Page 6 of Love on the Vine
A shout came from inside the house and a flash of red hair caught Ben’s attention. “There they go again. You were right not to have kids, Jake. They’re a damn pain in the ass.”
He stalked back into the house as the sounds of bodies slamming against furniture traveled outside.
I wasn’t in any hurry to go back in, despite the cold. Taking another swig of beer, I stared at the trees behind the house.
It was strange being back in Grand Rapids. I’d always felt out of place here. The only real attachment I had to my childhood home were to memories of Ben’s family next door. I used to be so jealous of Ben and his brothers because they had parents who touched and teased each other, whose faces lit up when the other one entered the room.
My parents hardly acknowledged each other, and when they did, it was only to see who could hurl the ugliest insults. It was a miracle I even existed, though they both preferred to pretend I didn’t.
I’d found that photo of Charlie and Janet this morning and remembered I’d kept it as proof that that kind of love really existed. It seemed naïve and childish to have believed that now. Especially when a year after the photo had been taken, Charlie had died of a heart attack and Janet was devastated, and I’d realized there was also a risk in loving too well. In the end, the only person you could really depend on was yourself.
Finding the photo made me wonder what had become of the Petersons. My parents hadn’t kept in touch after Janet had sold the house and moved away. I’d briefly considered trying to look them up this morning but had abandoned that idea. I was in a shit mood. I had to get to the airport early tomorrow. It wasn’t time for reunions. Then in some sort of weird cosmic coincidence I ran into Ben at the gas station.
And now, I was playing host to his daughter over the summer. I ran my fingers over my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. What a fucking nightmare.
Behind me the screen door snapped shut and I turned around in my seat, my body tensing as I took in Olivia’s slimfigure silhouetted by the porch light. She hesitated, then drew nearer, smiling nervously as she sat in the chair next to me.
“I liked the Gamay. It went well with the mushroom Wellington,” she said, her breath ghostly in the night air.
I nodded. “It’s one of my favorites. I work with a few winemakers in the region.” She was close enough now that I could smell her perfume, something floral, familiar. It made me want to bury my nose in her soft hair. “Linden blossom.”
“What?” She laughed and cocked her head at me.
“Your perfume.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s amazing. Is that a party trick?”
“I’ve been trying to place it all evening,” I admitted. Her scent had been driving me to distraction earlier in the kitchen. “I have two linden trees in my backyard in France and when they’re in bloom their fragrance envelopes the whole house.”
The scent always made me hopeful and nostalgic at the same time. Maybe because it was so ephemeral.
“Oh.” She bit her full bottom lip and stared down at her lap, her thick eyelashes throwing shadows over her flushed cheeks. The memory of her hand on my thigh made my fucking cock twitch. I shifted in my seat and finished my beer. “I noticed you didn’t touch the Gooduckant.”
“No. How was it?” She grimaced.
“A little dry. I preferred the Wellington. You’re an excellent cook.”
“Thanks,” she said, her gaze soft on mine. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”
I shrugged and glanced away. “We weren’t that close.”
“Still, it can’t be easy to lose a parent.”
I made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl. I didn’t like talking about my parents or my childhood.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” she said quickly.
“No, it’s okay.” An awkward silence followed, and I found myself admitting, “Actually, when I was younger I used to wish I was part of your family.”
“Really? Are you sure about that? If you were part of our family, you too would be forced to wear a silly Christmas sweater every year.” She laughed.
“Seems like a reasonable sacrifice to make to have grandparents like yours. Janet is one of the most generous people I know. And your grandfather, Charlie, was an amazing man.”
“I wish I’d known him.” There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. “You really made Gran’s day with that photo. It’s beautiful. You can almost hear their laughter.”
“They were beautiful. I’m glad I found it.”
The night went quiet again, but I felt warm despite the winter chill.
