Karma’s Kiss

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

For my fourth date with Sawyer, he texts me simply:

Vineyard

5 PM

I’m taking that to mean I’m supposed to meet him at Starlight Vineyards at that time, but I would have liked a little bit more information. Are we having another picnic? Hanging with his family?

I have no idea what to wear, so I go with a simple midi-length sundress, pale blue and cinched around my waist. Fortunately, my afternoon nap helped me sleep off the rest of my hangover, and I feel like my usual self as I pull into the parking lot five minutes ahead of schedule. Other than Sawyer’s truck a few yards away, the place is deserted. We’ve got the whole vineyard to ourselves.

I’m relieved that Sawyer’s already waiting for me, leaning against his truck’s tailgate. Seeing him, I cringe at being slightly overdressed. He’s wearing jeans with dirt stains, old boots, and a simple white t-shirt. He looks like he’s been working outside all day, and if I should be slightly repulsed by the sweat near his temples, turning his dark brown hair black, I’m absolutely not. He looks tan and glorious, the kind of guy whose body is built on hard work rather than hours spent inside a gym. I don’t pull myself out of my full-on ogle session until I’m close enough to feel the burn from his eyes as he takes me in.

“You should have worn jeans,” he says, sounding unimpressed.

I smile. “Well how was I supposed to know? You didn’t give me any heads-up. It doesn’t matter though. This dress isn’t fancy or anything. Target’s finest. ”

He ignores my joke and points down to the ground beside him.

“Your boots from last time.”

Oh? So we are having another vineyard picnic? I don’t mind one bit. I would gladly eat every meal from now until I die out here among the fragrant grapevines.

“Once you put them on, grab a bucket,” he adds.

I look over at the pile of huge metal buckets, freshly rinsed and stacked up against the industrial building behind Sawyer’s truck. By the time I have one in hand, Sawyer has already taken off toward the vines.

“Keep up,” he shouts back.

I add a pep to my step, feeling like I might need to all-out sprint to have any chance of catching him.

I laugh. “What’s the rush?”

He doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that if I have a bucket, it must be because we’re going to pick some grapes. Oh! Maybe Sawyer’s going to take me through the whole process from start to finish: harvesting through bottling. I’d love to know how they make their wines at Starlight Vineyards. A few of my college friends went to Napa Valley for a girls’ trip last year, but I couldn’t join because it coincided with a huge wedding weekend for Evermore Events. I was bummed at the time, but this will more than make up for missing out. How many people can say they’ve had their own personal tour of a vineyard with the owner’s handsome grandson?

Well…I’m sort of with him. At the moment he’s a football field ahead of me.

“You’re really tall, you know!” I call out to Sawyer, who’s starting to become nothing more than a distant speck on the horizon. “I have to take two or three steps for every ONE OF YOURS!”

He doesn’t slow down. If anything, it’s like he’s leaving me in the dust on purpose.

Eventually we stop, but it has to be half a mile from the parking lot, or more. I’ve lost track of the twists and turns we’ve taken, and I’m a little embarrassed to admit I have a cramp in my side from walk-running after him.

Nestled between the grapevines, I heave a deep breath and smile, ready to get on with the good part of the tour. Sawyer turns and slaps something in my hand. I wince because it’s the same hand he absolutely pummeled during the softball game earlier, but he doesn’t notice. I look down to find it’s a set of shears.

“Fill that up,” he says, pointing to the bucket at my feet. “I’ll go get you two more.”

Then he disappears, leaving me out among the grapevines.

I wait two seconds, slowly processing what he’s just told me to do. Then I spin around and look for him, expecting to find him standing a few yards away with a smile.

“I’m kidding,” he’ll say, coming over to kiss my cheek and pry the shears out of my hands. “God, you should see the look on your face right now.”

But there is no Sawyer and there is no kiss on the cheek. It’s just me and the grapes.

I turn to a fat bushel hanging on a vine near my face and frown. “Does he really want me to harvest you?”

This has to be one big joke, a “Got you” laugh coming any minute. Why would Sawyer invite me here and then dump me out on my own?

