Hallie’s breath hitched at the name Vos. “Yes.”
“And remember you got sloshed and told me you’ve been in love with Julian Vos, the son, since you were a freshman in high school?”
“Shhhh.” Hallie’s face had to be the color of beet juice now. “Keep your voice down. Everyone knows who they are in this town, Lavinia!”
“Would you stop? It’s just you and me here.” Squinting one eye, she took a long pull of her cigarette and blew the smoke sideways. “He’s back in town. Heard it straight from his mum.”
The parking lot seemed to shrink in around Hallie, the ground rising up like a wave of asphalt. “What? I . . . Julian?” The amount of reverence she packed into the whisper of his name would have been embarrassing if she hadn’t hidden behind this woman’s standing mixer twice in one month. “Are you sure? He lives near Stanford.”
“Yes, yes, he’s a brilliant professor. A scholar with a case of the tall, dark, and broodies. Nearly your first snog. I remember everything—and yes, I’m sure. According to his mum, the hot prodigal son is living in the guesthouse at the vineyard for the next several months to write a historical fiction novel.”
A zap of electricity went through Hallie, straight down to her feet.
An image of Julian Vos was always, always on standby, and it shot to the forefront of her mind now, vivid and glorious. His black hair whipping right and left in the wind, his family vineyard like an endless maze on all sides of him, the sky burning with bright purples and oranges, his mouth descending toward hers and stopping right at the last second. He’d been so close she could taste the alcohol on his breath. So close she could have counted the black flecks in his bourbon-brown eyes if only the sun hadn’t set.
She could also feel the way he’d snagged her wrist and dragged her back to the party, muttering about her being a freshman. The greatest tragedy of her life, right up until she’d lost her grandmother, was not landing that kiss from Julian Vos. For the last fifteen years, she’d been spinning alternate endings in her mind, occasionally even going so far as watching his history lectures on YouTube—and responding to his rhetorical questions out loud, like some kind of psychotic, one-sided conversationalist. Though she would take that humiliating practice to the grave.
Not to mention the wedding scrapbook she’d made for them in ninth grade.
“Well?” prompted Lavinia.
Hallie shook herself. “Well what?”
Lavinia waved her smoking hand around. “You might bump into the old crush around St. Helena soon enough. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Yes,” Hallie said slowly, begging the wheels in her head to stop spinning. “It is.”
“Do you know if he’s single?”
“I think so,” Hallie murmured. “He doesn’t update his Facebook very often. When he does, it’s usually with a news article about space exploration or an archaeological discovery—”
“You are literally leaching my vagina of moisture.”
“But his status is still single,” Hallie laughed. “Last time I checked.”
“And when was that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“A year, perhaps?”
More like a month, but no one was counting.
“Wouldn’t it be something to get a second chance at that kiss?” Lavinia poked her in the ribs. “Though it’ll be far from your first at this stage of your life, hey?”
“Oh yeah, it’ll be at least my . . .”
Her friend squinted an eye, prodding the air with a finger. “Eleventh? Fifteenth?”
“Fifteenth. You got it.” Hallie coughed. “Minus thirteen.”
Lavinia stared at her for an extended moment, letting out a low whistle. “Well, Jesus. No wonder you have so much unspent energy.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “Okay, forget what I said about bumping into him, you two-kiss pony. Happenstance isn’t going to work. We must arrange some kind of sly meeting.” She thought for a second, then landed on something. “Ooh! Maybe check the Web and see if Vos Vineyard is having another event soon. He’s bound to be there.”
“Yes. Yes, I could do that.” Hallie continued to nod. “Or I could just check in with Mrs. Vos and see if her guesthouse needs some new landscaping. My waxed begonias would add a nice pop of red to any front yard. And who could turn down lantanas? They stay green all year.”
“. . . Hallie.”
“And of course, there’s that late-June discount I’m offering.”
“You can never do anything the easy way, can you?” Lavinia sighed.
“I’m much better at speaking to men when I’m busy doing something with my hands.”
Her friend raised an eyebrow. “You heard yourself, right?”
“Yes, pervert, I heard,” she muttered, already lifting the phone to her ear, excitement beginning to skip around in her belly when the line started to ring. “Rebecca always said to look for signs. I just canceled that biweekly job with Veronica on Hollis Lane for a reason. So I’d be open for this one. Potentially. I might have Napa running in my blood, but wine tastings aren’t my element. This is better. I’ll have my flowers as a buffer.”