Page 14 of Rock the Chardonnay

I thought my crush on Daughtry was a thing of the past, a college infatuation. But seeing her again? It crashes over me like a goddamn tsunami.

“Daughtry is so cool, Dad.” Alex taps his fingers on the legs of his jeans. He still has a blot of cream puff in one corner of his mouth. When he was a toddler, I once found a bit of cream puff in his ear. Uffdah, sometimes I miss those days. “She said I should find her tomorrow before the show and she’ll introduce me to the Vendetta. Isn’t that so cool? Who else would do that for a kid?”

“You are a pretty special kid.” I turn down the long drive leading to the vineyard. There is a smaller lane that goes to the tasting room bungalow, and vineyards and orchards in every other direction. Not that I look, but the drive to the guest cottage is past our garage. The lights are on, bathing it in cozy light. I wonder what Daughtry is wear—

No. No, I’m not.

“You have to say that because you’re my dad.”

“No. I have to tell you when you’re being a turd because I’m your dad. There’s no law that I have to tell you that you’re special. You just are. Embrace it.”

In the rearview mirror, I see Alex’s eye roll, but it isn’t as pronounced as it usually is. I must have gotten to him.

I park in my spot in the five car garage and Alex rolls out of the back seat. Literally.

“Dude, what are you doing?” I ask. Simone Biles, he is not.

Coming out of his tumble, he turns in a cartwheel in the driveway. “I have a lot of energy.”

“No more cream puffs for you. Come on. Let’s get you protein and something with nutrients in it.” I unlock the front door, only to smell my mom’s legendary chili.

“Yes!” Alex pumps his fist in the air. “Chili night! Grams, I want extra Fritos on mine.”

“I know.” My mom walks out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel that she has stuck in the band of her apron. When my mom stops to rest, I still don’t know. “I got a whole bag just for you, hon.”

Perfect. From cream puffs to chips. I can’t be bothered to care. Alex will grow up just fine.

Besides, I feel like shit warmed over. Mainlining red wine at noon on a hot summer’s day is…unwise, to say the least. I spent the rest of the afternoon hydrating aggressively, but I still feel off. I’m more inclined to blame the wine than the reappearance of a certain pink-haired singer. She is still gorgeous, and it is entirely infuriating.

Pink? Who dyes their hair pink?

Goddesses, that’s who.

“Go wash your hands before dinner,” I tell Alex. He races off to do that before coating himself in salted chip crumbs.

My mom points the washcloth at me. “I need your help.”

“With what?” I follow her into the kitchen. We repainted a year ago, and now it’s a cool ivory color with pale blue-gray cabinets. The island dominating the center of the kitchen is made of dark wood and granite. The entire aesthetic is something my parents call “modern farmhouse.”

“Groceries.” She points to two reusable bags sitting on the kitchen table, which is set into the breakfast nook, with a bay window overlooking the backyard.

“Unpack them?” I move to the first and take out a bunch of bananas.

“No. Bring them over to Daughtry in the guest cottage. I feel so bad that there isn’t any food in the fridge, and it’s not like anywhere around here delivers reliably.”

“Oh.” My shoulders tense. “I don’t know. Isn’t that something Ciaran should do?”

Alex inherited his eye roll from my mom, only hers is ten thousand times harder to ignore.

“Please,” she says. “I don’t want him hitting on that poor girl. You do it. I put chili and fixings in there for her, too. I remember how much she always enjoyed coming over on chili nights.”

So do I. After the first time, I made it a point to stay at my dorm on chili night. Watching Daughtry moan over my mom’s food did very un-fraternal things to my inner self. My mom misinterpreted the whole thing. She changed her recipe repeatedly, thinking it was the food keeping me away.

On the flip side, the new recipe she developed while trying to lure me back to chili night is, quite simply, the best damn chili on the planet. It could lure extraterrestrial tourists and convince them not to lay waste to Earth.

Seriously. No more day drinking for me.

My mom picks up the bags of groceries and shoves them into my arms with a too-bright smile. “Go. Have fun. Don’t worry about me and Alex.”

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