Page 86 of How to Say I Do
“Really? You can get out here? I mean, your work—”
Dropping everything to fly to Texas in, what, less than a week? No, that was impossible. But who cared? He needed me, and I’d make the world spin backward for him. I’d get out there come hell or high waist jeans. “You said six days?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna start harvesting tonight, and it’ll take about five days to get it done. The anniversary… That’s six days away. That’s when I’ll open my dad’s wine.”
“I will be there, Wyatt. I promise.”
Harrison was furious with me when I jogged back up to the office and told him I had to take an emergency trip to Texas. He stared at me for a long, frigid moment, and then began ticking off each and every one of my appointments, bookings, meetings, and shoots through the rest of the week and weekend.
“You've already been skipping a majority of the engagements we’ve had this summer, Noël.”
I hadn’t been to a club event or an art gallery exhibit in weeks.
“I’m letting that slide because you have the two largest events on our books running back to back, but you do have tobehere and put in the work. Have you straightened things out betweenEliteand Tessa Yarborough yet? Are they on the same page about the wedding?”
“That’s what this trip is about,” I lied. It rolled out so smoothly. “I’m going to Texas to finalize the advanced details for the wedding.”
Harrison stared. One finger tapped against the edge of his desk. His eyes were searching me, and whatever he was looking for, he wasn’t finding it. Silence stretched between us, palpably thick.
“Make sure Dinah is fully able to back you up.”
Dinah was, of course, fully thrilled at the thought of taking over for me yet again. Which was ridiculous, because I was only going to be gone for three days. She could handle three days of meetings and modeling shoots.
I toldEliteI would connect with them on all of our “outstanding issues” from Texas, promised Tessa I would be checking in with the dressmaker on the final touches for her gown, and then booked my flight to San Antonio.
I rode the subway to LaGuardia on the balls of my feet, shooting off work emails whenever we snagged signal, but mostly gazing at the pictures Wyatt had been texting me all week. There was him and Liam and Frank, piling up baskets overflowing with grapes on flatbed wagons that Peanut and Pickle pulled. There was Connie, sorting grapes at a folding table set up in Wyatt’s backyard. Liam asleep beneath an oak tree, one arm over his forehead. Wyatt looking exhausted but still smiling, and, in another photo, blowing me a kiss.
Yesterday evening, he’d texted to tell me he was about to start harvesting block 1, the petite sirah. The last of his grapes, the final harvest of his year. He did block 1 by himself, start to finish, always by starlight.
I told him I loved him and that I would see him in less than twenty-four hours.
I’d flown from New York to Texas three times in the past handful of months. Somehow, each flight seemed longer than the last, like the pilot was deciding to take a lap around Bermuda before they lazily headed for Texas. I was too wound up for delays, too snarled with anxiety over what lay ahead. Wyatt, his father, the wine they’d made together.I want you with me.Middle America floated beneath me in a haze.I want you here, Noël. I don't want to do this alone.
Wheels down, rubber squealing. The shuffle of people down the aisle and off the plane. I only had a carry-on, and I squeezed through the crowds as fast as I could.
Airports were a thing for Wyatt and I, weren’t they? How long had it been since I’d wilted into his side at the baggage claim in Cancun and drunkenly ordered him to get in the limo with me to go to the resort?
Shit, Wyatt had to be exhausted. I should have hired a limo, or a car service, or, hell, asked Frank or Connie to come and pick me up. Should I offer to drive back to the ranch? Driving a truck couldn’t be that much different than driving a Prius, could it? It was like riding a bigger bike, surely—
My Gucci sneakers squeaked to a stop. I’d expected to see Wyatt waiting in our usual meeting spot, but the man wearing a cowboy hat and slumped against the pillar with his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans wasn’t Wyatt.
That was Liam.
He noticed me at the same time I noticed him. The crowd moved around me like I was a boulder dropped into a river, parting long enough for Liam and I to eyeball each other before cutting us off again.
Fuck.
Liam came to me. His eyes were pinched and tight and tired, but still sharp enough to drag over me from head to toe.
“Noël.” He nodded, but didn’t tip his hat. I’d learned a few things about what that meant from a Texan man.
“Hello, Liam.” Between the two of us, I had the hard work to do. “It’s good to see you again.”
He held out his hand for my duffel. “Can I carry that for you?”
“I’m good, thank you.”
“Well, then.”
