smiled. “Wes said something about you working in Hollywood these days. It must be a change of scene, coming back here.”
“Just a little,” Reeve agreed. He awkwardly handed Alice the box of files. “Sorry it’s such a mess,” he apologized, as Alice took a seat, put on a pair of stylish glasses, and skimmed over the first pages. “Paperwork isn’t exactly my dad’s strong suit.”
“Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse,” she gave him a reassuring smile. “I had one woman bring me in a shoebox of Post-it notes, she’d scribbled down her last will and testament with a set of kids’ crayons. And she had a multimillion dollar estate!”
“I’m guessing the vineyard finances aren’t in such great state,” Reeve said, pacing the small office as he braced himself for the verdict. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, Alice put the paperwork down with a sigh.
“Well, I can’t really sugarcoat it. Things aren’t looking good.”
Reeve sank into the chair on the other side of her desk. It had been too much to hope that the mess was just superficial, and a little untangling would put everything to rights and see him on his way again. But still, hearing it from Alice made the situation painfully real.
“Tell it to me straight,” he said. “Just what am I looking at?”
“The vineyard is mortgaged to the hilt,” Alice explained. “He’s barely been paying interest on the original loan from forty years ago, plus he refinanced another three or four times, it looks like.”
“How much does he owe?” Reeve asked, and Alice named a figure that just about made his heart stop.
“Is the property even worth that much?” he asked in disbelief.
“It could be… ” Alice nodded. “Land around here is like gold dust, and developers are always looking for opportunities. Five acres, with those views? You’d have interest, for sure.”
Reeve exhaled. “So, that’s it then. We’ll sell.”
He was surprised to feel a hollow pang in his chest, something almost like regret. But that was crazy. He’d wanted his father to wash his hands of the place for years, and now, the old man finally didn’t have a choice. “You think there would be anything left, after paying off the loans?” he asked, forcing himself to think ahead. “It’s all my dad has.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be so simple.” Alice’s expression turned regretful. “He’s behind on payments, the bank are threatening to foreclose. If they take possession with all these other liens outstanding… He may not see a dime from any sale.”
Reeve cursed. “Sorry,” he apologized, but he got up, pacing restlessly again as he tried to keep his temper under control. It wasn’t her fault, it was Frank’s. All over again. “I just don’t understand how he let it get so bad!” Reeve exclaimed. “He could have sold the place years ago and walked away with a small fortune, and instead, he’s left it gathering dust so the bank can take it all?”
But that was his father through and through: single-minded to the point of obsession. That vineyard was all he cared about in the world. He was probably betting that next year’s harvest would be the one to save him. Every damn time.
“The good news is, he’s only a few months behind,” Alice said, looking at the paperwork again. “I can talk to the loan officer, and try to work out some kind of repayment plan to catch you up. The insurance payment from the fire should help, so if you can find a way of covering the back payments and keeping the place above water until you find a buyer… ”
“… Then he won’t be left with nothing.” Reeve finished for her.
He drew in a ragged breath, running over the possibilities in his mind. A part of him wanted to let the bank foreclose: Leave Frank to face the consequences of his decisions, but then what would happen? His father would be staring down his retirement with no money, and nowhere to call home. He’d wind up depending on Reeve and Margo all the same. His sister didn’t need the stress, she already had enough on her plate with the kids, and Reeve definitely didn’t want Frank showing up on his doorstep out in California, needing a place to stay.
There was only one thing for it.
“I have some savings, I can cover the back payments,” he said reluctantly. “If I pay them down, and find a way to keep up with the loans, do you think we could find a buyer quickly?”
“I’ll get Aunt June on the case,” Alice replied. “She’s the best realtor in town,” she explained, and then paused, giving Reeve a look he couldn’t quite decipher.
“What?” he asked, and she smiled.
“I should warn you, she’s a little eccentric.”
“I’ll take eccentric.” Reeve exhaled, getting to his feet. “Anything to make this happen fast.”
* * *
Reeve wandered back to the town square, deep in thought. So much for simply getting the vineyard squared away while his dad got back on his feet again. It seemed like every day, there was a new disaster to fix. He hated the thought of sinking his own hard-earned savings into the property, throwing good money after bad ideas, but he couldn’t see another way to buy some time.
With any luck, they’d find a buyer fast, pay off the loans, and then he could finally be free of the place for good.
“Hastings!”
He turned, and found his old buddy Wes Banner halfway up a ladder by the gazebo. “Can you grab the other end of that flyer?” Wes called.
Reeve went over, and helped him fasten it in place. “JamFest?” he read from the massive sign. “What’s that?”
