27
Texas Wine Country
Not only did Zoey and Annie take my Bloody Good Wine recommendation, they ran with it, making it the first stop on “Zoey and Annie’s Bacchic Bachelorette Weekend,” which was the title of the itinerary my sister’s friend Claire handed me the minute I pulled up to the enormous Airbnb we were renting for the weekend. The itinerary was laminated and attached to a lanyard because, as Claire curtly explained, this was not their first rodeo. It came with an NDA I had to sign before entering the house, and no amount of protesting that I was Lee’s sister and would obviously not leak drunk pictures of her at a bachelorette party got me out of having to slash my name across all three pages. Reminder to hire Claire if I ever needed a lawyer, because she was ruthless.
When she invited me to her bachelorette, Zoey had explained that since she and Annie shared so many of the same friends, they’d decided to hold a joint party and turn it into a couples’ weekend. Claire and Simon, Mac and Ted, Lee and Ben, and a few of Zoey’s artist friends—Duke and Jeremy, who were both sculptors, and Layla and Helen, an actress and a glassblower—were all here. I was the lone single person, so I was relieved to find they hadn’t stiffed me on my bedroom—as a Frequent Single, I was used to being shoved in closets or given bunk beds on group trips, but this time my assignment was a cozy second-floor bedroom with a king-sized bed and claw-foot tub. After freshening up, I’d joined the whole merry crew in a shuttle bus that chugged us outside the postcard-cute town of Fredericksburg to the long stretch of vineyards that surrounded it. Forget Napa. It was gorgeous out here in Texas wine country, with an added dash of quaint and homey.
Now, climbing out of the shuttle and facing the Bloody Good Wine vineyard, I nearly swooned. The tasting room was a charming, modestly sized wooden building surrounded by large oak trees, wooden swings and a fire pit. Behind that stretched rows and rows of carefully cosseted grapevines. “This place is adorable.”
Zoey seized my arm and bounced, knocking her tiara askew. It was her one concession to our group’s demand that she and Annie parade their status as bachelorettes. They had absolutely refused Mac’s glitter sashes and “Kiss Me, I’m Going to Be a Bride” pins, so we considered the tiaras a win. “I’m so excited I can’t stand it,” Zoey squealed.
I righted her crown. “I’m glad you liked my suggestion so much.”
Her responding smile was suspiciously satisfied. “I have a surprise for you inside.” She tugged me ahead of the group.
“It’s your weekend,” I protested. “We should be surprising you.” But I fell quiet when we burst into the tasting room. It was just as charming as the outside, all cozy and wood-paneled, with a few British flags and pieces of soccer memorabilia. In the faintest way, it reminded me of Logan’s house. It was nicely busy, too, even at three in the afternoon, and the hum of chatter from couples glugging wine formed an inviting ambiance. One of the staff led us through the crowd to the best table, a round one in the corner with a great view of the vineyard. As we all fit ourselves around it—Zoey insisted on sitting next to me—I searched the tasting room, trying to suss out my surprise. I found zero clues.
“The owners will be right with you,” the staff member promised, and whisked away.
“Owners?” Lee’s eyebrows raised. “I’m glad Ann and Zo are getting the VIP treatment they deserve.”
I thought Zoey would keel over from delight. She and Annie both beamed at me. “We have a little surprise for Alexis. When she recommended this place and we looked it up, we thought, surely, she has to know. But she clearly doesn’t.”
“Know what?” What had I recommended without realizing it? Oh, God, did this place turn into a burlesque club or something? I would never hear the end of it.
Lee looked just as confused as I was. She glanced at Ben, who shrugged. “No idea.”
“Eeee,” Zoey squealed, and I turned.
The double doors to the back of the tasting room burst open and Logan, of all people, emerged, flanked by a man and woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to him. He grinned at me from across the room, dressed down in jeans and a black T-shirt, looking happier and more relaxed than I’d seen him in a long time. He shook his head when he got closer, giving me a wide, toothy smile. “Of all the wine joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” His deep, familiar voice sent shivers down my spine.
I blinked, mouth open. “What are you doing here?”
