Chapter Fourteen
It was well after midnight when Hallie, Lavinia, and Jerome drove down Grapevine Way, having packed up their Wine Down display and carpooled back to town. Shops were shuttered, though a few wine bars remained open, probably nearing last call. Along the road, ornate rooftop cornices were silhouetted by silver moonlit sky. Through the open back seat window of Jerome and Lavinia’s catering van, she could hear the chirp of crickets carrying down the mountain and from nearby valleys and vineyards.
Jerome and Lavinia dropped Hallie off at her parked truck, and with an exchange of exhausted waves, they continued down the block to where they would unpack the catering equipment at Fudge Judy before heading home.
Hallie got into her truck and let her head loll back against the headrest. She should go home and climb into bed right now, surrounded by snoring dogs, but she made no move to start the engine. Julian had written back to his admirer, and try as she might, she couldn’t seem to let it go. There was no way around it—she had to collect that letter. Now. Tonight. Under the cover of darkness, like a certified weirdo.
Teeth gritted, she pushed open the driver’s-side door and hopped out, pulling her jacket tighter to her body to ward off the cool, misty air. She stole across the silent road, intending to cut through Fudge Judy’s to their back alley, then down the road to Julian’s jogging path. Having helped Lavinia and Jerome with catering events in the past, she knew they would be busy shelving items in the giant walk-in storage closet and would be none the wiser that she’d used the shortcut. Furthermore, any potential witnesses would assume she’d remained in the donut shop the whole time.
“Any witnesses? Listen to yourself,” she muttered.
This whole activity was pointless—
Hallie stopped short in front of Corked.
Was that . . . a new awning?
Gone was the old, faded red-and-white-striped one. It had been replaced by a bold green one with scripted lettering. Corked Wine Store. A St. Helena institution since 1957.
Where did it come from? Between the rainstorm yesterday and preparing for Wine Down today, two afternoons had passed since the last time she’d stopped into Corked to visit Lorna. Apparently she’d missed the store getting a face-lift? Who was responsible for this?
Intuition poked and prodded at Hallie, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Earlier as Wine Down . . . wound down . . . she’d gone on a mission to find the origin of the business cards, and lo and behold, everyone she spoke to claimed they’d been given out at the Vos Vineyard table. She’d already caught Julian buying pity cases of wine from Lorna. Then came the cards. And now this. A beautiful, crisp green awning that updated the struggling shop by several decades.
He’d done this, hadn’t he? Bought Lorna an awning. Driven business her way. Put money in the register. What did all of it mean, and why, oh, why, did it have to make her heart pound like steel drums on a cruise ship?
This was not for her.
There was a reason he hadn’t taken credit for any of this. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. He was merely helping out a local business owner, not making some kind of dramatic romantic gesture, so the swooning had to stop. She should be ashamed of the fact that her knees were wobbling like chocolate pudding. If Julian wanted her as more than a onetime accidental hookup, he would have said so by now. God knew he was blunter than a baseball bat about everything else.
And he’d written back to the secret admirer.
Hello. Those were not the actions of an interested man.
Those were the actions of a man who’d perused the grocery aisle and said, I think I’ll take this reliable cauliflower, instead of the mixed bag of root vegetables I can’t name. She needed to get his lack of interest through her thick skull, collect his letter, and read it out of pure curiosity, then be done with this whole confusing mess with the professor.
With a final yearning look up at the awning, Hallie jogged down Grapevine Way toward Fudge Judy. She peeked in through the window, making sure her friends were nowhere in sight before she slipped in through the front door and went into the kitchen. Lavinia appeared from behind the stainless steel workstation and threw up her hands at Hallie’s entrance, then slumped forward onto the waist-high table, clutching at her chest through a pink apron. “Fucking hell, I thought we were being robbed. What in the bloody hell are you at?”
Trapped, cursing herself for not taking the long way, Hallie shifted onto the balls of her feet. “I just thought I would go for a little moonlight stroll.”
“What? Where?”
Why did her ideas always sound worse when they were spoken aloud? Like, every single one. “Down Julian’s jogging path,” she mumbled.
