Page 81 of While You Were Trending

“These will be our first wines in what’s essentially a brand-new winery,” Cricket adds. “We don’t have a lot of experience yet, so we’re doing this the way we want to talk about doing it. Make a story out of the wine while we learn the ropes.”

“Gonna crush these with your feet too?”

The two women share a giddy smile.

“Some of them,” Dori says.

“Special batches,” Cricket adds.

We clear the chardonnay fields and then get the zinfandel fields done too, finishing as the sun’s coming up.

“Head over to the fermentation building whenever you’re awake,” Mabel says to me and Shade. “Sorting starts now.”

I’ve kept myself in shape, but the repetitive hours of work have my body tired and my muscles aching like I’ve done a heavy upper body day in the gym. “We have to sort after handpicking?”

“You picked sticks and leaves. We have to pull them out.”

“Got it. I’ll be there.”

Shade yawns and shuts off his camera. “Sleep a long time,” he says to me. “A long, long time.”

I’d smirk at the unspoken reason he wants me to sleep a long time—he’s on call to film anytime I’m working at the winery, and it’s interfering with his clandestine calls to his secret boyfriend—but I’m tired too.

Used to this—road trips would have us with odd hours during the season—but still tired. “Not too long. Can’t miss sorting.”

“It’ll take a few days,” Cricket says to me. “Get real sleep.”

I head toward the main house with Mabel and Dori and Samantha and Olivia instead of back to my apartment beneath Cricket and Heath’s house.

Have to check on my dog.

I don’t ask why Ginny’s not with us.

They don’t say her name either.

When we reach the house, scents of biscuits and gravy waft out of the open windows.

All four of the women pause and look at me, then glance at each other.

Mabel speaks first. “Appreciate the help last night,” she says to me. “We know you could’ve gotten the footage you needed and left.”

“When I do something, I do it all the way.”

Not that myall the waywas enough for me to have a long career in hockey.

Get there, yes. Stay there—no.

The front door opens, and there’s Ginny, her curly hair piled in a cute bun on top of her head, her dress today light purple and dotted with honeybees, her feet bare with her toenails painted pink.

Fuck me, she’s pretty.

And she’s smiling at us—allof us, as though I didn’t spend years of my life being a dick to her—while her eyes twinkle and my dog sticks to her side. “Morning. Anyone want breakfast before you hit the sack?”

“You are my favorite person on the planet,” Samantha says. “I could kiss you right now.”

“Excuse me? I’m standing right here,” Olivia says with a tired smile.

“Ginny makes biscuits and gravy once a year for harvest. They’re magic,” Mabel tells Dori.