Page 73 of Wine & Dine

29

Best friend’s older sister

[Garrett]

I give Dolores the night, but the next day, I find the infamous Magnolia McIntyre homestead, thanks to the help of a nosy busybody named Cora Conrad, the owner of Conrad Lodge where I booked a room.

“No,” Denton says, rushing off what looks like a newly built front porch. He holds both his hands up to me as I approach, and I stop in the path. It snowed overnight, and I’m thankful I looked at the weather before I hopped a plane for the other side of the country. I shove my hands into my puffy jacket and huff out a steamy breath as Denton storms toward me. “She doesn’t need you here.”

I glare at Denton. “Are we fucking sixteen? As I told you yesterday, she’s a big girl, Denton, and can make her own decisions. Which, I might add, you took from her.”

When Denton came to pick up Wally from me, we didn’t say more than a few words to one another. Everyone needed a minute to cool down, but today is a new day, and I want to see my girl. Denton stops, his breath coming out in a mist of warm air in the cold morning. He glares back at me. “I thought you told her about the contract.”

“Why would I tell her? I didn’t realize it involved her.” I’m lying to myself, though. We’d talked often about our grandparents, and then I took her to Napa where she had all these ideas about a vineyard. I could see it all in my head, and while Denton’s suggestion had been in jest, the plans took off for me. Instant gratification man. I’d called him on Monday after our weekend away to solidify the contracts for review. He promised he’d allow me to use the land for profit in exchange for the quote-unquote investment loan I’d given him. I’d planned to tell Dolores everything after the gala event. I had big plans for that night as well.

Dreams. Silly pipe dreams. Again.

Denton turns his head, and I follow the line of his vision. The flat land goes on for miles. The house is the only thing standing, along with a protective surrounding of trees. Rehabbing the home is underway, and I knew this when I saw him in Atlanta. He wanted to do something nice for his grandmother. After all, she’s the one who bought him a guitar and allowed him to practice at her home, giving him a dream like my granddad gave me. He told me he hoped to make it into a bed and breakfast one day but was in no rush. The tourism industry in the small community was on an upward trajectory, which gave me another reason that a winery here would be a sound investment.

“This is so fucked up,” Denton mutters, running a hand over his salt and pepper hair. “She’s so angry with me.”

“Do you blame her? You took her business and tore it apart.”

“I planned to put it back together.”

“Without her input?” My defense of Dolores doesn’t surprise me, but it surprises Denton. His eyes narrow as he looks at me.

“You care about her.” There’s a question in his voice, but I’m not explaining myself to Denton before I talk to Dolores. It’s more than caring.

“Is Dolores here?” The informative Cora assured me Dolores was staying at her grandmother’s for a few days, so I can only hope I’m not too late. For a few short minutes, I worried she would go back to that schmuck Rusty.

“She’s inside,” Denton offers with defeat in his voice. He twists and waves a hand for me to continue for the house. Denton follows and then reaches around me to open the front door. Instantly, I notice the potential of the house. A parlor off each side of an extra-wide hallway hosts an abundance of seating. A dining room to the right after one parlor holds a large table. A grand staircase to the left will be stunning with some new stain. Eventually, we enter a kitchen in the process of being refinished. Denton leads me around a corner into a breakfast room. Here I see a frail woman with sharply cut gray bangs and glasses that look like the bottom of two soda bottles perched on her nose. They magnify her blue eyes, which I imagine matched Dolores’s decades ago.

“And who might you be?” she questions, dipping her head to roam up my body. She’s not checking me out but inspecting me.

“This is Garrett Fox, Magnolia. The man Dolores mentioned.”

“The neighbor who crossed the country for her?” My head flinches back at the direct question. How could she know such a thing? It’s a reminder Dolores ran away from me. She’s hiding out here in Georgia to avoid me.

Then why are you here? my heart asks, but I know the answer is hope. I’m hoping I’m wrong about Dolores. I’m hoping she feels the same way about me as I do about her. I love her.

“Magnolia,” Denton warns, and I chuckle softly to lessen the awkward moment.

“Well, what do you want with her?” She addresses me.

“I’d like to apologize,” I begin. First things first. Dolores needs the truth from me.

“Should have brought flowers. In my day, men were gentlemen, and flowers worked while groveling.”

“Yes, ma’am, I should have.” I realize I don’t even know what Dolores’s favorite flower is, or if she even likes flowers. Then I think of the things I do know. Dolores loves classics. Black and white movies. Tango dances. She’d want roses.

I lean forward as if I’m going to share a secret with Dolores’s grandmother. She leans toward me, elbows resting on the table that separates us. “I’m also hoping to woo her.”

Denton swears under his breath. Magnolia sits upright and nods once. “Thank God. That Crusty Rusty wasn’t worth the dirt under her feet. You still need flowers, though.”

“Magnolia,” Dolores admonishes, and I turn to see her standing just inside the kitchen. My breath hitches. She looks tired with red-rimmed eyes and a splotchy face. Has she been crying? Dolores is one of the strongest women I know, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t break down when she’s alone. I don’t want her to be alone. I don’t want her to cry. And I especially don’t want her to cry over me.

I take a deep breath and give her a weak grin. She watches me, biting the corner of her lip. Lips I miss.