After a moment, Lavinia banged a fist down on the table. “He’s written you, hasn’t he?”
“Everything all right in there?” Jerome called through the door of the storage closet.
Hallie pressed a finger to her lips.
“All’s well, love. Just bumped my elbow!” Lavinia reached back to untie her apron, a somewhat maniacal look in her eyes. “I’m coming with you.”
There would be no stopping her. Apron removal meant business. “I’m not reading you the letter. It’s private.”
Lavinia rocked back on her heels, considering those parameters. “You don’t have to read it to me word for word, but I want the general temperature.”
“Fine.”
“Going out for a smoke, love,” Lavinia shouted, the door banging behind the two women on their way out into the alley. “How do you know he’s written back?”
“He told me.”
“He told you . . .” Lavinia drew out.
“Yes.” She hugged her elbows tight, then realized she looked defensive, so she let them drop. “And yes, I realize that means he isn’t interested in real-life Hallie. Only the Hallie from the letter. I’m just going to read his answer to satisfy my curiosity. That’s all.”
“I might trust you on that.” Lavinia jogged to keep up. “If you hadn’t sworn to me you wouldn’t write these letters in the first place.”
“Did you see the new awning on Corked?”
“Your ability to distract us from an actual problem is unparalleled, but I’ll bite.” Lavinia tilted her head. “A new awning? What happened to the red one covered in pigeon shite?”
“It’s gone. And I think it was Julian who arranged it.” Hallie snagged Lavinia’s wrist and guided her down the private path leading to Vos Vineyard. “I traced those promo business cards for Corked to their table at Wine Down. That has him all over it, too, right? I realize this is all beginning to sound very Scooby-Doo.”
“Ooh. I’m Daphne. She gets to shag Fred.”
“You can have him. I have a healthy distrust of blond men.”
“I don’t want to trust him, I want to bang him. Where am I losing you?”
Hallie covered her mouth to muffle a laugh. “You aren’t. The fact that we’re sneaking around in the dark discussing sexual relations with a cartoon character—one who wears a sailor suit, no less—is exactly why we’re friends.”
They traded a wry smile in the moonlight. “Back to the case of the mystery awning, then. We think Julian is responsible.”
“Yes.” Hallie sighed, despairing over the zero-gravity sensation in her breast. “I could have walked away mostly unscathed if he wasn’t prank call champion of the universe. If he didn’t keep making these . . . these gestures that remind me why I was infatuated with him in the first place. Why I spent so long hung up on him.”
Lavinia made a sound of understanding. “He’s got you dangling from a fishing hook, all gape-mouthed and wiggly.”
“Thank you for that flattering comparison.” Hallie laughed, stopping in front of the tree stump, frowning. “This is where the letter should be. Wedged in between the crack.”
“What a coincidence. That’s right where you’d like Julian to be.”
Hallie overcame her blush. “You’re not totally wrong.”
They each took out their phones and turned on the flashlights, searching the ground around the stump. “Could he have taken it back?”
Why was she dizzy with hope over that possibility? “No. Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he realized you’re his dream girl—” Lavinia’s beam of light landed on something white behind a brambleberry bush. “Ah, no. Sorry. Found it. Must have blown over.”
“Oh,” Hallie said, too brightly. “Okay.”
She approached the envelope the way one might approach a lit puddle of kerosene and picked it up, commanding her stomach to stop pitching. “All right, so I’ll just bring this home and read it.”
Several seconds ticked by in the foggy stillness.
Hallie tore open the envelope.
“Exactly,” Lavinia said, sitting down on the tree stump. “I’ll be right here, awaiting any bread crumbs you choose to throw me.”
She barely heard her friend’s quip over the pounding in her ears. Pacing a few steps away, she shined her flashlight down at the letter and read.
Hello.
I don’t know where to begin. Obviously this is all quite unusual. After all, we are communicating as two people who know each other, but we have never met. It feels like we have, doesn’t it? I apologize for talking in circles. It’s not easy to expose oneself on paper and leave it out in a field where it could fall into the wrong hands. You were brave to go first.
