Page 2 of Love on the Vine
The doorbell rang again. I shuffled down the hallway just as the last strains of the chorus died away on a weird electronic death note.
“Okay, okay. Hold your horses,” I mumbled, tugging the door open to greet our mystery guest and getting ready to plaster a big grin on my face.
But when I opened the door, I froze, my mouth half open.
Instead of the Mark Zuckerberg doppelgänger I’d been expecting, there was a living, breathing Hugo Boss ad on my front porch. My gaze wandered over his thick, tousled brown hair, sexy scruff, and intense dark eyes, before traveling slowly down to broad shoulders encased in a black cashmere coat. And I didn’t stop there; I continued ogling him all the way down his long legs to his perfect black leather boots. Also very long, I couldn’t help but notice.
I was so dumbstruck that I just stood there staring at him until he cleared his throat and said in a whiskey-warm voice, “Hi, uh . . . Kirsten?”
Hearing him call me by my stepmom’s name shocked me out of my stupor. “Oh, God, no! No, no. She’s my . . . I’m . . . I’m . . .”
Completely incapable of remembering my own name, apparently.
“Liv! Liv!” Dad’s voice echoed down the hallway.
“You’re Liv?” suggested the beautiful stranger, his firm mouth quirking up on one side, a slight indentation in his right cheek suggesting a dimple under that scruff.
“Olivia, yes,” I answered just as Dad pushed me aside.
“Why are you making him wait outside, Liv? Jake, my man. Get over here.” Dad pulled his friend into a bear hug. Jake, a little less enthusiastically, patted Dad on the back.
I was immediately struck by how different they looked. How were they the same age?
I always forgot how young my dad was because he was the quintessential Midwestern father with his never-ending supply of corny jokes, fleece hoodies, and peppermint-stuffed pockets. I was the big mistake he’d made his senior year of high school, when according to my mom, he’d really been something to look at. A varsity baseball star with dreams of making it to the big leagues. Instead, an injured right shoulder in his freshman year at Notre Dame had put an end to his ambitions to turn pro. He’d joined my grandfather’s law practice, gotten married, discovered he had a daughter (me, surprise!), and then produced rambunctious twin boys.
Maybe if he hadn’t been shackled with so much responsibility at such a young age, he’d be making my friends drool over him.
Or maybenot.
Standing there in his silly Christmas sweater and jeans, with his thinning blond hair and ruddy cheeks, Dad was quite the contrast to Jake, who’d removed his coat, revealing a lean, muscular body in a black wool sweater and trousers that could have been custom tailored in Milan. I couldn’t stop staring at him.
Jake glanced over at me like he was waiting to be properly introduced, but Dad dragged him into the living room where I heard my grandmother gasp in delight. “Is that little JakeVos? My goodness, how handsome you are! What a wonderful surprise!”
I lingered behind, trying to slow my racing pulse by fixing myself up in the hallway mirror. I pulled my hair down and brushed furiously at my stupid bangs. But what was the point? It’s not like I was going to seduce my dad’s childhood friend at the dinner table while my grandmother watched. I wasn’t Brooke, after all.
Nor was I the only one drawn to Jake’s magnetic presence. By the time I wandered back into the living room, the entire family had gathered around him. Kirsten was staring up at him with wide eyes, my uncle Ted was puffing out his chest and slapping him on the back, and Brooke was practically hanging off his arm. Even Tim and Noah had put their phones down.
“Liv, get over here.” Dad waved at me. I was still standing in the doorway like an awkward butler watching the scene unfold. Jake turned those intense eyes on me again and my entire body went molten. “You’ve already met my daughter, Liv?”
Jake blanched. “Daughter? No, come on, Ben, you’re not old enough to have a grown daughter.”
“Oh, but he is,” Gran said. “Got himself in big trouble right after high school.”
“I guess we did lose touch after you moved out of the old house,” Jake said, studying me as if I were some kind of exotic animal. Or an alien.
Then shaking his head slightly, he smiled down at Gran who barely reached his shoulder. “I’ve got something for you, Janet.”
He held out the manila envelope he’d been carrying and slid it into Gran’s hand. After adjusting the red frames of her glasses, she opened the envelope and pulled out an old photograph, curled up around the edges.
“My goodness.” Her voice cracked as she pressed the photo to her heart.
“What is it, Janet?” asked Kirsten. Gran held out the photograph—a beautiful black and white portrait of my grandparents in front of their old house by the lake. My grandfather stood behind my grandmother with his arms wrapped around her, his chin on her head, and their dog Penny at their feet. They were both laughing; even the dog’s tongue was lolling out the side of her mouth like she was in on the joke.
I never knew my grandfather. I was eight months old and living with my mom in Reno when he died of a heart attack. But, according to my dad, even after two decades of marriage and three children, my grandparents had acted like a couple of newlyweds until the very end.
“I was so young! No gray hair yet,” Gran said wistfully.
“When was this?” I asked.
