Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Stay and talk about it with us,” he said, splitting a thoughtful frown between Corinne and Natalie. “I haven’t even gotten started on their methods of disease detection.”
“Whoa. I’m too young to die of excitement.” Natalie laughed, holding up her hands and backing away. “It’s fine. I’ll see you guys back on the surface.”
“Natalie,” Julian called when she reached the stairs, but her smile was beginning to wane, so she kept going, as if she didn’t hear him.
It’s fine.
Next Friday night was right around the corner. That was when she would prove herself.
That was when she would shine.
God knew she was never meant to do that here.
* * *
August propped a picture of Sam against the gravestone, sat back, and cracked open a cold one. “Cheers, buddy.”
He’d woken up even earlier than usual this morning to make the drive down to San Joaquin Valley National Cemetery, where Sam was buried. Calling his parents and informing them of the news about his wedding had been fun. Fun like a root canal. His ears were still ringing from his mother’s outraged screech. They were on a cruise to Alaska—which he didn’t even know was a thing—and obviously couldn’t make it to St. Helena by tomorrow. He’d managed to escape with what remained of his hearing by promising to bring Natalie to Kansas to meet them soon.
Maybe he should just crawl into one of these graves right now, because he didn’t know when or even if he’d be pulling that off. But it sure was nice to think about. Considering they were both tough as nails, Natalie and his mother would probably square off across the dinner table, refusing to blink. August was here for it.
Propping himself up from behind with his left fist, he lifted the beer to his lips with his right hand, tracing the name on the gravestone with his eyes. “I came here to ask you something important, man. Will you walk me down the aisle?”
Sam stared back at him from the glossy photograph, half smiling. August had snapped the shot with his phone at the end of day one of BUD/S training, where they’d met. Sam looked dog-tired in the photo, but there was a touch of exhilaration there, too, like he was relieved to get through the first twenty-four hours.
“Wait, you’re telling me only the bride gets to walk down the aisle?” August reared back a touch. “That doesn’t seem fair. I’ve been working on my runway strut for nothing.”
He listened for a minute, trying to imagine what Sam would say.
“Natalie? Yeah, she’s . . .” He let go of a breath. “Way out of my league. Remember how I used to tell you no woman would ever get me under her spell? Well, this one could. She could have me whipped in the time it takes to crack an egg.”
The wind drifted through the sunny cemetery, rustling the trees.
“I’m already whipped, you say?” August smiled into his next sip of beer. “I don’t recall asking for an opinion.” He cleared his throat. “But seriously, you know, I have no idea what I’m doing these days. I’m trying to open your stupid winery and I suck at it. Out of nowhere, I’ve got a fucking cat. Stop laughing.” The beer was sour in his mouth now. “You were really good at the things I wasn’t. I taught you how to fish, you reminded me when it was time to buy new socks. I told you the mustache made you look like a serial killer, you talked me out of mining for Bitcoin. The balance is off now. But, uh . . .”
He swiped at his eyes and shifted into a different position.
“I don’t feel off-balance when she’s around. I mean, I do. She definitely makes me feel like I’m juggling dinner plates. There’s also this feeling like . . .” He thought about it for a few seconds. “You know the feeling you had when I took this picture? Like the hard shit is over? I feel that with her. Or that it’s possible with her, I guess. I don’t know. Like if we just get through the difficult shit, all the strain we went through to reach the other side . . . I’ll remember it like it was a joy, instead of being hard.”
August listened to the wind.
“Yes, she’s hot, too, you dog. The hottest. Don’t get any ideas.”
Beer empty, he let the bottle tip sideways in the grass, then decided to do the same himself, lying with his cheek pressed to the ground.
“I knew you’d ask about the wine sooner or later. Like I said, it’s going terribly. Harvest is the easy part. Pick the grapes at night, keep them cold. Crush the grapes—yes, I left the stems and skin on during fermentation to bring the tannins to life. We’re making a Cabernet. I know that much, dick.” He exhaled. “Now the red stuff is in the barrels and that’s where I got tripped up last year. Did you know people add egg whites and clay and sulfur and all kinds of shit to bring out the flavor of the grape? There is no recipe. It’s all . . . trial and error science. And that was your deal. I’m the one who gives wedgies to the scientists.”