Page 57 of Curveball

And worse, that everyone else knew it before I did.

Chapter 26

Farrah

Today was the day I revealed the new and improved tasting room to Laurel.

I straightened the centerpieces lining the long reclaimed-wood farm table, polished the wine glasses until they gleamed, and adjusted the placement of the newest vintages one last time. When I finally stepped back, the space looked exactly as I’d envisioned. Light-filled and warm. Layered with texture and softness. The endless view of rolling vineyard hills beyond the windows was still the star, but now the room finally felt alive.

I should have been proud. Excited.

Instead, a deep, all-consuming sadness took hold.

I swiped at the tear that slipped down my cheek just as Laurel walked in. These last few weeks had been rough. Crying had become a daily occurrence. Always in the quiet, private moments where the weight of everything felt too heavy to carry alone.

Her eyes widened as she took in the room. She clasped her hands together, delight lighting her face.

“Oh my God, Farrah. This looks incredible!”

She walked slowly around the space, trailing her fingertips along the table, taking in the details—the subtle nods to the James family history, the warmth woven into every corner. When she turned back to me, her smile was wide… until it wasn’t.

It fell instantly when she really looked at me.

“Honey,” she said gently, crossing the room. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing. I’ve known you your entire life, I know when something’s bothering you.”

I let out a long breath and sank into one of the chairs. I was exhausted. From thinking. From pretending. From holding it all in.

“How long do you have?” I asked quietly.

Laurel pulled out the chair beside me and sat, taking my hand in both of hers. Her green eyes—so painfully similar to Walker’s—were full of concern.

“As long as you need.”

By the time I finished telling her everything—about Walker, the photos, the fight, the things left unsaid—tears streamed freely down my face. Laurel reached up and brushed them away with her thumb.

“Oh, honey,” she murmured. “Don’t cry.”

She sighed, the sound heavy with understanding. “When Walker’s hurt, he shuts down. He runs. He’s never liked burdening others with his emotions, so instead of feeling them, he removes himself from the situation.”

The hurt in Walker’s eyes when he walked out of my house haunted me…when he ran.

“It seems,” she continued softly, “you two have always struggled with the same thing—asking for what you want. Saying what you need.”

I huffed out a humorless laugh and wiped my cheeks. “Well… aren’t we just the perfect pair.”

Laurel was quiet a moment before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded.

“Do you want to be with Walker?”

There was no hesitation. No doubt.

“Yes.”

“Then you need to stop making decisions for both of you,” she said gently but firmly. “Your fears are valid, Farrah. Your feelings matter. But you’ve got to give Walker the chance to be there, to support you. To love you.”

My chest tightened as I dropped my face into my hands. “I don’t know how to fix this.”