Page 10 of Rocks You Like a Cabernet

Falling into the plush cushion of the sofa, I stare at the empty fireplace. The next four days were going to be long. Very long days. I wish I could call my sister. Check in and make sure everything’s okay.

Just as I’m getting comfortable on the sofa, I’m up and moving again. I’m too hyped up and annoyed to stay still. And I can’t let myself dwell on things that I can’t currently control. So I’ll snoop.

While Cameron clearly did not indulge us with a luxury cabin, I’m hoping that he at least did right by us with food and drink. He couldn’t seriously think Bryn and I could repair, let alone build, an amicable relationship without lots of good food.

The way to my heart was definitely through my stomach.

“Oh thank Christ.” Relief floods my entire body as I open up the fridge and see each shelf full with prepared foods, veggies and drinks. Almost crying with glee, I reach in and grab a bottle of ice coffee, hugging it to my chest.

While sipping my guilty pleasure, I continue my exploration of the kitchen. We have more than enough food to get us through four days. Yet I feel like I’m missing something.

“What the hell is it?” I whisper into the half-empty bottle. “What am I missing?” I saw pizza, cold cut sandwiches, creamer and kombucha in the fridge. Crackers, chips and bottles of water in the cupboard. What other essentials were we missing? I knew there was something.

Leaning back on the island in the middle of the kitchen, I look out the window, hoping for an epiphany. When one doesn’t come, I scan the surrounding area.

My eyes scan over the wall to the left and over, but an odd object catches my attention. I double back. Not sure what I’m seeing, I push off the island and get closer.

“Weird,” I mumble, inspecting what looks like a button in the wall. Bringing my hand up, I’m just about to touch it when a gasp from right behind me has me jumping.

“Don’t press it!”

“Jesus woman! You almost scared me to death.”

“Were you seriously about to push an unknown button in the wall without knowing what it does? You could have killed us!”

“You honestly think there’s a kill switch in this place?”

“I don’t know what to think, but I know from years of watching scary movies and shows that pressing a strange button never leads to anything good.”

Damn. She had a point.

Then it hits me. What we’re missing.

Turning back to the button, I squint at it. Yeah, it was a dark purple color so maybe…

“What did I just say!” Bryn cries out and reaches for me, but she’s too late.

I press the button.

There’s a strange click, then what sounds like wheels turning. I glance over at Bryn, noticing that her eyes are wide and her body is stiff, waiting for something horrible to happen.

Nothing does. After what feels like a minute of nervous anticipation to meet our doom, there’s another click and hiss. A crack in the wall appears. Then row after row of compartments reveal themselves from inside the walls.

“Oh my God,” Bryn gasps. “It’s a wine fridge. Inside the freakin’ walls of the kitchen! That’s so wild.” There’s so much joy in her voice that I can’t help but laugh. She was right. This was wild. And the one item we were missing in this vast kitchen.

“Now that’s some big money. I have got to get me one of these.” I step up to the first fridge door and pull out a bottle of red. The fridge is only slightly cooled but there have to be at least fifteen bottles stacked neatly here.

“You a red or wine girl?” I ask her absently mindedly as I scan the bottles for what I want. I miss her giving me a once over glance.

“Red. Cabernet if it’s available.”

I pause, glancing over my shoulder at her. “That’s my preference too.”

Her lips scrunch up, like she wants to say something but is holding back. Not wanting to make the moment uncomfortable, I turn back to the wine fridge and grab the bottle of Cab I was eyeing.

“Let’s pop this baby open,” I cheer, heading to the other side of the kitchen in search of a corkscrew.

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Bryn states with a tone like I’ve offended her. I brush it off.

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