Page 2 of Pour Timing
I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “First of all, youaregoing to find the most perfect guy because you are the most perfect woman. Second, no matter how much you plan, something always goes wrong.”
“Says the one who’s never planned a day in your life. You just wake up and see where the wind takes you. I have no idea how we are sisters.”
I laugh because she’s right. I never make a plan and never know what I’m doing from one day to the next. I wouldn't say I’m scatterbrained, dreamy maybe, I just move as things hit me, as I feel they’re right. It’s why I love my freelance writing job. “Yeah, well, why don’t you start with this Saturday and tell me how to plan a wedding when I don’t think my fiancé will even be back in time to be there?”
She gasps. “What do you mean he’s not going to be here? Doesn’t he know how important this first meeting is? You have to pick a menu; you have to pick napkin colors. You have to pick tables, do you want round or square? And where will you be seated? Do you want to sit with your wedding party or alone?—”
I stand and stop her before her head explodes. “It’s fine. He doesn’t care about that stuff anyway. Like I said, we’ll get married and it’ll be over.”
She looks at me with wide eyes. “You should be excited about this. I thought everything was great.”
I shrug. “It’s fine.” When she narrows her eyes at me, I continue. “Patrick is a good guy but the excitement has waned. Maybe that’s what happens in marriage. We used to do these trips and he’d surprise me with things, but that has faded away. Taking over this company has become his love, and I feel like I’m sitting in second place. He won’t even watch football with me.”
My sister covers her heart and acts like she’s falling off the chair, and I giggle at her stupid antics. “No football? That’s it! You should call the wedding off right now.”
I put my hand on my hips and raise a brow. “I think my first line of business will be to fire my maid of honor.”
“Kylie, it’s not about football. You can watch anything at any time.”
“No, Sadie, it actuallyisabout football. It’s about doing things that I like sometimes too. He’s never even home for dinner. What kind of life is that going to be? What if we have kids? I'm going to raise them by myself while he works himself to death? And don’t get me started on him wanting to move to the city.” I sink back into the chair, the words hanging in the air as my doubts rise close to the surface.
She furrows her brows and quietly asks, “You’re going to move away from Starlight Bay?”
I shake my head and drop my eyes from hers, rising from the chair and moving around my kitchen doing busy work, trying to avoid it all. “I don’t want to, but he says we have to live in the city for this job.”
The room falls silent as thoughts ofwhat will befill each of our minds. And the most important thought for me is, if I didn’t leave the town with my high school sweetheart, the love of my life, what makes me think I could leave now?
As if reading my mind, Sadie says, “Things used to be simple when you thought you were going to marry Matt and live here forever.”
Hearing his name always makes my heart skip a beat, and my sister knows my heart loved him big and probably still does. Matt is the one I never got over but had to move on from anyway because he moved on from me and this town. “Yeah, well, shit happens when you grow up.” I clap my hands, wanting to move from that line of conversation. “Listen, everything is going to be fine. We’re going to get through this. It's just a little stress before the wedding.”
“It’s not about getting through it, Kylie.” She eyes me with skepticism, much like the way I look at myself in the mirror every morning when I let all the thoughts of second-guessing a marriage run through my mind.
Are you sure you want to do this?
“I’m here for you. If you want to get married, I’m your girl. If you want to run and bury the body later, I’m still your girl.”
We snicker together and I give her a hug, but in the back of my mind, one question still lingers.What happens if I don’t show up?
Chapter1
MATT - March
“Matt, I’m so sorry for your loss. Your uncle was an amazing man, and I know you will do right by him and his winery.”
I sign the papers that are pushed in front of me, making Grape Expectations, A Starlight Bay Winery, mine. At thirty-four years old, this was not where I saw myself; a divorced, single dad of an eight-year-old son moving back to the town I couldn’t wait to get away from.
I’d only do it for Uncle Paul.
Three weeks ago, my mother called to say her brother, my Uncle Paul, had passed away. He was sixty-eight years old, and it was unexpected and hurt more than it should. Mainly because I last saw him seven years ago and had only communicated via text randomly since then. I had no idea he was sick. No one did, actually. He was diagnosed with cancer and kept it to himself, not wanting to become a burden. When he passed, he left a will and a detailed letter to my mother citing all the things he wanted done with his legacy. It was semi comforting to hear, until he got to the part where he wanted me to take over his winery. I know nothing about owning a winery, let alone running it. The only thing I do well with wine is drink it.
But here I am, at his estate reading, signing the papers to take on Grape Expectations as mine.
My son, Liam, is ecstatic that we are moving back to Starlight Bay. His grandparents are here, and he’s always loved this town when we visit. Even though I'm not thrilled to be living here again, I’m happy to give him a loving home. I have to admit, this town was amazing to grow up in.
If it hadn’t been for my high school sweetheart, Kylie Johnson, I probably would’ve stayed right here. Our senior year, we had big plans to leave this town and go to college together. When I got a football scholarship, she applied to the same school.
We made it through one semester before everything started to fall apart. Between the team schedule, constant travel, and relentless practices, my time wasn’t my own. Football ruled my life, and Kylie missed home more than she expected.
