Page 35 of Rock the Chardonnay

I only war with myself for a moment. Alex is fine. My mom is there in the house with him, and I have my phone with me if he needs anything. I want this moment with her, because it all feels too fragile, like a single feather caught in the wind.

CHAPTER 18

Daughtry

I want to write this in a song, waking up wound in clean-scented bed sheets, the mattress warm and indented from Declan’s shape.

Of course the song would be better if Declan was actually still in bed.

I stretch, languorous and lithe, every muscle and nerve in my body tingling with satisfaction. Rules are made to be broken, as long as the one I break the rules with is worth it.

Did I tell him last night that I love him? I remember hearing him say it, pounding the words into me. I believe him. Declan doesn’t lie.

Kitchen sounds and smells waft through the open doorway to the bedroom. When I turn to the nightstand to check the time on the digital clock, I see a tall, fresh glass of iced water with lemon in it. I swoon a little and sip it, letting the frosty hydration work its magic on my mood.

Footsteps pad toward me. Declan leans against the doorjamb wearing nothing but his black boxers. Hubba hubba, Sneaky Buff Teacher Guy. His mouth curves into a wicked grin that makes me tingle all over. “You’re awake.”

“Thanks for the water.” I point to my half-filled glass. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Great, actually. It’s been a while since I slept like that.” With his thumb, he points at the kitchen. “Pancakes? They’re almost ready. I made them in the shape of the solar system.”

“Perfect.” I think I purr. It’s appropriate in this setting.

“Okay. Five minutes, and they’re all yours. Coffee?”

“Tea. Please. With honey.” I’m grinning like a fool and can’t care less.

“You got it.” He turns away, as if to go to the kitchen, then seems to reconsider because he marches toward me and kisses me so thoroughly, I die and am reborn. “This moment,” he whispers into my ear. “This and every moment from now on, I choose you. But I have to go check the pancakes or else I might burn the cottage down.”

“Fire safety, then.” I swat at him and watch as he walks away, the taut muscles of his ass rolling beneath the fabric of his boxers.

I drain the glass of water then slide from the warm cocoon of bed. Time to get dressed. Louise will be picking me up in an hour. My hands still on the handle of my suitcase. Today I’m leaving St. Olaf. We’re driving south to Milwaukee, Chicago, Kentucky.

But how can I leave when I finally feel like I belong?

My phone buzzes incessantly on the nightstand. I left it on vibrate while Declan rocked my world last night. I suppose I should answer. At the very least, it’s a good distraction. No need to pack if I have to answer a phone call. I swipe to answer without looking at the caller ID.

“You are no daughter of mine,” my mom hisses into my ear.

On a list of the ten shittiest ways to wake up, this ranks numbers one, two, three, and four, particularly since I’m still buzzing from Declan-related things. Despite the glass of water I’ve just drunk, my mouth goes dry and I crumple onto the bed. “Hello to you, too, Mom.”

“I read the article. I knew you would never send it to me, but I set up news alerts on my phone.”

I never taught her that, and want to murder whichever boy toy of the week had shown her that trick. My anger propels me upward and I bury myself in the closet, pulling out clothes for the day.

“How dare you say all those things about me? About your grandparents? They didn’t give a fuck about you or me or anyone else. I was a good mother. I took care of you. You always had a roof over your head and food in your stomach. You made it seem like I was drunk all the time.”

Alarm bells ring in my ears. Sometimes the food was three-week-old stale crackers and the roof was over a couch we shared at her friend’s house. Otherwise, technically, she’s correct. But why bring this up?

What exactly does this article say? “I didn’t say that, Mom. The journalist must have twisted my words.”

Mom scoffs so loudly, I almost feel a glob of spit land on my cheek. “You think we aren’t exactly the same? The apple didn’t fall far, Daughtry dear. You want to bad mouth my relationships? Ha. The only relationship you were in long enough to wet your feet was when you were screwing that Foster boy. And you only stayed with him because you liked his mom’s milk and cookies.” She says it like Zoey Foster makes them with anthrax. The entire conversation makes me feel like I’ve contracted anthrax, or maybe that rare brain on fire disorder. “You’re a fraud and a cheat. You’re a rolling stone just like me, and you’ll end up exactly where I am. So don’t act for a second like your shit doesn’t stink.”

I don’t know if she hangs up. Her words fade into a dull hiss of vitriol that slice through my brain. My body buzzes with wave after wave after emotion.

What does that article say? I rush around the room, tossing clothes and toiletries into my suitcase, not even bothering to fold them. I won’t leave anything behind. Nothing, except one pair of panties, will ever remember I was here in this perfect place, in this town, with these wonderful people.

“Hey,” Declan says, walking into the room. “Pancakes are—Are you okay?”

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