Logan and company reached our table and he smiled down at us. “Hi everyone. I’d like to introduce you to my parents, Kit and Petra. They own the place.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. “Your parents own Bloody Good Wine? I thought you were farmers.”
Behind me, Duke whispered, “Is that Logan Arthur the politician?” followed by the familiar tapping sounds of a rapid Google search.
Petra’s dark eyes sparkled. She was short—Logan had gotten his height from his dad—and lovely, with the wide face and high cheekbones I associated with eastern Europeans, and curly dark hair like Logan’s. “We had this right annoying son who kept pestering us to stop farming livestock and get in on the wine boom, so we made the leap from Odejo to Fredericksburg about—” She looked at her husband for confirmation. “Six years ago?”
Kit nodded. “Sounds about right. The timeline and the cheeky son.” Both his and Petra’s British accents were so strong I was now amazed Logan’s wasn’t stronger. Kit grinned at me. “Though I suppose I don’t have to tell you about the cheekiness, do I?” He stuck out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear.”
Oh. Of course. Logan would’ve told his parents we were dating, just like I’d told my mom. Zoey elbowed me, and I hurriedly shook Mr. Arthur’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.” I glanced at Logan and he arched his eyebrows at me. I had so many things I wanted to ask him, but couldn’t in public. I hadn’t seen him all week since the debate fiasco. He’d texted me once to apologize for being MIA, telling me the campaign was in hyperdrive trying to do damage control, and he’d call as soon as he wasn’t in meetings twenty-three hours a day. I’d been so unsure how to respond—did I ask if he was okay? Did I ask if it was my fault he’d been distracted? Did I tell him I was here if he needed to vent?—that it had taken me an hour of pacing, typing, and deleting before I’d settled on a safe Sounds good. And now he was here, out of my daydreams and in the flesh. It was surreal.
“I understand we have some brides here on their hen weekend,” Petra crooned, clasping her hands.
“Right here,” Mac said, pointing at Annie and Zoey, who beamed.
“Pretty sure the crowns gave it away,” Claire quipped, which earned her a glare from Mac.
“Well, Kit and I wanted to say congratulations, and as our gift, your wine is on the house.”
The table exploded into polite protests.
“You really don’t have to do that,” Annie said. “We’re happy to support you.”
Arthur waved her away. “We insist. We’re big fans of love in the Arthur household.” He squeezed Petra. “Been happily married thirty years ourselves.”
Happily married parents. Could Logan and I be any different?
“And we want to make a good impression on Alexis.” Petra winked at me. “Logan’s so besotted we’re hoping to woo her into sticking around—”
“Okay, Mom,” he interrupted, shooting her a death glare. “Why don’t we bring the nice hen party the wine they came for?”
“Ah, right,” said Petra, and Logan hustled his parents in the direction of the bar.
As soon as their backs were turned, everyone started whispering.
“Do you like your surprise?” Zoey clutched my arm. “Logan’s spending the weekend with us!”
My eyebrows were going to be permanently stuck in my hairline. “He is?” Now I understood why I’d been given a king bed. Oh, God, Logan and I only had that one bed. I’d read too many romance novels not to understand what kind of trouble I was setting myself up for.
“He is?” Lee echoed, even louder than me. She shot Ben a furtive look. They must be thinking of Will.
“Props, Alexis.” Mac reached across the table and lifted her hand for a high five. “Your governor’s hot on TV with that whole dark, angry British thing, but in real life he’s smoking. Sorry Ted, I call ’em like I see ’em.” Her face brightened. “I bet he says governor all British. Gov’na.”
Her boyfriend, Ted, eyed her. “My Midwest accent really isn’t doing it for you, huh?”
“He’s a gubernatorial candidate,” Claire corrected. “He hasn’t won yet. And right now it’s not looking so hot. If he’s staying the weekend, no one’s allowed to mention that shit show of a debate. That means no drunk politics, Stoner.”
Lee rolled her eyes. “When have I ever—”
“All the time,” everyone said in unison.
“That debate was painful.” Claire’s husband, Simon, cringed. “Best not bring it up.”
“You dummies,” I hissed. “He’s only a few feet away. He’ll hear you.”