It’s definitely the weirdest date I’ve ever been on, but there has to be a good reason for it. I try to conjure up a few: Sawyer is handsome and (probably) rich. Maybe he’s sick of women throwing themselves at him for the wrong reasons. This could all be his way of showing me his life isn’t all rainbows and butterflies. He helps run his family’s vineyard; he must work tirelessly day in and day out, and he wants to ensure I can carry my own weight.

Right?

“If it’s not that, then I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing out here. Do you?” I ask the grapes.

Unfortunately, they don’t have any good advice.

I give it another few minutes before I actually start on the assignment he’s given me. I don’t have any idea how Sawyer wants me to take these grapes off the vine. One by one? Surely not or he wouldn’t have given me the shears to use. I don’t want to hack at the vine though, so I carefully trim off the clusters that seem the most ripe, lay them in the bucket, and continue.

The task wouldn’t be so bad except that Sawyer’s plopped me in a section of the vineyard that’s particularly muddy. My boots sink in and get stuck and I have to pry them out every time I want to take a squelching step toward a new section of grapes. But that’s not even the worst of my problems. It’s the heat. I had to walk so quickly to keep up with Sawyer that I’m sweating now. Good ol’ Texas summer. The sun’s not due to set for another hour or two, which means the temperature is still hovering somewhere in the 90s. I’m wishing I’d worn a hat.

I wipe my arm across my forehead, trying to keep the sweat from my eyes, and in so doing smear a glob of mud onto my face. My first reaction is a slew of curse words I repress deep down in my soul. My second reaction is more composed: So what? People go to spas and pay good money for aestheticians to rub mud onto their skin. I’m getting it for free!

Where is Sawyer?!

He said he’d be back with two more buckets, but that was ten or fifteen minutes ago, wasn’t it? My bucket is getting full.

I hear footsteps coming up behind me just as I add my last bushel of grapes. Oh thank god. There, I’ve proved myself. I’ve filled a bucket. I try to lift it—but can’t, so I set it back down into the mud and point down at it proudly. The green grapes glisten in the sun. I picked only the juiciest ones. He’s going to be impressed with me.

I didn’t expect you to actually do it, Madison! is what he’s about to say, and then we’re going to laugh and feed each other freshly picked grapes and get muddy for entirely different reasons. Wink wink.

This fantasy is so compelling I’m sad to be drawn out of it when Sawyer says, “Two more,” dropping empty metal buckets unceremoniously at my feet so that they splatter a new layer of mud on my already-ruined dress.

I close my eyes and breathe deep. Okay…this is a little elaborate. If this is some Carry Your Weight lesson, surely I’ve passed.

I blink my eyes open.

“Sawyer—” I say his name with a touch of desperation, but he’s already turned around.

“I’ll be back,” he promises brusquely, scooping up my bucket and walking away.

He’s leaving me out here again ?! I don’t understand any of this, and worse, I’m starting to get seriously annoyed. It’s one thing to put me to work. I would have had no problem standing alongside Sawyer, harvesting grapes while we chatted so long as I had a hat and maybe some water to drink! In fact, I could have probably survived without either of those things if he’d just been here, teasing me, helping me pick the best grapes, leaning in for a kiss. I don’t even care about my dress or the mud. I just want to know what’s going on.

Sawyer leaves me in the vineyard twice as long as last time. I suppose he’s giving me enough time to fill up both buckets, but I’ve worked myself into quite a rage by the time he gets back.

The buckets are filled. He can do whatever he wants with them. I’m standing cross-armed when he reaches me. If he looked at my face, he’d be able to tell how mad I am, but he’s going straight for the buckets.

Oh my god. He’s going to just ignore me again!

“Is this your idea of a joke?” I ask bitterly.

He reaches down to grab the buckets and, with a flat tone, replies, “Sorry the date didn’t live up to your expectations.”

Oh no. Not happening.

I take ahold of one of the buckets before he can leave me out here again. For a second, we struggle for ownership. Then he lets go and leaves me with its full weight; I have no choice but to let it slam back into the mud. UGH! Mud splatters onto my arms and neck. Some gets onto my face. “What’s wrong with you?!” I explode.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and his calm tone only infuriates me more.

Then he cocks his brow and props his hands on his hips like he’s oblivious to the problem. “Tell me. What were you hoping would happen here tonight? Another picnic? More flirting? Haven’t you succeeded?”

