Shit goddammit fucking hell.
Add that to the list.
Especially if this wedding is the first of many events.
Or even if it’s not.
People come to a winery, they want to see how the wine gets made.
Even if it’s not getting made here at Makepeace anymore.
“Happens in old buildings.” I take another trellis post from the pile, deem it worthy, and set it with the others.
She shudders.
“Why we got Fluffy,” I add. “For all the good that’s done.”
She doesn’t laugh at my joke.
Not a surprise.
Also, it’s not true.
We got Fluffy just after Ava died, when our almost-four-year-old daughter found her behind the tasting room. The cat was the only thing that she’d hug, so the cat stayed to get hugged.
And now the cat is three times as much to love, because Lavender has a gift for chaos and sneakiness.
“My sister used to put her mouse cage in my room, and I’d have bad dreams that they were growing overnight and trying to eat me,” Cricket says in a rush.
Fuuuuck.
“I actually hadn’t thought of that in years. And I know I’m an adult and I should get over it but I—it’s not—” She cuts herself off with a half sob-laugh as she angles toward the door.
Why is it so much harder to be kind to her than it is to be kind to any of the rest of the guests here?
Because she needs more, dumbass.
And I don’t know how much more I have to give, but I give it anyway. “Scars from childhood don’t magically go away.”
Her eyes connect with mine again.
She’s in the doorway, the fermentation tanks lined up behind her, the light out there flickering, and I can almost smell the wheels turning.
I stifle a sigh that she doesn’t need to see or hear, and I turn my attention back to the pile. We have almost enough for the start of a trellis, and if I set some mouse traps, she’ll probably come back here and finish the job, even if she brings someone else with her.
She’s pretty good at finding the good stakes.
I should tell her that.
But when I open my mouth to say something nice, something else comes out instead. “My grandpa had this stuffed deer head on his wall that used to scare the shit out of me and give me nightmares when I was a kid. So much that when my class took a field trip to a petting zoo and I saw a deer, I freaked out and ran and hid. Cops got called when my teacher couldn’t find me when it was time to head back to school. First time I remember seeing my mom cry was when they found me and brought me out to her. Swore to myself I’d never make her cry like that again.”
Least favorite childhood memory.
Even worse than the memories of getting in trouble in high school for partying and skipping school.
My grades were fine.
Stellar, in fact, despite the stories my in-laws told about how I barely graduated.