To my horror, Logan turned from the bar with a bottle of rosé and a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t worry. No one has to tiptoe. I know I bloody well choked.”
I’d never witnessed Claire look so mortified. “Logan, I’m sorry—”
“No need to apologize.” He shook his head and tipped her wineglass over, filling it with rosé, the pour coming out in one smooth arc. I hadn’t realized watching someone expertly pour wine was a kink a person could have until now. “I had a bad night. I’ll do better next time. There’s still hope I’ll be gov’na yet.” He winked at Mac, then his eyes shifted to me. “Bombing puts things in perspective, at least. Shows you what you need to do differently.”
I don’t know why that struck a painful chord in my chest, but it did. God help me, I’d gotten used to being Logan’s friend. What if one of the things he needed to do differently was get rid of me?
“Lex,” he said lightly, filling each glass remarkably quickly. “Will you come to the back office with me and my parents? They’re begging to talk to you.” He turned to the rest of the table. “Courtney will be over in a second to tell you about what you’re drinking.”
I felt everyone’s eyes on me as I left the table and followed Logan through the double doors. He glanced down at me and extended his hand. “Do you mind if we...”
“Of course not.” I slid my fingers through his, feeling the familiar comfort of our hands locking together. If he was holding my hand, he couldn’t regret me, could he? Though, of course, we were turning the corner to a big kitchen, where his parents crouched over an island. The handholding was for show. This is why you’re taking a chance with Will, I told myself. With him, you don’t have to guess.
“Ah, Alexis!” Logan’s dad beamed. “Thank you for ducking away to see us.”
“Are you a hugger?” asked Petra. She barely waited for me to nod before flinging her arms around me. I dropped Logan’s hand and hugged her back.
“Okay, Mom,” Logan said gently, tugging her away. “Let Alexis breathe.”
Petra rubbed my back before releasing me. “We’re just so excited to meet you. Logan’s been gushing for weeks, and of course we’ve seen you on TV. Kit and I were kicking ourselves we hadn’t met you yet.”
“Mostly you were kicking me,” Logan corrected.
“Six months of dating without telling us!” Kit turned to me. “He’s always been private, but hiding you was beyond the pale.”
I stepped up to the island next to Petra. “In Logan’s defense, we both thought it would be best to keep things quiet. We didn’t want anything distracting from his election. Or my sister’s before that,” I added, in an inspired moment.
“That’s right, your sister’s a state senator.” Kit nodded as if that settled something. “You’re used to the political life. That’s important. Logan needs someone who understands what it’s like.”
“How about we talk about Logan like he’s standing right here,” Logan said, though he was smiling fondly at his father. Away from the campaign, he was remarkably at ease.
“How’s the wine-making business? Do you like it better than the farming you did before?”
Petra nodded. “Oh, much.” She reached up on her tiptoes and ruffled Logan’s hair. “This one kept telling us the Texas wine scene was going to blow up and we should get in on it. I’m so glad we listened. He was right. Business is booming. And we love working with the grapes.”
“Nice not to be on the verge of bankruptcy, too,” Kit said with a wink.
“At least I got one thing right,” Logan said. “Rare these days.”
I shot him a sympathetic look. He was clearly talking about the debate.
“We’re just two old hippies, really.” Kit smiled warmly across the counter at Petra. “We’ll go wherever the wind takes us, try our hand at anything. All you need is love, and the rest follows. Isn’t that right, dear?”
They did give off a mellow hippie vibe. I blurted the first thing that came to mind: “How in the world did you two make Logan?”
Petra and Kit burst out laughing. “You know, sometimes I think he fashioned himself in opposition to us,” Petra admitted.
“Someone had to be the bloody responsible one,” Logan muttered.
“Oi, we were responsible,” Kit said. “Taught you all the essentials. Love, laughter, and Tottenham supremacy.”
The opportunity to get to know Logan better was too good not to press. “Was he always a serious child?”
“I have to show you pictures,” Petra said. “I know I have them here somewhere. I was going to scrapbook in my down time.” She started fluttering around the kitchen drawers, opening and closing. “Where did they go?”