“ Succeeded? What in the world are you talking about?”

He responds with a booming, sarcastic laugh. “God, you’re a good actress. Is this fake? That look in your eyes.” He points at me. “Did you practice it earlier in front of your mirror?”

A foreboding shiver of fear rolls down my spine. It’s a tingling, like every one of my body’s alarm bells are going off. “What are you talking about?” I repeat, my voice level again.

His jaw clenches, his eyes hard as steel. He comes toward me, but only one step.

“I know what you’ve been doing, Madison. You were fucking around with me for the fun of it, right? What did you and Kendra call it?” He looks off as if trying to come up with something he’s forgotten. Then he snaps. “Take Sawyer Down. Wasn’t that your plan?”

His glare is so menacing I’m tempted to cower. I’m too shocked to answer him, so he shrugs and shakes his head.

“Have a nice life, Madison.”

He leaves the two buckets of grapes forgotten at my feet and turns back in the direction he came.

“You have it all wrong!” I call after him.

His long strides don’t slow down.

“It’s not what you think!”

Then finally, just before he disappears altogether: “What am I supposed to do with these grapes?!”

It’s obvious Ms. Pink Ballet Flats has come back to haunt me. That’s the only way Sawyer would have heard about Kendra’s stupid plan. Kendra would have never blabbed about it, and I certainly didn’t.

I made a mistake not hunting Pink Flats down at The Black Door when I had the chance. I could have explained the situation, and if that didn’t work, I could have blackmailed her. Sure, okay, I’ve never blackmailed anyone and I’m not certain I know exactly how to do it. What’s the difference between blackmail and extortion? Is there a difference?

It doesn’t matter; I would have figured it out on the fly. Anything would have been better than this slow trudge back to my car through the vineyard, muddy and dejected.

Sawyer’s truck is still parked where it was earlier, but he’s nowhere to be found. For a second, I debate searching the area so we can talk, but you know what? I don’t really feel like it! I’ve spent the last thirty minutes winding my way through grapevines, completely lost. It was like a freaking corn maze out there. Left turn, right turn, left, right. Twice I found myself right back where I started, and now I’m seeing red.

I’ve got twin blisters on my heels, a parched mouth, and mud caked in my hair. My cheeks feel tight from an impending sunburn, and if I saw Sawyer in this state, I know we’d get into a huge fight. I don’t feel like explaining whatever he’s been told. I want to lay into him for trying to punish me.

How childish!

Never mind that I was also being childish.

How cruel!

Again, pot calling the kettle black…

He thinks I was messing around with him for the fun of it? Obviously we’re even now.

Back at the house, Queenie takes one look at me and cracks up.

“What in the world have you been doing?”

I clench my jaw. “I don’t really feel like talking about it.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be on a date with—”

“ DO NOT say his name.”

My tone is deadly, and Queenie’s eyes go round as saucers.

“From this point forward, Sawyer Garnett is dead to me and to everyone else in this family. Got it?”

“Sure thing, honey.”

“Swear to me—”

She’s barely restraining a smile, I can tell. “Oh all right.” She holds up her hand like she’s about to make a sworn statement in a courtroom. “I hereby declare that Sawyer Garnett…”

She doesn’t know the rest so I help her along. “Is a horrible man with no heart and no soul and from this point forward—”

“Now slow down, I’m not going to remember all that. I’ve got ‘ is a horrible man ’ but then you lost me with the soul stuff.”

Her phone rings, interrupting our binding oath. I’m annoyed she goes to answer it, but it’s Lindsey, and though I only hear Queenie’s end of the conversation, I can tell where things are headed.

Once Queenie hangs up, she nods toward me. “Go shower and clean up. Lindsey’s freaking out about Cruz’s birthday. Apparently none of the decorations are hanging right and she’s worried she won’t have time to get everything set up tomorrow morning before the party. She’s promised us dinner and wine if we’re willing to come help her out.”

I’m already headed for the stairs so I can clean up. “If it’s Starlight Vineyards wine, I don’t want it! ”

Queenie loses the battle with her smile. “Sounds good. We’ll toss it if it is. And sweetie?” She taps her forehead. “You’ve got a little mud right there.”