In your letter, you mentioned having too much space to think. I always thought I wanted that. Lots of space. Silence. But lately it has become more of a force field to keep you people out. I’ve had it activated so long that anyone brave enough to come inside feels like an intruder, rather than what you they really are. An anomaly. A fork in the road of time. The thing that pulls me from distraction and forces me to become the next version of myself. And isn’t it ironic that I teach the meaning of time for a living and, yet, I am staunchly fighting the passage of it? Time is change. But letting it move you forward is hard.
Enough about me. I am nowhere near as interesting as you are. I’ll say this. I believe that if you’re brave enough to write a secret admirer letter to someone, you’re brave enough to evolve, if that’s what you want. Maybe writing back will inspire me to do the same.
Sincerely,
Julian
“Well?” Lavinia called from her stump. “What is the temperature?”
Hallie had no earthly clue. He’d gone way more in-depth than she was expecting. It reminded her of the conversation they’d had in the kitchen. Emotional. Honest. Only, this time, he’d had it with someone else. On one hand, his words had spread a balm over a wound inside of her. You’re brave enough to evolve. On the other, it felt worse than if he’d asked to meet the mystery person. Or expressed serious romantic interest.
Tears pricked against the backs of her eyelids. “Um.” She quickly folded the letter up and stowed it in the pocket of her hoodie. “I would say he’s cautiously interested. Complimentary but not flirtatious. He leaves it open-ended for more correspondence.”
When Lavinia didn’t respond right away, Hallie knew her friend had picked up on the hurt in her tone. “Are you going to write him again?” Lavinia finally asked, quietly.
“I don’t know.” Hallie tried to laugh, but it sounded forced. “None of my impulsive decisions have resulted in actual pain before. Maybe that’s a good sign to stop.”
“I have a lighter in my pocket. Shall we go burn him at the stake?”
“Nah.” Hallie turned, giving her friend a grateful look. “I hear they don’t even have shrimp and garlic linguine in prison.”
“I guess we’ll let the lucky prick live,” Lavinia muttered, pushing to her feet. Coming to stand beside Hallie, she put an arm around her shoulder, and they both stared out over the top of the vines. “You did something sort of brash, babe, but I have to tell you, I fucking admire you for taking a shot and doing something a little wild. Once in a while, a good thing comes from a shot of sudden bravery.”
“Just not this time.”
Lavinia didn’t answer. Just squeezed Hallie’s shoulders.
“This is a good thing,” Hallie said slowly, watching her breath turn into fog. “I needed a wake-up call. Since Rebecca left us, I’ve fallen into this pattern of disorganized commotion. I don’t want to acknowledge how bad it hurts to be alone now. And I don’t know what happens next in my life. So I just . . . kept finding ways to avoid making decisions. To avoid being the Hallie I was when she was around, because it’s too hard to do it alone.” She closed her eyes and squared her shoulders. “But I can. I’m ready. I need to grow up now and stop making these . . .” She gestured to the stump. “Ridiculous choices. Starting tomorrow, I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“Why not start tonight?”
“I need closure.” Again, her gaze rested on the stump. “I need to tell him good-bye first.”
* * *
The letter was already gone.
Julian stared down at the stump with a pit in his stomach.
It was nearing one o’clock in the morning. They’d been home for an hour, but he’d spent it convincing Natalie to go to bed, instead of cracking open a bottle of champagne and playing an old version of Yahtzee she’d found in the hallway closet. As soon as he’d heard his sister sawing logs through her bedroom door, he’d booked it up the path to take back the piece of communication, but obviously he’d been too late. His secret admirer had retrieved the envelope while he was at the party. And he supposed that eliminated everyone who was there tonight. Why did that surprise him? Had he been holding out a small amount of dumb hope that his admirer was Hallie?
Idiot.
Why would she admire someone who was a rainstorm compared to her sunshine?
She’d been the one to point out they were too different and should only be friends.
He agreed, of course. Of course. He did.
Still. God, why did he feel so slimy? Despite the dropping temperature, the back of his neck was covered in sweat. He had no choice but to return home, carrying mounting senses of dread and shame behind him like chains, knowing he’d written back to a stranger while he was—let’s face it—infatuated with someone else.
What the hell was he going to do now?