Wes chuckled. “I forgot, you’ve been away in the land of sane, rational people who don’t celebrate a new festival every other week.” He climbed back down, and handed Reeve a stack of flyers. “Sweetbriar Cove is celebrating the art of jam-making this weekend. And jam bands, for some reason. Don’t ask,” he added with a grin.
Reeve blinked. “Wasn’t planning to.”
Looking around, he saw that people were setting up for a celebration: hanging paper garlands, and decorating booths around the square. There was even a big stage being constructed out in front of the Town Hall, and he recognized some of the guys wielding hammers from his childhood days. “Cooper Nicholson is still in town?” he asked, surprised.
“Oh yeah,” Wes replied. “A bunch
of the old crowd stuck around, or found their way back, like me. You should come by the festival and say ‘hi’. We have a mean poker night running, too, if you’re going to stick around. Although, be warned,” he added. “Cooper’s wife Poppy is one hell of a card shark.”
“Thanks,” Reeve said slowly. “Maybe I’ll stop by.”
He’d thought that this would just be a brief visit, he hadn’t been planning on getting involved around town. But if he was going to be stuck there for the summer, it would be fun to catch up with old friends.
And make his peace with new ones…
Reeve remembered how he’d flown off the handle earlier and winced. “Do you happen to know a woman named Jules?” he asked.
“Evie’s friend, right?” Wes replied, distracted by some hammering nearby.
“I think so. I need to see her about some business,” Reeve explained vaguely.
Business like making an ass of himself.
“I think she’s staying at the Beachcomber Inn,” Wes said, before hollering across the square. “What the hell are you doing with that thing? Leave it to the professionals!”
“I’ll get out of your way.” Reeve said, backing up a safe distance. “See you around.”
A quick search on his cellphone brought up the Beachcomber’s website and address, just down the shore road. Reeve drove over there, wishing he’d brought extra wine from the cellar, some kind of peace offering to warm things up.
Something told him that the reception would be downright icy.
The Inn was perched right on the dunes, and was bustling with gentle activity when he arrived: tourists chatting on the front porch, and a friendly-looking woman setting out pitchers of fresh lemonade and cookies.
“Is Jules around?” he asked, intercepting her.
She gave him a long head-to-toe glance, and then her face broke into a mischievous smile. “You must be Reeve,” she said, looking amused. “She’s out back, just follow the noise. Take the cookies,” she added, handing him a plate. “You’re going to need them.”
“Uh, thanks.”
Reeve made his way around the side of the building, and sure enough, he could hear loud music echoing out through the tangle of blackberry bushes. Fleetwood Mac, he recognized, as he rounded the corner and found a large, dilapidated shed with the doors flung wide. There was old furniture and boxes piled out front, and as he moved closer, Jules emerged, struggling under the weight of an old canoe. It wobbled dangerously, and she let out a yelp.
“Woah there,” Reeve quickly put down the cookie plate and went to lift it from her arms.
“Thanks—” Jules started. Then she saw who was helping. Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you. Come to yell at me some more?” she asked, turning on her heel and disappearing into the shed without another word.
She emerged a moment later with another armful of junk, and deposited them on the pile.
“What is this stuff?” Reeve asked, distracted by the sight of her in nothing but cut-off jeans and a black bikini top. She was sweaty and red-faced from the lifting, with a streak of dirt on her cheek and God knows what in her hair, but still, somehow, she was like a shock to the system. An electric pulse, or torrent of cold water to the face.
Or both, at the same time.
“Everything sold at 3 a.m. on the Home Shopping Network,” Jules replied. She paused to take a gulp of water from a bottle nearby. “At least, that’s what it looks like.”
“And you’re clearing it out because… ?”
Jules shrugged. “I can’t bunk down with Evie forever, and the Inn’s booked, but if I get this place cleared out, it’ll be like my own studio apartment. There’s a bathroom in back. At least, I think there is—behind three cartons of powdered low-calorie meal replacement shakes. From nineteen eighty-three. Cherry flavor.”
Reeve nodded slowly, trying to keep up with Jules’ scattershot flood of information. She eyed the cookies. “Are those safe?” she continued. “Or have you slipped some poison in, as payback for me daring to try and help you out.”
Reeve had to smile. “They’re safe,” he said. “Your friend at the Inn sent them over, she said I’d need them.”
“Traitor,” Jules declared, but she sounded cheerful enough as she bit into one. “Evie knows I’m a sucker for baked goods.” She perched on a nearby box and gestured to him. “So, this apology of yours. You better make it a good one.”
Reeve laughed in surprise. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone so…
Beautiful. Infuriating. Unexpected.