“Mum,” Logan groaned. “There’s no need—”
“Here they are!” She waved a fistful of photos. “Look at him,” she said, pointing to the first. “Isn’t he the most handsome little boy? He got all our best features.”
In the photo stood a miniature Logan, glowering at the camera, wearing—I almost gasped—a pair of jean overalls. Just as I’d hoped. He stood in front of a large tree with his arms spread possessively around the trunk.
“He was guarding that tree,” Kit explained. “It was an old oak right in the center of town, had been there for hundreds of years. When Tex-Ag bought the land and was planning to tear it down, Logan chained himself to it and refused to leave for days. Petra and I had to bring him food and water and camp out with him at night. He was only ten.”
I looked at Logan, amazed. A faint redness tinged his cheeks. “You were a literal tree hugger. You can never let the RNC see this. What happened to the tree?”
“Those fuckers threatened legal action, then tore it down,” he said. “I’ll never forgive them.”
Petra spread the other photos out on the island. I pored over them. “Logan’s not smiling in a single one.”
“Smiling’s for people who save trees,” he said.
“He was our little crusader,” Petra said fondly. “Never met an animal he didn’t take care of or a hurting person he didn’t want to help. And mind you, Odejo was full of people like us, struggling to make ends meet on farms that didn’t stand a chance against the Tex-Ags of the world. He had a lot of causes. I think that’s where he grew his heart for justice.” She winked at me. “Still can’t believe the two of us made a kid like him.”
“Oh my goodness.” I snatched a picture out of the pile. In it, Logan crouched next to a large, fat pig with brown spots. “Is this Wilbur?”
Logan’s eye twitched. After a moment of grudging silence, he growled, “That’s him.”
I looked at young Logan’s face, unsmiling but still shining with pride. “It’s even better than I imagined.”
“He was the one to beat in the 4-H shows,” Kit said proudly. “For a while we thought he’d go into agriculture, but we should’ve known it would be politics for him. Logan’s always had a single-minded drive.”
“So while the rest of his friends from high school went off to A&M like proper country boys, he went off to Cambridge,” his mother said. “And came back to us all Harvard.”
Logan rolled his eyes and I grinned. His parents teased, but the love was obvious.
“I know you’re busy this weekend with your hen party,” Kit said to me. “But you can come back anytime. We’d love to put you up and show you the whole place from top to bottom. Cook you a big dinner with wine pairings.”
“That sounds amazing,” I said. “Count me in.” Stop making promises you can’t keep, a little voice warned.
Petra leaned close to me and spoke softly. “I could tell by the way Logan talked about you that you were someone special.” She glanced at Logan, who was describing something to his dad. “Now, seeing him around you, the way he looks at you, how much he smiles... I’ve never seen him so happy. Thank you for being so good to him.”
I smiled at Petra, hoping my deep well of guilt didn’t shine through. Logan’s parents were lovely and I hated lying to them. “I just want him to be happy,” I said quietly. At least that was the truth. I wanted more than anything for Logan to get his victory, the goal he’d been working toward since he was ten years old, guarding that tree. “I should probably get back to my friends,” I added, and Logan looked over.
“Of course.” Petra rubbed my arm.
“I’ll be out in a minute with some reserve bottles,” Logan promised. “And hey, Lex.” He tugged me away from the island and I saw his parents smile at each other, charmed at the thought that he couldn’t keep his hands off me. He lowered his voice. “Later tonight, can we talk?”
My stomach dropped. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded, but his gaze shifted to his hands. “Yeah. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking—” He stopped, then laughed at himself. “Actually, I’ve been doing a lot of torturing myself. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
The pit in my stomach deepened. He’d said bombing at the debate had given him clarity. He was going to end our fake relationship, wasn’t he? Tonight, despite introducing me to his parents, Logan would sit me down and explain it was more prudent to call it off. Or maybe he’d ask to scale us back to a single appearance a week. Something to keep up the ruse but insert some distance.
This is why you’re giving Will a shot, I reminded myself. Even though it wasn’t the most charitable thought, it comforted me enough to take a deep breath and say, weakly, “Great. Can’t wait.”