Page 7 of Married to the Frenemy

Then again, he’s worked at the vineyard since the day he turned sixteen, with the exception of the year after he graduated high school. He started out handpicking clusters of grapes during the annual harvest. Now he’s the one responsible for the finished product.

“It’s an old pocket watch, like the one my father gave me.”

“He crossed over the rainbow bridge, right?”

“Umm…” Beckham glances my way, obviously unsure how to respond.

“Humans don’t cross over the rainbow bridge, sweetie,” I chime in. “That’s for animals.” I look toward Beckham. “Belinda lost her cat a few weeks ago. It’s her first exposure to death.”

“Then he’s in haven?” Maggie asks eagerly.

“Yeah. My dad’s in haven.” He smiles, not bothering to correct her mispronunciation of the word.

“Do you miss him?”

Sometimes I wish my kid wasn’t so inquisitive. Especially when her curiosity keeps me in Beckham’s presence longer than necessary.

“Every day,” he replies softly.

“Let’s not bother Mr. Beck anymore,” I say, noticing his forlorn expression. Regret squeezes at my chest, considering the role I played that prevented Beckham from being there when his father passed. “Auntie Parker’s about to light the tree. Plus, you don’t want to miss out on seeing Santa. Do you?”

Maggie’s eyes instantly brighten. “I’m going to tell him all about the Barbie camper I want.”

I do my best to keep my expression even, my stomach churning at the idea that I won’t be able to get Maggie most of the items on her wish list. It doesn’t matter how many times people have told me it doesn’t make me a bad mom if I can’t get her everything she wants.

Just once, I’d like to be able to give her the Christmas she deserves. The Christmas I always dreamed of spoiling my kid with.

“Santa has millions of boys and girls to get presents for, sweetie. Maybe ask him for something a little…smaller,” I suggest, even though I really want to ask her to pick something that’s more affordable.

The excitement in her eyes flickers out, her smile turning into a frown. But instead of throwing a fit like some kids would, she lowers her head and says, “Okay.”

As I turn from the vineyard’s booth, I can’t help but feel like I just shattered my daughter’s dreams. It’s not the first time. And it won’t be the last. But I still hate feeling like I’m a failure.

“Thanks again,” I say to Beckham, then usher Maggie through the crowd.

After a few feet, I steal a glance over my shoulder and see Beckham’s gaze trained on us, his expression unreadable.

He’s the last person I want to ask for help. He’s the last person who’d want to help me.

I have to remind myself it’s not just about me anymore, though.

It’s about Maggie.

I need to swallow my pride and try for her.

Even if I’m the reason he spent a year of his life in prison.

CHAPTER FOUR

BECKHAM

“Come on, boy,” I yell after Monte, my Australian Shepard mix, as he pauses to sniff around the tangled vines.

The crisp early December air fills my lungs as I stroll through the rows of grapevines. Despite the chill, this time of year has always been my favorite. The leaves on the vines have changed colors, displaying a brilliant quilt of reds, yellows, and oranges, all set against a backdrop of rolling green hills in the distance. In a week or two, the leaves will fall to the ground, and the cycle will start again. For the time being, the vines lay dormant, giving me a short reprieve from worrying about their health. Instead, my focus is on turning the grapes we harvested into the best wine possible.

Although lately, whenever I’ve worked in my lab, my thoughts are consumed with the idea of Grady selling this place that’s been my home for the past decade. I know he won’t sell to someone who will destroy everything he’s created here. I just wish that person could be me. The only way that will happen is if I get married.

I don’t foresee that happening anytime soon, especially since I haven’t been on a date in months. If you can even call what I do dating. I’m not the type of person a woman can bring home to meet the parents. Not with my past.

---