Jules sat there, waiting. Clearly, he needed to grovel—and good.
“I’m sorry,” he said, spreading his hands in defeat. “You were overstepping, booking up the vineyard like that—”
“—And you have a lot to learn about apologies,” Jules muttered, still munching a cookie.
“—But that was no excuse for blowing up at you,” Reeve finished. “I was an ass. My problems don’t give me a license to go around yelling at everyone. I’m sorry. I can see you were only trying to help.”
Jules paused, like she was making her mind up about something. “It’s a start,” she finally said. “But do you know what would really show your contrition?”
“I’m guessing it might have something to do with those boxes?” Reeve felt a smile tug the edge of his lips.
“Bingo.” Jules grinned back at him. “Help me clear this place out, and we’ll call it even.”
What the hell. Reeve certainly didn’t have anything better waiting for him back at the vineyard, so he rolled up his sleeves, and got to work hauling, dragging, and lifting the decades’ worth of junk out of the way. He and Jules fell into a companionable silence, but the whole while, he was painfully aware of her every move.
The way she hummed and shimmied to the music. The light brush of her body as she squeezed past him into a tight spot. The sheen of sweat on her curves, barely contained by that bikini top—
Reeve looked away, clearing his throat. “I think we’re all set here,” he said. The shed looked almost like a living space now, at least, despite the dust and grime. It reminded him of the vineyard like that, but the difference was, he didn’t need someone to get out their checkbook and buy it.
Jules stood back. “Rory’s apartment had heated floors,” she said, with a wistful note in her voice. “And a smart house system. You could literally ask the house to run you a hot bath and it would.”
That’s right, Reeve remembered. The ex.
“Well, that’s the plot of a horror movie if I ever heard,” he said, trying to lighten the mood again. “The thing could turn against you at any moment.”
Jules smiled. “You want to talk about a fright-fest, take a look in your own backyard, mister,” she said. “That lodge of yours is creepy as hell. You’ll need an exorcism along with a cleaning crew before Natalie’s bachelorette party.”
Reeve sighed. So much for putting that place out of his mind for a while. “There isn’t going to be a party,” he said shortly. “Tell your friend thanks but no thanks.”
“Why?” Jules demanded. “You need business, don’t you? That place has so much potential, but it’s like you’re trying to keep paying customers away. If you just made a few changes—”
“Hey.” Reeve cut her off, before his blood pressure could skyrocket again. “You have no idea what that property means to me. The history. The state it’s in. Anything you say is just going to start another fight, and we just got done with the last one. So as far as I’m concerned, the subject is closed.”
“But if you—” Jules tried to interrupt.
“Closed.” Reeve repeated sternly. “Now, can we have a deal? You promise never to say another word about the place, and I’ll… Take this stuff to the junkyard for you.”
Jules bit her lip, like she was fighting her urge to argue. But the heap of junk was too big to be denied. “Fine,” she finally agreed. “I’ll stay out of your business. Even if you desperately need my advice,” she added with a s
mirk.
Reeve grinned, relieved. “I’ll just have to live without it. So,” he added, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Friends?”
Jules paused. “Friends,” she agreed, and took it. “As long as you admit, you remember.”
“Remember what?” he asked, as their eyes met.
“Kissing me.”
Reeve’s blood ran hot, and suddenly, it was hard to think of anything. He could still feel the heat of her body, blazing despite the chill; still taste the sweet tang of her luscious mouth, pressing eagerly against his, silently begging for more…
He pulled away. “I remember,” he said gruffly.
“Good.” Jules smiled wider. “I’d hate to think I was losing my touch. Now, about this junk… ” she turned away, changing the subject so easily that it was clear Reeve was the only one coming dangerously close to pulling her into his arms and making the same damn mistake all over again.
What was he thinking?
He pulled himself together. “I have… an appointment now. I’ll be back for this stuff later.”
Hopefully when she wasn’t around, looking so damn kissable.
“OK,” Jules smiled. “But soon enough you’ll see, I’m right.”
“About what?” Reeve asked.
“Everything.”
Reeve chuckled as he got into his truck and drove back to the vineyard, but he wasn’t laughing anymore when he walked into the tasting room and saw Natalie’s deposit check still sitting on the bar where Jules had left it. He took a look, just out of curiosity, but the amount made him stop in his tracks.
All this, just for hosting a party?
He looked around. He didn’t want to put an ounce more work into this place than he had to, but with the mortgage due, he could use all the cash he could get. And maybe a spring clean would help with finding a buyer for the place, too.
One event, he told himself. One summer.
Then the vineyard would be out of his life forever.
